#But he has to so that she can finally be safe

[swoo-bats]

Tim knows something is up. He doesn't know what, exactly, yet. But he will find out. Earlier he caught Cassie and Kon whispering before they noticed him and stopped. They keep darting their eyes between him and Bart when they're all together. It's clear to Tim that they think something is up between him and Bart but after reviewing the past few missions and hangouts, he can't pin anything down for what they think, or why. He's almost given up trying to puzzle it out by himself when Cassie basically tells him.

"You know, Kon and I won't care if you and Bart are dating."

She's leaning against the wall by the door in Tim's room with her arms crossed and attempting to look nonchalant.

Tim has to take a moment to digest the sentence.

Implication 1: He and Bart are dating.

Implication 2: They chose not to tell Cassie and Kon.

Implication 3: That Bart could be any amount of subtle if they were dating and trying to hide it from their best friends.

Safe to say, he needs more information. How did they arrive at this conclusion?

"What makes you think we're dating?"

Cassie looks annoyed by his evasion, but goes on to explain anyway. "Kon said that he saw you guys holding hands walking around his campus. You were wearing one of Bart's jackets. The other day I saw Bart's sketchbook and it has so many drawings of you it's nauseatingly sweet. Plus, recently Bart's been getting distracted daydreaming with this lovesick look on his face which is really annoying during training." Her nose scrunches at that last part.

With the new information, Tim can finally draw some connections.

"First of all, that alone isn't evidence of dating. Secondly, I'm not dating Bart." Although he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was.

Danny had told him that he was accepted into Missouri State University and was going to major in engineering. Why Danny chose Missouri State Central City is still lost on Tim. When moving into his dorm Danny texted Tim, jokingly complaining about rooming with an art student which could theoretically be Bart. But... Bart and Danny? Tim has such a large mental divide between those two aspects of his life that imagining them rooming together was strange. He almost felt off-kilter.

Cassie is saying something about how there's no way the two of them would act like that if they weren't dating, but he wasn't paying attention to it now.

Tim stands, moving away from his desk. "Where's Bart?" Cassie says that Kon was going to talk to Bart and should be with him, wherever they are.

They find Bart and Kon in Bart's room. Tim overhears what sounds to be the tail end of Kon's confrontation with Bart.

"—not dating Tim! I'm not dating anyone!"

When Tim enters the room, he can see Bart with his hands exasperatedly thrown up. He decides to butt in before Kon can continue.

"So you're not dating Danny?" He quirks an eyebrow up and though he's wearing his mask he knows his friends can read him.

Bart hesitates to answer which gives Kon and Cassie time to simultaneously ask, "Who's Danny?"

Since they've already stuck their noses in this far Tim just shrugs when he says, "My twin." And relishes the looks on their faces. Then focuses back on Bart and raises his eyebrow again, still waiting for an answer.

"I've been meaning to ask! It keeps slipping my mind, okay!?"

Tim just stares with a disappointed face. He knows how effective it is, he copied it from Alfred, after all. And though he may not be as close to Danny as he is his bat-siblings, he feels he gets to judge his twin's potential partner at least a little, especially since it's one of his best friends.

"Don't give me that look!" Bart shouts and points a finger at Tim. "Danny could bring it up, too! I'm not the only one!" Then his expression turns unsure and his hand lowers, "Plus, what if he doesn't like me and I just make it super awkward and he won't wanna be dorm mates with me any more and then I'll never see him again because he'll avoid me and our majors are totally different?"

"That's not going to happen."

Kon displays an impressive feat of speed by cutting off Bart. "Wait wait wait wait. How come we've never heard of Danny before if he's your twin?"

Aiming for casual, Tim shrugs again. "We were separated at birth and grew up with different families. And he doesn't know about the whole Bat thing so you guys can't just show up and start asking him stuff."

Cassie crosses her arms defensively. "We weren't going to do that."

Kon also crosses his arms. "And even if we were, we totally know how to be subtle."

"Uh huh."

—

Danny: either im hallucinating or i keep seeing wondergirl and superboy on campus

Danny: i s2g if some superhero bs gets my classes cancelled

Danny: idk what ill do but it will be Drastic

Tim: You literally chose a school in the same city the Flash operates in

Danny: yeah but hes chill

dpxdc twins au except it's no-pulse flavored

Bart’s new roommate looks a lot like Tim. 

Like, suspiciously like Tim. 

Danny’s the same height, has the same shape of nose, same shade of hair, and even frowns like him. He would have been a perfect copy if he acted more like Tim, but Danny definitely holds himself looser than Bart’s ever seen Tim. 

But he still has his face. So, obviously, Bart has to investigate. Maybe he’s a clone, or a shapeshifter, or maybe one of the Gotham rogues decided to get facial reconstruction surgery to look like him, and this was all a ploy. 

Okay, probably not that last one. Bart doesn’t think Tim’s enemies know his identity. 

Anyway, investigation! Bart’ll figure this out himself, and deal with it if Danny needs to be dealt with. And the investigation will start right after he comes up with an excuse as to why he’s back in their third floor apartment when he passed Danny in the hallway a few seconds before. 

Danny stares at him, and Bart stares back. 

“Must’ve been a doppelganger!” Bart blurts out. 

Danny’s silent for a second before nodding enthusiastically and noting that everyone's supposed to have like seven in the world anyway and wow what a wild coincidence that there’s one in their building. 

Bart extends the same courtesy when a week later he walks in on Danny with an iced over pan on the stove. Danny says they should really get their freezer checked out and Bart agrees and asks if he can use the ice for a painting study. 

(They never get their freezer checked.)

Bart finds that Danny’s great at setting up fun things for him to draw, whether he knows it or not. Like the ice, or his collection of rocks, his astronomy textbooks with the pretty covers, his gestures as he rants about his classes, the excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about his next repair project and how his eyes almost look like they glow in the right light. 

Hm. A good portion of his sketchbook is drawings of Danny, and yet he’s still having trouble with getting the right blue for his eyes. At first glance they’re Tim’s shade of blue, but when he keeps looking they seem to get lighter. Maybe greener?

He should probably stop staring into his friend’s eyes. 

Well, maybe not. Danny doesn’t seem to mind. 

Just like he doesn’t mind when they started regularly sitting very close on the couch, or falling asleep together, or Bart borrowing some of his jackets, or-

Okay, Bart’s kinda seeing a pattern. He and Danny should really have a conversation about if this is platonic behavior or not. 

But not right now, because Bart brought Danny across the river to raid Wally’s board game closet in Keystone. 

And Wally, who’s used to this, just passes by them with a, “Hey Bart, hey Tim.”

“Danny, not Tim,” Danny replies almost absent mindedly, then looks back at Wally, who’s also staring at him now. “Wait, you know Tim?”

“OhmyGod I was supposed to investigate!” Bart says, face palming. It just slipped his mind! And Danny was distracting him with his pretty face that he totally wears better than Tim!

“You know him too?” Danny asks. But he doesn’t look suspicious of them, more amused. 

“How do you know him?” Wally squints at Danny, eyes briefly catching Bart’s in question. 

“He’s my twin,” Danny answers easily. “The Drakes only wanted one kid, so they gave me to their friends the Fentons, who wanted a second one.” He shrugs and goes back to digging around the closet. “Tim and I were always in contact, though. Letters and phone calls and texting, you know?” 

He says it all so casually while Wally and Bart are sharing increasingly concerned looks behind his back. 

Do the Waynes know about Danny? Has Tim never brought him up? Why? Does Danny know about Red Robin? Does Tim-

“Holy shit does this mean Tim has ice powers too!?” 

Or: Tim and Danny are twins. Through a series of coincidences, the first people to find out that aren’t Fentons or Drakes are the flashes.

(This post was brought to you by me recently finishing the 1995 Impulse run, and wanting an excuse to share this panel:

Look they both got called twinks clearly they're soulmates)

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[the-witty-pen-name]

When he realizes he's in love with you...

(Stranger Things Edition)

A/N: thank you @punkrockmlchael for bouncing ideas back and forth with me for this one! you are the best <3 please follow roz if you don't already she's the best

Warnings: substance use (smoking weed); fluff

Characters: Steve, Eddie, Gareth, Jonathan, Argyle & Billy

Steve: It's a really simple moment. You're with everyone just gathered at Steve's house for a movie night. Steve is sharing the couch with you, and he'd been doing a good job of ignoring that fact until your head rests on his shoulder with a gentle thud. You fell asleep and you curl up by his side. He's terrified to move, not wanting to disturb and risk ending this moment. He tries to remain completely still, except when he lifts his arm to wrap around your shoulder- of course you sleep through it. Having you so close to him, knowing you feel safe and comfortable enough around him to fall asleep- he's a goner.

Eddie: You match his energy, and you aren't afraid to argue with him. Heated debates about literally anything- usually something pointless. You don't stand down either, no matter how ridiculous it gets. He even just likes to get you riled up so he can get a reaction out of you- he loved seeing you so fired up. One night, the movie you both watching is paused because Eddie made a bogus claim the actor was in another movie- he wasn't. You're arguing, talking with your hands frantically to prove your point and you don't even catch on that he's stopped caring and he's just watching you with a smirk on his lips. He just loved you so much.

Gareth: You'd been dating for a couple of months. After dinner together, you end up walking into the record store. You're in the next row across from him- just mindlessly looking through the selection. He watches your eyes light up when you find a record you already own, but love- just happy to stumble across it out and about. It makes his heart skip, and he realizes that he wants you to share things you love with him all the time- for the rest of his life.

Jonathan: When you aren't paying attention, Jonathan loves to take candid photos of you. There's a time you're both at Lover's Lake and you're skipping rocks. Looking at you through his camera, it kind of just hits him all at once. You look over and smile for the photo and it's his favorite photo he's ever taken. After that, you can tell something changed between the two of you. He finally confesses his feelings after months of pining and you start dating immediately afterwards.

Argyle: You're sitting with him in the back of the delivery van after your shift. There's already a large cloud of smoke that has engulfed the two of you. Through the haze that has pleasantly taken over his brain, he watches you- your skillful hands rolling another joint for the two of you to share. His mouth hangs open slightly watching as you bring it to your lips, your mouth opening just enough to poke your tongue out so you can seal it. It's probably the hottest thing he's ever seen and he immediately just falls for you in that moment.

Billy: You're laying on your stomach on his unmade bed. You're flipping through one of your notebooks, trying to study. He's laying on his side, kissing your shoulder and rubbing your back- wanting your attention and pouting he needs to compete with your homework. He observes you read behind those beautiful lashes of his, and he loves the way you face looks when you're concentrating and focused. Despite that, he still wants to toss the book on the floor and kiss you stupid, but he'll wait because he knows it's important to you to do well on this test. His resolve doesn't last long, but he does try to be good- because he loves you.

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington @mrsjellymunson @fanficfantik @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @supersecretsamm

[gothcsz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s about vengeance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re supposed to be dead right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss you. I’ll be back soon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tú primero.” (You first)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There isn’t anything left to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming back tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you still be thankful then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he’s leaving?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten… nine…

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

Eight… seven…

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

Six… five…

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

Four… three…

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

Two… one…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him is so damn addictive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His flight boards in a little over three hours.

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

Fuck.

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

He hesitates, watching as your breathing deepens again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you getting dressed?”

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

“I’m leaving.”

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

“To the airport.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you known?”

“Found out this afternoon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I killed him.”

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

“Mateo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a start—”

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

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

“Stop saying that!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Months later, you receive a letter.

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

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

You read it over and over until the words blur.

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

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

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

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

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @thundermartini . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @biapascal .

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Norris!reader

Max Fewtrell x Norris!reader

Lando Norris x sister!reader

Danielriccardo x Norris!reader

summary: You and max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

warnings: none

a/n: I always see fewtrell!reader x lando but what If I want max and not Lando?😔

not proofread

masterlist | next

yn

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, riabish and 729.546 others

yn there’s always a good looking, better, smarter little sister to her older brother. Oh and his best friend

tagged landonorris / maxfewtrell

landonorris don’t get greedy now

user what is he even doing there?😭

riabish wifeeee 😍😍

yn ❤️

user fck lando, I want her

user they’re so bi panic coded

user yn and max in peace? Is war over?

user don’t say that to loud

yn never.

user i warned you.

user oh man 😔

-

-

“So you’ll be gone a week?” Lando was leaning against the doorframe as he watched you pack your last few items “Yeah that’s the plan but who knows. Daniel has a habit of keeping people longer than intended” You chuckle and look around the room to check if you packed anything.

Ever since Daniel had been dropped from RB you had missed the aussie. Now there was finally a good time for you to fly to australia and meet up with him. He had always been a good friend of yours and also knew about the whole Max dilemma that took place a few years ago, unbeknownst to Lando.

“Yeah he does. Just be safe okay?” He pushes himself off the frame and takes your luggage “I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time i’m flying somewhere alone, is it now?” You roll your eyes and smile.

“Yeah yeah. Come on.”

-

Lando parked his car and helped you unload your luggage. He walks with you to your destinated gate and you look at him “I’ll be okay. I’ll text you. And i’m pretty sure daniel is gonna send you plenty of unflattering pictures of me, as always”

Lando breaks a smile and pulls you in for a hug “Have a good flight. Text me when you land and Daniel picked you up, alright?” You nod “Will do, I love you”

“Love you too. Have fun!” He says, waving and smiling.

-

You see Daniel from afar. His typical smile widened as soon as he saw you “My favourite norris!” He wrapped his arms around you and you hug him tight.

“It’s so boring without you, I swear” You chuckle into his chest. He smiles and pulls away “I bet it is. Let me take your stuff, you must be exhausted after that long flight” Daniel takes your luggage and leads you to his car.

He opened the door for you and puts your stuff in the trunk. You connect your phone to his car once he started it “Lando can put his DJ era to rest, you’re the new DJ” He laughs and so do you “Absolutely! He’ll be living in my shadow now!” You chuckle.

He starts driving and a comfortable silence with quiet music in the background settles and you enjoy the view.

“Dan?” He hummed “Can we get food?” “Absolutely. What do you want?” You think for a moment “You aren’t on a diet anymore, are you?” You smirk and he smirks back “Mcdonald’s?” He smiles “Yes oh my god! I haven’t had that in ages because of Lando!” He laughs “On to the big M!”

*yn added to their story*

[caption: the best after a long flight 💙👀]

replies:

landonorris oh come on!!

yn 😘

landonorris yeah yeah

riabish already miss you

yn miss you more

user who’s that?

franciscagomez : Who is that?👀

yn just daniel 😂

franciscagomez oh! yeah okay. Text me when you’re back, gotta have a girls day😔

yn will do ml

❤️

-

yn

liked by landonorris, danielriccardo, carmenmundt and 937.168 others

yn personal bag carrier and me for life 🤞💙

*tagged danielriccardo*

danielriccardo I get better pics than your brother, I am honoured 😂

yn he’s ugly, you’re not

danielriccardo 😘😘

user oh?

user danielyn is still thriving yall

user hold on, did she fly all the way to australia for him?!

user seems like it..

user they’ve been friends

user are they?

user yall keep making it weird

landonorris at least you’re spending his money, not mine

yn I have my own money, thank you very much

landonorris and for what did you pay?

yn mcdonald’s…

danielriccardo I had to repay her somehow?

landonorris no wonder she’s so spoiled

yn i’m not??

-

You both sit down on the edge of the boat and admire the now sinking sun “So how’s it going?” Daniel asked rather quietly “With what?” You lean on the back of the small seating area “Fewtrell” He turns his head, also leaning against the back.

“Can we not talk about him? He’s been getting on my nerves quite often lately” You say, directing your attention back to the sunset “Have you ever told lando what really happened?” His eyes were still fixed on you

“No. What would I say? Oh hey lando, have I told you that your sister and your best friend don’t like each other because he refused to take her virginity and felt like he would go against moral codes so he rejected her in a way that made her self conscious for years and never lose her virginity?” You say, still looking at the sunset.

“Yeah okay maybe- Wait what? You’re still a virgin?” Curiosity bubbled up in Daniel. Your cheeks turned red “Forget that part, I didn’t and wont ever.” Daniel sits up more straight “You..what?!”

“Daniel, let it go. Why is that such a big deal?” You say and look at him. His face full of shock “Yn, you’re one of the most beautiful and kind people. I just.. I thought you may have a boyfriend by now and..”

You shake your head “Nope.” He raised his eyebrows “Oh dear” “I’m not missing out on much here, daniel”

He laughs “If he’s just focused on himself, definitely not. But if it’s someone who takes your pleasure first..” His voice quietens and his eyes drop for a moment “Let’s just enjoy the sunset. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore” You say, still blushing.

He nods and settles back next to you, arm finding its place around your shoulder. You lean your head on his shoulder and a comfortable silence settles over you.

“One last question” You groan and look at him “What now?”

“Did he like you back?” You sigh “Yeah, he just didn’t want to go behind landos back. I can’t be mad about that, they’ve been best friends forever but he could’ve at least let me down easy and not flaunt his new girlfriend in my face at every opportunity”

Daniel nods “He missed out, not you. Lando is just bark no bite” You chuckle “A bit, yeah” You settle back on his shoulder “I missed this” “What? Sunsets?”

“No you, you idiot” He laughed “oh! blame christian for dropping you.” You laugh “I’ll send him a letter to let him know” You laugh and so does he.

“Dumbass” “I know”

-

yn

liked by danielriccardo, alexandrasaintmleux and 826.647 others

yn australian canvas 🌅

tagged danielriccardo

danielriccardo 🧡🐨

alexandrasaintmleux the dress 😍

yn ❤️❤️

user how long has she been w daniel now??

user 5 days I believe

user the sunset is so pretty

user daniel omggg

-

“You’ve been awfully quiet” Lando looks at max who just rolls his eyes. Ethan nods “Yeah, what’s going on?” Max looks up at Lando “You do know that Daniel fancies her, right?” Max takes a bite from his food “He doesn’t.” Max raised an eyebrow “You sure? I’d think about how he acts around her.”

Even ethan quietened down, thinking about Max’s words. Lando stared at max, who simply kept eating. Landos phone lit up with a notification from you.

‘Hey lan, I’ll be staying a bit longer with Daniel. Hope you don’t mind, love you and see you soon!’

Lando made a face at his phone before responding. He set his phone down and looks at Max “He wouldn’t..right?” Max looks at him “How am I supposed to know?”

“The bloke it nice! He would be a good fit for your sister,no?” Ethan chimed in. Max glared at him for a second before turning his attention to his food “I mean, better than someone you don’t know at all?”

Lando nods, unsure what to make of the situation. He takes a sip of his drink before looking at Ethan “What if you just ask her?” He said, now picking up his own fork. Lando tapped his fingertips on the table.

“Just ask Lando. Otherwise you’ll be pacing around like a crazy person.” Ethan says, looking at max who completed ignored the conversation “He should just text her, right max?”

Max looks up “Sure. But don’t be surprised if you get a ‘Oh I would never!’ Why would she tell him the truth?” Ethan raised an eyebrow “Mate. I have no idea what your problem is with her, but it’s gotta stop.”

“I don’t have a problem”

“Sure. And lando drives for ferrari” Max rolls his eyes while lando stared at him “I’ll text her.”

Lando sets his phone down and looks at his friends “She says they’re friends.” Max pushed his plate away from him “That’s what everybody says.” Ethan now rolled his eyes “What is it with you and trying to make them seem like a couple? You’re a grumpy little gremlin.”

“I’m not. It’s obvious he likes her.” “Why do you care so much?” “I don’t. It’s just right lando knows, no?” Ethan sighs “I’m sure she’d have her reasons for not telling him”

“I just want her to be honest with me. Have I ever made her feel like she can’t trust me? I just want her to be happy” Lando sighs and sits back in his chair “Even if it’s one of my friends.” Max eyed him for a moment and clenched his jaw.

Before ethan could reply another message came through on Landos phone. Oliver had sent him a link.

-

f1gossip

289.649 likes

f1gossip Former redbull driver Daniel Riccardo and Lando Norris sister, Yn have been spotted looking rather cosy around australia. Could there be more than a simply friendship between the two?👀

user omg they would kinda be a good fit

user does lando know this?😭

user They’re cute

-

Lando stares at his phone in disbelief. Have you been lying to him? Since when has this been going on? Why would you lie?

Ethan looks concerned “Lando?” Lando looks up and flips his phone for the other two to see. Max raises his eyebrows and leans back “Told you.”

“She..” He sets his phone down rather defeated. Max clenched his jaw and stared at the window in the restaurant. You wouldn’t go for daniel, right? He had no right to wonder tho. You had moved on. He could still remember the hurt in your eyes when he had brought his ex girlfriend over that day.

The way you visibly shrunk in size. The way you were simply quiet. No one noticed. Except for him. He noticed every little thing. Every mood change. He studied every feature of yours, but he would never admit that.

So he sits there, staring at the window, wondering what could’ve been.

soooo, I really like this.. would anyone want a part 2?

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: can you do one where their sister is in purgatory with Dean and when they come out they realize Sam didn’t even look for them and was with a girl while they were suffering in purgatory fighting for their lives basically. The sister had a really really hard time in purgatory and is defientely scarred and has bad ptsd like super bad. I see how messed up it made Dean and I imagine it would take a huge mental toll on their sister. Make it dramatic and have Sam and her make up somehow and deans mad but for his sisters sake he has to keep himself together to fix their problem as a family.

A/N: this was so fun to write, I hope you like it! Requests are open please send in some ideas because I’m bored and want to write stuff LOL

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The ground was uneven beneath Dean's boots, the dim light of the underworld barely cutting through the suffocating darkness. He had just pulled himself and his sister, Y/N, out of purgatory with nothing but their ragged breaths to anchor them back to reality. But as the veil between those two worlds lifted and they found themselves standing on solid ground once again—on earth, on familiar soil—the weight of it all hit Dean harder than he could have anticipated.

They had escaped, yes. They had fought their way through the endless maze of creatures and the sickening, oppressive silence of purgatory. But that didn’t mean they were free. Not truly. Not when their minds were still wrapped in the haunting memories of everything they'd seen, everything they'd endured.

Dean knew it would take time, but he hadn’t expected it to start this fast. The moment his boots hit solid earth, his sister's body tensed beside him. Her breathing was shallow, a slight tremor running through her limbs. She wasn’t hiding it well. But Dean could tell. He always could.

He glanced sideways, watching her for a second longer than he meant to. Her face was pale, eyes wide and unblinking, as though she couldn’t fully comprehend the freedom they had just won. He reached out for her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Y/N,” he said softly, his voice strained with the weariness that had settled deep into his bones. “You alright?”

But as soon as she looked at him, her walls broke down. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hand shaking as she reached for him, her fingers clutching his jacket like she was afraid it would slip away. She wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.

“Dean…” She gasped his name, her voice barely audible as it trembled. She looked almost feverish, her eyes darting around the open space, as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any given moment. The world was no longer a safe place for her—her mind still trapped in purgatory, the fight to survive still clawing at her chest. “I… I can’t—Dean, I can’t—” Her words were falling apart in front of him.

Dean’s heart twisted in his chest, and without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. It was instinctive, a desperate need to protect her, but it was also the one thing that seemed to ground him in this moment too. She clung to him, her body shaking uncontrollably, the sobs that had been building finally breaking free.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to feel this—the vulnerability, the absolute terror in her small, shuddering frame.

“Y/N… Hey, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own heart threatened to beat out of his chest. "We’re here. We’re back. You’re safe. We both are. I promise."

But the words didn’t land. They were hollow, meaningless, because nothing could undo what they’d been through. Not the screams. Not the endless days of fighting without rest. Nothing could erase the raw, jagged scars that purgatory had left on their souls.

She pulled away slightly, her eyes wide, haunted. “I’m... I’m so scared, Dean. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Always hearing them... hearing the growls, the whispers. It’s like I can’t escape it. I’m still there, and I can’t stop hearing the screams.” Her voice cracked, the terror unmistakable.

Dean’s throat tightened, the words sticking there. He had fought and clawed his way out, but the truth was—he hadn’t really left either. He could still feel it. The suffocating grip of purgatory on his chest, the constant need to fight, the adrenaline that had coursed through him for so long that now it felt like a damn near permanent part of him. Even the sunlight, which should have felt like salvation, felt like it was too bright. Too real. Too normal.

He wanted to say something, anything that would make this better. But the reality was, he knew what she was feeling. He had felt it too. Every single moment since they had made it out of that hellhole, his body had been reacting like it was still there.

"Hey, I know," he said quietly, his voice suddenly thick. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself at this point. “I know what it’s like. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”

But even as he spoke, her sobs intensified. She broke down completely, her whole body shaking, and Dean held her tighter, his own breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against her hair. "I’m so scared, Dean…. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be scared all the time... to hear things that aren’t real. It’s... it’s not over, Dean. It’s not over for me."

A raw sob ripped through her, and Dean felt it deep in his chest, the weight of it pressing down on him in ways he couldn’t explain. He wanted to say something to help. He wanted to tell her that it would get better, that time would heal them. But deep down, Dean knew it wouldn’t. Not completely. Purgatory didn’t just break you; it remade you in its own image.

“I understand,” he whispered, surprising himself with the confession. “I can’t... I can’t shake it either, Y/N.” His voice cracked, and he hated it. He hated how raw it sounded. How human it made him.

Y/N looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mirror of his own pain. And for a moment, the two of them just stood there, holding each other—sharing the weight of their suffering in silence.

The world might have looked the same, but nothing felt the same anymore. They weren’t the same anymore.

“I’m here,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time, even though he wasn’t sure how much comfort it really offered. “You’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”

And they would. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not quickly. But they would figure out how to survive in a world that felt so much bigger than the one they’d left behind in purgatory. For now, it was enough that they had each other. For now, they had the silent understanding of two people who had seen the worst of it and somehow, somehow, were still standing.

Though, they still had to face one more thing: the looming question of where Sam had been during all this. “We gotta find Sam.” Dean muttered under his breath and with determination you would both stop at nothing to find him.

When they had finally reached Sam, the reunion was nothing short of overwhelming. Y/N felt the warmth of Sam's embrace seep into her bones as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight as if he were afraid that if he let go, she might vanish. For a moment, everything else faded. The horrors of purgatory, the constant fight for survival, the fear and isolation—it all slipped away in the comfort of Sam’s arms. She clung to him harder than she thought she ever could, her body shaking violently as the sobs wracked through her chest.

She had thought she would never feel safe again. But here she was, in Sam’s arms, and it was everything she’d longed for. Before she knew it, Dean had wrapped his arms around the both of them and Sam patted his back.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” Sam said as Dean pulled away. His voice was thick with emotion as continued to hold his sister who wasn’t letting go, tightly. His hand moved over her hair in a soothing gesture, and Y/N let herself melt into it. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything but this moment, this relief.

Dean watched them from the side, a small smile on his face, though his eyes were weary. Something wasn’t right. Something in Sam’s demeanor felt... off. There was a subtle distance in his expression, an awkwardness to the way he spoke. It was like he was relieved to see them, sure, but not the way he should’ve been. There was something missing.

Sam pulled back slightly, his large hands still resting on Y/N’s shoulders as he looked down at her. He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you both again. I was starting to lose hope. I... I thought I’d lost you both.” His voice faltered, but then, almost offhandedly, he added, “I mean, I tried looking for you but there was no trace of anything. There was nothing else I could do. I’ve... I’ve kind of stepped back from all that now.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, and the air between them instantly grew cold. She stared up at Sam, eyes wide with disbelief, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you mean, you stepped back?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper, but already tinged with confusion and hurt. “Sam... what are you talking about?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering toward the ground for a moment, his hands dropping from her shoulders. “I mean... I’m not hunting anymore, Y/N. I... I don’t do that anymore.”

The words hit Y/N like a slap in the face. Her breath left her entirely, her legs weakening as she stepped back from him, blinking rapidly as the confusion and hurt in her chest twisted into something far more primal. "What?" she croaked, the words tasting like bile on her tongue. “You... you don’t hunt anymore? What does that mean? You just gave up?”

Dean, who had been standing off to the side, felt his stomach drop at the tone in her voice. He stepped forward, his gaze flickering between Sam and Y/N, a frown pulling at his features. But before he could say anything, Y/N spoke again, her voice rising in disbelief.

“You... you just stopped hunting? For real?” Her chest was heaving now, her breath shallow, and Dean could see the wave of emotion crash over her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. “Sam, we were trapped in purgatory. We were fighting every single day to survive—dying out there, and you—”

Her voice cracked, and she stumbled back a few steps, shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You... you left us to suffer... for what?” Her voice was trembling with anger now, with disbelief, the hurt evident in every word. “You just stopped looking for us, Sam. You gave up on us.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. His eyes flickered with guilt, but they couldn’t meet hers. “Y/N, I’m sorry... I just... I didn’t know how—”

“No,” Y/N snapped, her voice escalating to a scream now, the floodgates opening. “Don’t give me that! How dare you say you didn’t know how?!” She surged toward him in a wild rush, shoving him with all the force she could muster. Sam staggered back, eyes wide with shock, but Y/N was unstoppable now. “We were fighting for our lives out there, Sam. I was terrified every second. I needed you. We both did!”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his own anger flaring at the scene, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes shot between his sister and Sam, disbelief twisting his features as the weight of what Sam was saying hit him. His throat tightened, and his voice came out sharp, raw.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean barked, his tone hard. “After everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve fought through together, you just quit?” He took a step forward, his voice rising as he let the rage build. “We were fighting for our lives every damn second in that place, Sam. You didn’t even look for us.”

Sam flinched, taking a step back, his eyes flickering with guilt, but his words were weak. “I didn’t know what else to do, Dean. I tried to find a way. I thought—I thought you two were lost. You don’t understand—”

Y/N was shaking now, her fists clenching at her sides as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and it felt like the world had dropped out from under her. “You left us behind,” she whispered brokenly, but the words cut through the silence like a scream. “You didn’t even look for us, Sam. You left us to suffer... for what?”

Sam’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, shame, confusion. He stood there, frozen, his hands held up in an attempt to placate her, but the words were already spilling out before he could stop them. “I... I met someone.”

The words didn’t register immediately. Y/N stared at him, her mind trying to piece together the nonsense she’d just heard. It couldn’t be—“What?”

“I met a girl,” Sam repeated, his voice softer, almost apologetic, but it hit Y/N like a punch to the gut.

“A girl?” Her voice cracked as she took a staggering step back, her body swaying with the weight of what Sam had just revealed.

Dean's eyes widened in complete disbelief. He took a sharp step forward, his anger boiling over now. He had been furious, but now? Now he was fucking seething.

“You gotta be kidding me. Are you out of your goddamn mind, Sam?” Dean growled, his voice low but venomous.

“A girl? That’s what you’ve been doing, Sam?”

Y/N’s voice rose, trembling with hurt and outrage. “You left us to suffer. For a girl?” Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest burned with the sting of betrayal. “A fucking girl?” She whispered, the words barely coming out, but they were enough to make the air between them feel like acid.

Her breath catching as she stared at Sam, the disbelief on her face growing darker with every passing second. “That’s what you’ve been doing? You met a girl?” She stumbled back again, this time with a look of pure betrayal, her hand flying to her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Please, it’s not—” Sam started, his hands reaching out to her in an attempt to calm her down, but the damage was done.

She lashed out, her fist connecting with his chest with a force that made him stumble back, the shock of the hit barely registering before she attacked again. “We were suffering, Sam! Every damn day!” Her voice was ragged with pain. “You didn’t even look for us. For a girl?! You abandoned your family for that?” Her chest heaved as the words came spilling out in desperate, frenzied bursts. “I was terrified, Sam! I thought we were going to die out there. You don’t get it. You don’t get it, do you?!”

Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing Y/N’s arms before she could strike Sam again, but her anger made her stronger than him in that moment.

“How could you do that to us?” Y/N screamed, her voice shaking. “We were alone. Alone in that place, surrounded by things that wanted to kill us every second. And you just... you just let us go, Sam. How dare you?”

Before Dean could step in again, Y/N's fists flying toward Sam’s chest with a force that had no place in the fragile, exhausted body she’d come back with. It was a frantic, desperate kind of attack—one fueled by pain, by betrayal. She slammed into him again, the punch landing square in his gut.

Sam stumbled back, wide-eyed, hands raised in defense. "Y/N, wait—"

"Shut up!" Y/N screamed, her voice breaking with the weight of everything she couldn’t keep inside. She swung again, but this time Dean was there, grabbing her around the waist before she could make contact. She struggled against him, kicking her legs, her breath hitching in sobs that she couldn’t control. “You left us! You left us for a random fucking girl! How dare you!”

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to keep her calm, his grip firm but not hurting her. He pulled her back against him, holding her against his chest as she kicked and screamed, the words coming out like raw, guttural cries. "Y/N, stop," he murmured in her ear, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Sam stood there, frozen, his mouth moving like he wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes were haunted, like he could barely stand to meet her gaze, but Y/N wasn’t giving him an inch. She pushed against Dean’s arms, writhing in his grip, her body still trembling with pent-up energy, the frustration pouring out of her.

"You—" Y/N sobbed, her voice breaking into the words that had been festering inside her since they’d realized they were trapped. “We needed you. We needed you to save us, Sam. You could’ve saved us.” Her words shook with pain, every syllable like a slap in the face. Dean pulled her into his chest, more forcefully this time. His own chest was tight, his eyes burning, but he couldn’t lose it like she had. He couldn’t let her spiral completely. He knew she was about to cross realities from purgatory and where she was in the moment now.

“Y/N, please,” Dean murmured into her ear, his voice gentle but firm as you whimpered against him. “I know. I know. I need you to breathe, okay?”

He said calmly, holding her tightly against him, even as she writhed in his arms, her body shaking with the full force of her emotional breakdown. Her breath came in quick, gasping sobs as she tried to break free from his hold.

“Stop, Y/N,” Dean said softly but firmly, his own voice raw with the same anger and hurt she was feeling. “You’re scaring yourself. Calm down for me, please.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop the tears that were now flooding her face, the hot rush of betrayal, the crushing weight of realizing that, in the end, she had been nothing compared to the life Sam had chosen for himself. “You didn’t even care enough to try to get us back.” She sobbed, her voice breaking.

Sam stood there, completely still, his face hollow with regret, guilt eating at him as he watched his sister unravel before him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t speak. How could he?

Dean glared at him, his eyes burning with anger, but it was a look that spoke volumes—this was Sam’s mistake, and now it was time to fix it.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he held her tight, feeling the heat of her rage and grief, her entire body vibrating with the tension that she couldn’t let go. His own chest tightened as he felt the overwhelming sense of betrayal rising in him too. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, not really—but now it was clear.

Y/N’s breath was ragged, her sobs coming in gasps as she buried her face against Dean’s chest. She couldn’t look at Sam anymore. She didn’t want to. “How could he leave us there?” She whispered brokenly, as if the question could somehow make sense of it all.

Dean’s gaze shot to Sam, who looked utterly devastated, his eyes full of regret, his posture stiff.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice dangerous in a way that only came out when he was pissed beyond belief. “What the hell, man? We’re standing here, barely alive, and you didn’t even try to get us back?” His voice cracked in frustration, his eyes never leaving his brother. “She’s right. We were fighting for our lives every damn day, and you—”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Sam snapped, his voice sharp, cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I didn’t know what to do! I—I couldn’t find you, Dean. I swear, I was—I was trying to figure out how to bring you back. But I didn’t even know where you were!” His hands fumbled in front of him, as if looking for something to grab onto. “I didn’t leave you. I just... I didn’t know how to get you back.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. She pulled herself from Dean’s arms, her face red with anger, tears still streaking down her cheeks as she stepped right up to Sam. “You didn’t try hard enough,” she spat, every word coated with venom. She couldn't look at him anymore.

Without a word, she turned and walked out the door, her footsteps uneven as she left the house behind. She needed air. She needed to be alone.

The cold hit her immediately, biting at her skin, but she didn't care. She sank down onto the front steps, her hands moving to her face as her chest tightened in a way she couldn’t control. Her body trembled, and she could barely keep her breath steady. Tears flowed freely now, a flood of emotion that she had been holding back since the moment they’d returned—since she’d realized that Sam, one of the last people she had always counted on, had left her behind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the sting of her tears would block out the storm inside her chest, but it didn’t help. Her body heaved with sobs, her head buried in her hands as the weight of everything crashed down on her.

Inside the house, the argument was escalating. Sam’s voice was muffled through the thin walls, but Y/N could still hear the frustration in his tone. Dean’s was louder, sharper, each word cutting deeper. It didn’t matter to her anymore. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear their voices arguing over her, over the past.

Her mind was reeling, spinning with thoughts she couldn’t quiet. She tried to take deep breaths, to pull herself together, but it was impossible. She thought she was past this—thought the terror of purgatory was a memory she could lock away. But it never worked that way, did it? The fear always came back.

It was too much. The memories, the sounds, the feeling of being trapped in purgatory, the constant fight for survival, for breath. The way the ground had never felt solid beneath her feet. The way everything was dark and endless, every corner hiding something dangerous, something that could kill her. The way she had felt like nothing, just a pawn in a game of survival, fighting against an unstoppable tide.

The panic gripped her, suffocating her, and suddenly, she was back there.

She couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, oppressive, like she was drowning. Her hands clutched at her sides, and she rocked back and forth on the cold steps, trying to ground herself, but she couldn’t. Her vision blurred with fresh tears, and her body shook uncontrollably. The memories were too vivid, too real.

Stay down. Keep quiet. They’re coming. Don’t let them hear you...

Please, please don’t let them find me. Please.

She was shaking, her whole body quaking with terror, her knees pulled up to her chest as she rocked on the steps, trying to hold onto something—anything—that would remind her she was safe now. But it wasn’t working. The fear, the panic, the terror—it was all too fresh. Too close.

Dean’s voice broke through the fog of her mind. “Y/N!”

It was sharp, desperate. His voice seemed to reach her from miles away, but it pulled her back, just a little. She could hear footsteps, loud and frantic now, coming closer, but she couldn’t stop herself from rocking. She couldn’t stop the tears that kept falling, couldn’t stop the fear from consuming her, from taking over every part of her.

“Y/N, hey, hey,” Dean’s voice was right next to her now. His hands were warm on her shoulders, his grip firm as he gently pulled her back from the edge, but she was too far gone.

Her breath came in short, frantic gasps, and she could feel her chest tightening, the air around her getting thinner and thinner. She wasn’t here, in this moment, with Dean and Sam. She was still stuck in purgatory, fighting for air, desperate, terrified.

Dean kneeled in front of her, his voice low, soothing as he tried to reach her. “Y/N.” His hands moved to her arms, trying to ground her, but she snapped her head up at the sound of his voice, her heart racing even faster than before. Without thinking, she jumped up from the steps, her chest heaving as panic exploded in her chest.

“No! No, Dean, we have to go!” She screamed, her eyes wide with terror. “We have to run! They’re coming! They’re going to get us!” Her voice broke on the words, each syllable filled with pure, unrelenting fear. She didn’t even realize she was trembling so violently. Her hands flew out in front of her as if to push him away, like somehow she could give him a running start ahead.

The frantic look in her eyes, the wildness in her movements—Dean froze for a split second, caught off guard by the intensity of her reaction. His body instinctively moved forward to close the distance, but his hands held up, trying to keep her from spiraling further.

“Hey, hey, wait,” Dean’s voice was calm, but his expression was one of disbelief, trying to understand what was happening. “Y/N, it’s okay. We’re safe.” He took another step toward her, his voice more urgent now. “You’re out. You’re with me. Nothing’s going to get us.”

But Y/N was beyond listening. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps, and her eyes were darting around as though she could see something that wasn’t there, her chest heaving with the intensity of her panic.

“No, no, no,” she repeated over and over, her voice growing higher, more desperate. “We have to go. We have to leave! They’re coming!” She took a stumbling step backward, her body jerking as she tried to run, to flee from something that wasn’t there.

Dean’s eyes widened, his heart aching at the sight of her. He could see the fear consuming her—he had seen it in purgatory, had watched her fight for control, but this... this was different. It was like she had been torn open, exposed to something she couldn’t escape. Something she couldn’t outrun.

“Y/N, hey, look at me!” Dean’s voice was firm now, the edge of panic creeping in, but he was trying to hold it together for her. “Look at me. You’re safe. We’re not in there anymore. We’re out, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t with him. She was still stuck, lost in purgatory in her mind, the same place she had been for so long. The place where the monsters were always coming.

She started to turn away from him, her whole body tensing as if preparing to run. She was shaking, every part of her rigid with fear. “No, Dean! They’re coming! We have to run!”

Dean moved in quickly, stepping forward and gently grabbing her arms, keeping her from retreating any further. “Y/N!” His voice was softer now, more insistent. “Y/N, listen to me.” He locked eyes with her, his hands tightening just enough to ground her without hurting her. “Look at me. You’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

But she was still shaking, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The echo of purgatory still felt real to her, the constant threat of death and danger clawing at her.

Her hands were shaking violently, and she finally collapsed into him, pressing her face into his chest, her breath ragged and broken.

"Dean," she whispered, voice hoarse with terror, "I can't... I can’t breathe. I can’t... I’m still there. I’m still... I can’t...” She gasped. “I’m still stuck there. I can’t get out.”

Dean’s heart broke at the sight of her. His voice was steady, despite the panic rising in his own chest. “I’m right here, Y/N. You’re out. You’re here. You’re with me. We’re okay.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop shaking. The memories were still fresh, the terror still suffocating. She felt like she was drowning all over again.

Dean’s voice grew firmer, pulling her focus back to him. “Look at me, Y/N. Focus. Breathe. In... out. Come on, just breathe with me. You’re not in there. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” He took a slow, deep breath, matching her frantic gasps with his calm, steady rhythm.

She tried to follow, her breath ragged, her chest tight. She couldn’t get it right, but Dean didn’t let up. He stayed there, holding her, guiding her, forcing her body to slow down.

“Just breathe, okay? You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice soft, but insistent.

Y/N’s body jerked, the fear still clawing at her, but slowly—so slowly—her breathing started to match his, each inhale and exhale a little steadier than the last. Her hands trembled in his grip, but she was listening now. She was trying.

The sound of Sam’s footsteps getting closer made Y/N flinch, her body tensing, but Dean’s grip tightened on her arms, grounding her back to him. “It’s Sam, it’s just Sam. Relax.” He reassured her. Sam hovered at the edge of the porch, his face pale, his eyes filled with guilt and regret as he watched his sister struggle. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was there, heavy, inescapable.

Dean shot him a look over his shoulder, his voice low but harsh. “This is your fault, Sam,” he growled, before turning his full attention back to Y/N.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as she clung to Dean, her body trembling less now, though the fear still lurked in the back of her mind. She was still shaking, but Dean’s steady presence was the only thing that made sense anymore. He was here, and that was all that mattered. Slowly, but surely, she felt herself coming back to the present, the overwhelming panic ebbing away.

“Come on,” Dean whispered, pulling her into his chest as she continued to shake. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re out of there.”

Sam stood quietly, watching them. He could barely look at her, barely look at Dean. The weight of his failure—the fact that he hadn’t been there, hadn’t even tried to find them—was too much to bear. His heart sank as he watched Dean take care of Y/N, the realization that he had caused this all too real.

But there was nothing Sam could say. Nothing that would fix this. He had lost his chance.

Dean kept his arms wrapped around Y/N, whispering soothing words as she finally began to calm, her sobs dying down into quiet sniffles. Her body still shook, but it wasn’t from panic anymore. It was from the aftermath of everything she had been through. Everything they had both been through. Everything that Sam could have helped them out of, but didn’t.

The Impala’s engine hummed as it rolled down the empty road, the familiar sound a small comfort in the midst of everything that had just happened. The air inside the car was thick with tension, with so much unsaid between the three of them. Sam had been quiet since they left the house, his guilt weighing him down like an anchor, and Dean—Dean was focused on driving, his jaw set, his eyes straight ahead, trying to keep his mind from spiraling back to the mess they were all still tangled in.

Y/N had fallen asleep in the back seat, her head against the window, the weight of the past few hours—hell, the past few years—finally pulling her into a deep, much-needed sleep. The tension in her body had finally subsided, but her breathing was still uneven, a subtle reminder of how much she was still struggling.

Dean’s gaze flickered in the rearview mirror every few moments, checking on her, but he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure if she’d wake up crying, or if she’d wake up terrified again, caught between two worlds—between purgatory and the life she used to know.

Sam was quiet beside him, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes trained on the passing road but clearly lost in thought. The silence stretched on until it was almost unbearable.

Dean knew Sam was probably wrestling with guilt, but he wasn’t sure if Sam even knew how to begin the conversation. Dean didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about purgatory, or the things they had seen, or the horrors they had lived through. But Sam needed answers. He needed to understand what had happened to their sister while they had been trapped there.

Finally, Sam broke the silence, his voice low but filled with regret. “Dean... I—I don’t even know where to start. But... I need to know what happened to her. What you guys went through.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as his jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Sam—he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to focus on the road, on anything but the memories that were clawing at him, threatening to pull him back into the nightmare.

But Sam needed to hear it. And as much as Dean wanted to protect her, as much as he didn’t want to relive the horrors of purgatory, he knew Sam needed to understand.

“Sam...” Dean’s voice was rough, the words caught in his throat. “You have no idea what it was like in there.”

Sam sat up straighter, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “I... I know I can’t understand. But I need to know what she went through. I need to know how bad it was for her. For both of you.”

Dean swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror again, looking at Y/N’s sleeping form, her face so peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure how to explain it—how to put into words what he had witnessed, what he had felt during the hellish time they had spent in purgatory.

Dean exhaled slowly, his voice thick with emotion. “It was... it was brutal, man. Every damn day, it was a fight. Not just for us—for her.” He swallowed again, trying to get the words out without cracking. “She wasn’t... she wasn’t the same when we first got there. She was strong. She’s always been strong. But being there, being hunted by monsters and being trapped like that... it changed her.”

Sam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know.

Dean’s eyes stayed focused on the road as he spoke, his voice growing quieter as the weight of his words began to settle in his chest. “I had to take care of her, Sam. I had to watch her fall apart. Every day. It wasn’t just the monsters. It wasn’t just fighting for survival. It was what that place did to her.” He paused, his voice cracking just a little as he relived the memory. “She was scared, Sam. Absolutely terrified. I could see it in her eyes. I could feel it, like a constant pressure. It was like... like she was losing herself every damn day.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, the guilt eating at him with every word. “I had no idea... I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“No,” Dean said sharply, his voice almost a growl. “You didn’t. Because you weren’t there. We were. We fought our asses off every damn day just to stay alive, and I had to hold her together, Sam. I had to keep her from falling apart, from losing herself completely. And some days...” Dean’s voice faltered for a second, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. “Some days, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. If I could keep her with me.”

Sam stayed silent, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, his chest tightening with the brutal reality of what Dean was saying. He knew it hadn’t been easy for them—he had felt that when he first reunited with them. The distance between them, the look in Y/N’s eyes, the way Dean had kept his focus on her, protective and unyielding.

Dean took a shaky breath, glancing back at Y/N again. “There were days when... when she just couldn’t. When she couldn’t fight anymore. She’d... she’d just sit there, curled up, shaking like she was about to break in half. I don’t know if you can even imagine that, Sam. Watching her go through that. Watching her become some terrorized with no hope.”

Sam’s throat tightened, guilt flooding him as he tried to picture it. He couldn’t. It was too much. He had been so consumed by his own guilt, his own demons, that he hadn’t even considered how badly purgatory had affected his siblings. He hadn’t realized how much she had been suffering.

Dean shook his head, his voice softening as he continued. “It was the silence that did it. The constant, crushing silence. The emptiness of the place. And the monsters, the ones that never stopped hunting us. We didn’t have a moment’s peace. I don’t even know how we made it through.”

“You keep saying she was scared, but... what else? What did it do to her? How much of her did it take?” Sam’s voice cracked, his eyes searching his brother’s face for some kind of answer.

Dean swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror again, where Y/N’s pale face was pressed against the window, her body still trembling slightly in her sleep. “It took everything, Sam. Every part of her. Every day was like living in a nightmare that never ended. She started to shut down after a while, like... like she didn’t think she could survive anymore. I had to pull her out of it. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. And that place—that place... it never let up. It broke her, Sam. It broke me too.”

Dean’s voice caught in his throat again, and for a moment, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the Impala as it rolled down the road.

“Purgatory’s not just a place, Sam. It’s a damn mindfuck. It gets into your head. It turns you into something you don’t even recognize anymore. You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly hunted. To never feel safe, to always wonder if you’re going to die that day.” Dean’s eyes were haunted now, his voice distant as he spoke, remembering those long, dark months. “I had to keep her close. I protected her with everything in me and it wasn’t even enough.”

Sam could hear the strain in Dean’s voice, the exhaustion that had never really left him. The weight of the responsibility. The fear.

“And now...” Dean’s voice softened again, almost to a whisper, “now she’s back, but she’s not the same. The things we went through, the things she went through... they’re with her. She’s not gonna be able to shake it off. You can’t just forget something like that. Her PTSD—it’s gonna be bad, Sam. She’s gonna be jumpy. She’s gonna be scared. She’s gonna feel like she’s still there. And I... I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know how to make her feel safe again because I know I barely feel safe.”

Sam’s heart broke as he absorbed the weight of his brother’s words. He had left them in purgatory. He had abandoned them, and now he was faced with the consequences of his failure. His siblings trauma was something they couldn’t fix alone, and Sam was going to have to help them. He had to make up for the time he had lost.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I should’ve searched harder.”

Dean didn’t respond right away, his eyes focused on the road ahead. But after a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice tight, but filled with an unspoken promise. “Yeah you should have…” Dean trailed off, clenching his jaw. “We’ll figure it out, Sam. But it’s gonna take time. For all of us.”

And in the backseat, Y/N stirred slightly in her sleep, her breath still shaky but a little more even now, her body curled up tightly as if she was still trying to protect herself from the memories that haunted her. Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened and he focused his attention back to the road.

The hours passed, the road stretching out in front of them as they made their way towards the nearest motel. The car was quiet, save for the occasional sound of tires humming on the asphalt and the soft breath of Y/N as she slept in the back seat. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, checking on her every few minutes, but for the most part, his focus was on the road. His mind was still racing, replaying everything that had happened in the past few days, in the past few months, hell, the last few years. Every part of him was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. But it was the ache in his chest, the fear for his sister, that was the hardest to shake.

Sam had fallen quiet next to him, his eyes lost somewhere in the dark night outside the window, probably replaying their conversation from earlier. There was guilt in his posture—his slumped shoulders, the way his hands were tense on his knees, like he was trying to keep himself together. Dean didn’t know what to say to him anymore, not with the weight of their shared history, the things that had gone unsaid for so long.

The Impala’s engine purred on, the miles slipping away, but the tension in the car was almost suffocating. Dean didn’t want to think about purgatory anymore. He didn’t want to think about how it had broken Y/N. He just wanted to move on. But there was no moving on. Not yet. Not when the scars were still so fresh, when they were all so damn broken.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a small motel on the outskirts of town. It was a place he had passed by countless times, a quiet spot that they had used more than once in the past. The neon sign flickered in the dark, casting an eerie glow over the place, but it was far enough away from the main road that they wouldn’t be disturbed. Dean turned to look at Sam, who was still sitting there, staring out the window.

“You good?” Dean asked, his voice flat but laced with an edge of concern.

Sam nodded slowly but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Dean didn’t press him. Instead, he pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned to the back seat, checking on Y/N. She hadn’t stirred since the car had stopped, but her breathing was still unsteady, a telltale sign that the trauma was still haunting her even in her sleep.Her head rested against the window, her face pale, her body curled into the seat like she was trying to protect herself from something that wasn’t there anymore.

Dean didn’t want to wake her. Not yet. He knew the toll purgatory had taken on her, and he didn’t want to rush her back into reality too quickly. He wanted her to rest, to feel safe, but part of him—part of him that was always on alert—was worried about what would happen if she woke up in the wrong moment.

Sam, however, didn’t see the concern in his brother’s eyes as he pulled himself from the car and moved toward the back of the Impala. Dean’s gaze flickered to him, his voice low and filled with warning.

“Sam, wait. Let her sleep. She—”

But Sam was already leaning into the backseat, his hand gently tapping Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, hey, we’re here.”

Dean’s eyes widened in alarm. He knew it was too soon. Too soon for Sam to try and wake her up like this. Her instincts, sharpened to a razor’s edge during their time in purgatory, would kick in. She wasn’t going to wake up slowly, not after everything she’d been through. But it was already too late.

Y/N's body jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her eyes snapping open in a split second, wide with terror. She immediately went rigid, every muscle in her body locking as her eyes darted around, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion flooding her mind. The fleeting fragments of reality and nightmare twisted in her head. Purgatory had taught her to fight first, think later. The moment her gaze landed on Sam, it was like everything she had suffered, every monster she had fought, every split second of terror, came crashing back all at once.

“No!” Y/N screamed, her voice raw with panic and desperation. She didn’t recognize him, didn’t see Sam as her brother—only a threat, an enemy, someone to fight against. Her arm shot out before Sam could react, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back with an unexpected force. She swung with wild, panicked energy, not knowing where she was or who she was fighting.

“Sam! Get back!” Dean shouted, but it was already too late. Y/N’s instincts had already kicked in, and her body was moving like a well-trained soldier, every movement a flashback to purgatory’s brutal reality.

Sam stumbled back, narrowly avoiding her fist as she lunged again, her face twisted in fear and anger. “Get off me! Get away!” she shouted, her words incoherent, her mind still trapped in the hellish cycle of survival. She wasn’t seeing Sam—she was seeing the monsters, the endless nightmarish beasts from purgatory that had hounded her every single day. The creatures that never stopped hunting her.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice cracked with urgency as he reached for her, trying to grab her arms. “It’s me! It’s Dean! You’re safe, okay? You’re safe now!” But his words barely cut through the fog of fear and confusion clouding her mind.

Y/N thrashed against his grip, her knees buckling beneath her as she dropped into a crouch, her hands clawing at the air like she was still trying to fight off something invisible. “No! No! They’re coming!” she screamed, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her whole body trembled as she curled into herself, rocking slightly as if trying to shield herself from an attack that wasn’t there.

Dean was trying to hold onto her, but she was so damn fast, her survival instincts too well-developed. “Y/N!” Dean’s voice broke, his hands desperately grabbing her wrists as he pulled her into his chest, his voice low and soothing, though his heart was pounding in his throat. “It’s okay. We’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. It’s just me, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t listening. Her chest was heaving as if she couldn’t catch her breath, her eyes wide, darting around the room as she continued to struggle in Dean’s arms. “No! No, please!” she sobbed, the sound tearing at Dean’s heart. “They’re here. They’re going to get me. Dean, we have to run. We can’t stay here. We can’t! They’ll find us—” Her voice cracked, desperate, pleading, as her eyes darted around, scanning the parking lot like she was expecting the next threat to come barreling toward them. But it wasn’t there. It was never going to come. Not in the real world. Not anymore.

Dean tightened his grip on her, holding her still, trying to calm her. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re not in that place anymore. It’s over. It’s over, baby.”

Y/N’s body trembled against his chest as she tried to push away from him, still disoriented, still lost in the trauma of what had happened. Her mind flashing with images of all the horrors she had endured there. Dean tried again to hold her, to ground her. He was strong—too strong for her to escape—and yet it felt like she was slipping through his fingers. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? You’re safe, Y/N. You’re with me. We’re safe.” His voice was tight with emotion as he held her close, trying to block out the terror that had overtaken her. “You’re home. You’re not there anymore.”

But Y/N’s body continued to tremble, her mind still fighting to keep her from the monsters that lived in the dark corners of her mind. Her fists shook, her nails digging into Dean’s shirt as she struggled to get away, her mind not yet fully realizing she was safe.

Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper as he stroked her hair, his hand gently pulling her back into him, keeping her close so she couldn’t hurt herself or anyone else. “It’s over, Y/N. You’re safe. You’re home. I won’t let anything happen to you. No one’s coming. It’s just me and Sam, alright?”

Then, a flicker of recognition.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N froze, her body taut with tension.

Sam.

Sam was there.

She looked around with wild eyes until they locked onto the face in front of her. Sam, standing a few feet away, his face still full of shock and guilt, his body frozen in place. She stared at him, as if trying to make sense of something that had been lost.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The screaming, the terror, the fight for survival—all of it vanished in that single moment when she saw him. Sam.

Her mouth trembled as she breathed out his name, barely above a whisper. “Sammy?”

She blinked. Once, twice. The recognition was slow, but it hit her like a wave crashing over the shore. Sam. Sam was here. And if Sam was here... it could only mean one thing.

She wasn’t in purgatory anymore.

The realization hit her with such force that it almost knocked the breath out of her. She wasn’t surrounded by darkness, by monsters, by the endless fight. She wasn’t there anymore. She was... home. She was safe.

Sam wasn’t a shadow in the dark. He wasn’t one of the creatures that had hounded her every day. He wasn’t part of the nightmare. Her chest rose and fell with a jagged breath as her whole body went still.

“Sammy... you’re here.” Her voice was shaky, still wrapped in disbelief. Her eyes scanned his face, her mind still reeling, but it was there. That final piece of clarity.

Dean didn’t know if it was the fact that Sam was real, or if it was the way her body slowly began to relax against him, but the tension in Y/N’s form started to ebb. She was still trembling, still disoriented, but the fight was gone. Her mind had finally caught up to the present.

The grip of fear around her heart started to loosen.

Sam stood frozen, his body still, but his eyes softened when she called out for him and he understood. He saw that he was her pull to reality. That if he were around, it was her reminder that she was out. That she was safe.

"I’m here, Y/N." Sam said, his voice cracking, full of love and guilt. "I’m so sorry. I’m here now. You’re safe. I promise, sweetheart."

He took a step closer, hesitant, unsure if he should reach out, if he should even get too close. But he had to try. His voice trembled as he spoke again, his words coming in a rush of guilt, sorrow, and raw emotion. "I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I should’ve found you, I should’ve—"

But before he could finish, Y/N’s body moved with an almost primal urgency. Without thinking, she lunged forward, her hands reaching for him. And then, she was in his arms.

Sam barely had time to register it, his own arms wrapping around her as she buried her face in his chest. Y/N was shaking, her whole body convulsing with sobs, but she held on so tight, like if she let go, the nightmare would come crashing back. Sam held her just as fiercely, his own heart pounding as he whispered, over and over, "I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now."

For a long moment, there were no words. Just the sound of Y/N's breath ragged against Sam’s chest, her body shaking in his arms. Sam didn’t know what else to say. He had failed her, failed Dean and the weight of that failure hung heavy in the air between them. But for now, he could do this. He could hold her, let her know that he was there. That he was there for both of them.

"I’m so sorry.” Sam said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could’ve been there with you. I would’ve traded places with you in an instant. With both of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there."

Y/N's hands clutched at him desperately, her voice muffled in his shirt as she finally spoke. "I—I don’t want to be angry at you. I can’t..." Her voice trailed off, as if she didn’t have the strength to hold on to that anger anymore. It was just too much. Too much fear, too much pain, too much everything.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, but she pushed it down. "Sam... I—" Her voice faltered, but she steadied herself. "I don’t have the strength to be angry anymore. I—I was terrified, Sam. Every second.... but I can’t hold onto this anger. I just—I can’t."

Sam’s eyes welled with tears as he pressed his forehead to hers, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry, Y/N and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right. I’ll be here for you. For both of you. I promise."

Y/N’s arms tightened around him, and Sam felt a flicker of hope stir in his chest. He wasn’t sure if things would ever be the same between them, if they could ever get back what had been lost. But he would spend every damn day trying to make it right, trying to help her heal. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

"I forgive you," Y/N whispered, her voice so quiet, so raw.

Dean watched them, his arms crossed as he stood a few feet away, letting the siblings have their moment. His heart ached for all of you. The pain, the suffering—they had all been through too much. But seeing Y/N in Sam’s arms, finally finding some semblance of peace, that was something.

He could see it now. The crack in the wall, the first real sign that they could begin to heal.

Dean nodded to himself, taking a deep breath as he walked closer to them. "You hear that, Y/N?" His voice was soft, but the weight of it was clear. "We’re all in this together. Always. We’re not alone in this."

Y/N looked up at her brothers—at Sam, still holding her, and Dean, standing behind them, his eyes full of love and protection. She felt a weight lift from her chest, not completely, but enough to know that they had her.

She finally let out a shaky breath, the kind of breath that carried a small but meaningful relief. "Yeah," she whispered, a tremor still in her voice, but something else too—something fragile, but real. "Together."

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, it felt like it might just be enough.

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 1

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Inspired by @beckyninja ' Titus x Reader fics and @hatsubara-8chan' s Titus x Theia art. Thank you guys for giving me the confidence and inspiration to finally do something with my own oc :)

I know x reader stuff is my forte, but it would mean so much if you guys checked this series out too. It was super fun to write and I think you all will really enjoy it.

As always, apologies for grammar and spelling mistakes. While this part is sfw, some future parts will be nsfw but I'll note that up the top. Typical 40kness and violence, also I've just gone and made up an entire og backstory for Gadriel lol.

Hope you guys enjoy! And thank you so much for reading xoxox

Love, Memestrider :)

Ellicent sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his collar and staining it dark. She'd been like this for ages; she didn't know how many, but it was enough that the grimy windows in front of them had darkened to black slabs with the disappearance of the sun and rolling in of night. She felt embarrassed by it. Ashamed. Kids down here lost their parents all the time, and her Dad had been sick for a long time. Knowing that should've made it easier, but it didn't. Her heart was still shattered. Her soul split in half by a stake of grief and anguish. She sobbed like a baby. Like a weak thing that the Underhive should and would eat alive.

But he didn't seem to mind.

His grip was as gentle as it was tight, as if he were trying to wring the sadness from her very being. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, let her hide her face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he said. He'd said it many times before, but this one was no less genuine or earnest. Ellicent's throat ached too much to reply, so she only shook her head.Tentatively, he drew away from her. Not enough to break their embrace all together: just enough so he could look her in the eye.

"You know we have to leave him here, right?"

Swallowing another sob, Ellicent nodded. Down here, there were no medical services or law enforcement to collect the dead: there were only scavengers and cannibals. They'd find her Dad eventually, but if they kept her Dad in here, he might stay safe for a little longer.

"I know," she said. "But... but what about me? I can't- I can't stay here."He answered without hesitation or thought. "You can come stay with me."

"Wha- what?"

"I know Mum will let you. And if she says no, I'll make her. But she won't say no. I know she won't."

A dozen questions sat on Ellicent's tongue, but she was either too tired or too sad to ask. Sinking into his arms again, she wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Okay."

"It'll be okay, Ellie. I promise, it'll be okay." Ellicent closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Gadriel," she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Remind me," Chairon says, using the box so he could be heard over the rumble of the Thunderhawk. "Which xenos is our target supposedly allied with?"

Gadriel checks the slide of his bolter for the umpteenth time.

"The dark eldar," he replies. "Specifically, the pack that has made this planet their favoured hunting ground."

"What about the necrons?"

"What about them?"

"Did the briefing not state that Severus' gang often makes use of necron technology?"

"It did," Gadriel says. "But that technology is stolen. Pillaged from only the Emperor knows where."

Through the static of the vox, Chairon's scowl sounds particularly vicious. "Damned heretics. Have they no pride or dignity to speak of at all?"

"Of course they don't."

Gadriel looks to his left where Titus sits beside him. Like his and Chairon's, the face of the lieutenant's helm is cast as a mouthless, red eyed glare. Somehow, though, Titus' glare appears even more intimidating.

"Creatures like Severus are among the worst kind of heretic," he says. "Chaos can corrupt the unwilling. Mutancy can affect the innocent. But to work with the alien? To turn one's back on their own species? That is a choice. One that is made willingly, without coercion or subterfuge.

"An uneasy silence settles across the vox. For a long while, the only sound comes from the roar of the Thunderhawk's engine and the collective of the three Astartes' power armour. Eventually, Gadriel is the one to break it by clearing his throat.

"Forgive me for saying so, sir. But, it sounds as if you speak from experience."

Titus turns his head towards Gadriel. The dim bar lights lining the Thunderhawk's interior reflect sharply off the golden laurels welded around his helmet's crown.

"You remain as sharp as ever, brother," the lieutenant remarks. "And you would be right. Severus' gang is not the first group of xenos collaborators I've encountered."

He pauses for a second. "As I said, they are the worst kind of heretic. Worse than political dissenters or atheist zealots. By a long, long way."

Silence falls once more. This time, however, it is morose. Sober. Behind his helmet, Gadriel chews the inside of his cheek in thought. It's a habit he's had ever since he was a boy- one so innate, not even Astartes re-education could snuff it out. He's reviewing the mission briefing in his head. Specifically, the intelligence regarding their target. Archibald Severus- a rogue trader turned planetary crime lord. Typically, such a man would not be a concern for the Astartes- such things were usually handled by the Inquisition alone. But Severus has been particularly problematic; almost all of his people wield necron weaponry and his Drukhari allies have all but brought the planet to its knees. Also, the Ultramarines just so happened to be in the area. Fortunate for the people who live here, though not so much for Severus. The last thought amuses Gadriel enough to make him smile. Yes. Very unfortunate for him indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Thunderhawk drops the fireteam amidst the exterior district of a hive city. The street upon which it lands is wide, dusty and long abandoned. Blade and plasma scars line the walls of every surrounding building, reminders of the countless dark eldar attacks the city has endured over Severus' tenure here. The Astartes quite literally hit the ground running. Bolters in hand, their objective's location marker pulsing in the top centre of their heads up displays. The objective in question is a warehouse- once a hangar for Imperial Guard aircraft, now just as abandoned as the rest of the district. Severus will supposedly be there, though the exact reasons why are unknown. But that doesn't matter to Gadriel. If the man is there, he will die. As surely as the blood of the Primarch flows through Gadriel's veins, that traitorous xenos-sellout will die.

The warehouse in question emerges from around the next street corner. It looks like a giant concrete brick dropped in the middle of the district block. Gadriel falls in behind his brothers, covering the rear while Titus leads the way and Chairon covers their flanks from the centre. But the area is empty. As if the entire district had been evacuated or disappeared. Considering what this place has endured over the last several years, that is probably not far from the truth.

"Gadriel," Titus says over the vox, breaking Gadriel's reverie. "Auspex."

The team halts against a nearby wall. The warehouse is now directly in front of them. Moving in perfect unison, Gadriel switches position with Chairon. He sidles up beside Titus, takes one hand off his bolter to extract the Auspex scanner clasped to his belt. He holds the device up and studies the screen for several seconds.

"Motion detected," he reports. "Ten hostiles, one hundred and fifty metres ahead. Baseline, by the sizes of the pulse."

"One must be Severus," Chairon says.

"Hopefully," Gadriel replies.

"But not certainly," Titus says. The lieutenant says nothing more, but Gadriel hears his unspoken order nonetheless: maintain your guard.

Despite their size and weight, the Astartes move like panthers on the prowl. As it is still light outside, they stick to the shadows where they can. Reaching one of the warehouse's walls, the fireteam lines up, Gadriel in front with time with Titus and Chairon covering him.

"We will breach the wall here," Titus says. "Overwhelm them with speed and surprise."

Chairon and Gadriel both acknowledge the order with a curt "yes sir". Internally, however, Gadriel is somewhat amused by Titus' choice in tactics. *One would be forgiven for thinking we were White Scars. All we're missing are the jet bikes.*

Chairon moves in between his brothers. He holster his bolter to his hip before reaching for his belt and extracting a fist-sized breaching charge. He plants the explosive on the wall, primes it with a button press, then motions for Titus and Gadriel to stand clear. Gadriel crouches down on one knee. His secondary heart joins his primary in beating, flooding his body with adrenaline. He looks between his brothers. Both give him nods of acknowledgement. Chairon touches his forearm, ready to activate the charge. As his fingertip brushes the button, however, Gadriel's Auspex let's out a chime.

"Hold," Gadriel says before pulling up the scanner. He furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"What is it?" Titus asks.

"The Auspex has changed. All but one of the pulses have vanished."

"Vanished?" Chairon asks.

"That's what I said."

"But how?"

"I do not know."

"It matters not," Titus growls. "Chairon, blow the charge n-"

Before he can finish giving the order, the wall explodes on its own.

The shockwave slams into Gadriel with the force of a meteorite. It throws him backward, knocking him off his feet, sending him rolling over his side before landing on flat on his front. All three of his lungs are emptied of air and his ears ring as if glass were being shattered inside his skull. Gadriel ignores it all. Recovering his footing with staggering ease before raising his bolter in the direction of the enemy.

Only he can see nothing. Just the charred concrete debris at his feet and a wall of thick black smoke. Even through his helmet's filters, the smell of it is choking. Like the polluted air of an Underhive amplified and condensed. Gadriel clenches his jaw.

A gas grenade. Only it exploded with the force of a breaching charge.

It has to be Severus. He must have known they were coming, that they were there. Gadriel curses to himself.

We were too loud. Too forward. Not cautious enough...

"Brothers! Status!" Titus' voice crackles over the vox. Gadriel whips around to try and find the lieutenant, but the damned smoke is too opaque. "Alive and unharmed," Gadriel hisses. "But can't see a damn thing."

"Acknowledged." By contrast, Titus' voice is calm and level. "Chairon? What's your status?"

No reply. A fury like fire ignites in Gadriel's chest. "Brother!" he shouts. "Are you there? Tell us where you are!"

A flash of light catches his peripheral vision. Gadriel spins to face it, snapping his bolter sights up as he does. It's small, but sustained, growing in luminosity with every second. But that isn't what makes Gadriel's breath hitch. It's the colour. A shocking, neon green. Too vivid to be natural, too bright to be electronic.

Gadriel's eyes widen. His thoughts scream a single, terrible name.

Necrons.

With an plasmic screech, the particle beam blazes towards him. It aims for his chest, right over his primary heart. Gadriel manages to twist out of the way in time, but not before the beams edge grazes the top of the aquillia on his breastplate. Gadriel aims his bolter in the direction the green light, only for it to vanish as he opens fire.

"Contact!" he shouts down the vox to Titus. "Necron weaponry confirmed!"

The light reappears on his left. Much closer than before. Gadriel fires upon it and he hears his bolter round sing as they slam into alien metal. He dive-rolls to the side, anticipating another particle beam. But no such shot comes. Instead, the light swells. Growing from a dot to a long, curved streak.

"Throne!" Gadriel hisses. Throwing his bolter into the holster on his thigh, he draws his power sword. Just in time to parry the crackling, green energy blade that comes careening towards his head. Both weapons spark and hiss when they make contact. Faster than a blinking eye, Gadriel surges forwards to slash at the arm holding the necron blade. But his opponent is quicker. Smoke swirling about them, they duck his attack before launching a kick at his knee. Pain spikes through Gadriel's leg and he feels his balance slip. It surprises him. There aren't many things that can kick out an armoured Astartes' knee.

A necron warrior, though, is definately one of them.

The energy blade comes for his head again. Gadriel throws his chin up to avoid it, but in the process looses what little balance he has left. He lands on his back hard, grunting as the last of the air in his lungs is forced out by the impact. In the same instant, his opponent is on top of him. Erupting from the smoke like a daemon from the Warp pinning him down by crouching on his breastplate.

Now close enough to see them through the smoke, Gadriel lays eyes on his attacker for the first time. What he sees, he can only describe as abominable. At first glance, they are human- female, from her shape and build- clad in tattered, studded leather characteristic of those from an Underhive. Her hair is a stunning shade of scarlet and she has it up in a pony tail so long it flows behind her like a cape of ribbons. But that is where all semblance of her humanity ends. Instead of a left arm, she has a robotic appendage, the clawed, green-veined forelimb of a necron warrior, with a green plasma blade bursting from its knuckles. The same is true of her right leg, the foot of which is pressed savagely into Gadriel's chest, strong enough to keep the Astartes pinned. A necron rifle- the source of the particle beams, surely- hangs from a strap looped across her back.

Hatred contorts Gadriel's face into a snarl. Abandoning his power sword he reaches for his bolter, which is still holstered to his thigh. Wrenching the weapon free, he throws it up just as the cyborg-abomination above him raises her energy blade. Her face, too, is twisted into a snarl.

Time suddenly slows. Gadriel's finger stops shy of the trigger.

Her face...

Hatred turns to confusion turn to shock. His thoughts are a racing, jumbled mess. His mouth opens without him realising and he hears his own voice. It speaks a name he hasn't heard in over fifty years.

"... Ellie?"

The cyborg freezes. The snarl on her lips dies.

"G- Gadriel?"

Both of Gadriel's hearts stop. His mind is simultaneously paralysed and raging like a warpstorm. His bolter falls from his hand, clattering off his breastplate to land beside him. Gadriel doesn't even notice.

"Sergeant!" a voice bellows over the vox.

Sparks suddenly burst from the woman's back. As quickly as it had vanished her snarl returns. Leaping off Gadriel, she whips around. Her energy blade retracts into her arm and she reaches for her rifle. Gadriel turns his head to see Titus charging for them with his bolter raised.

The woman hesitates. Glances at Gadriel. Behind his visor, Gadriel meets her gaze. His eyes become wide and watery.

It can't be.

More of Titus' rounds slam into her, this time pinging off her necronian arm. She staggers backward, dropping her rifle so it's swinging limp against her hip. Another moment of hesitation. Gadriel opens his mouth to call her name again. But before the word can leave his lips, she's moving again. Turning her back and vanishing into the smoke screen. When it finally fades, there is no sign of her. Not even a drop of blood.

Gadriel swallow thickly. A lump has formed in his throat, large enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"Brother!" Titus clasps his arm, hauling Gadriel up into a sitting position. "Are you alright? Are you wounded?"

Gadriel says nothing. He doesn't remember how to speak. Nor can he even see his brother kneeling beside him. The only thing his mind can see is her. The day her father died. The day on the rooftop. The night they had spent together in her bed.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I-"

"Brother?" The concern in Titus' voice is palpable now. "Gadriel. Can you hear me?"

Gadriel finally looks at the lieutenant. He nods, but still refuses to speak. He doesn't trust himself to. He's afraid that if he did, he might start to weep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That's it! I hope you liked it! The first part of any story is always kinda slow, since you gotta set everything up, but I tried my best to keep things moving fast-like.

Thank you again for reading xoxoxoxo

Part 2 will be up in a few days probably. Hopefully I'll see you all then :)

Update: pssst, you can read part 2 here!

Tag list: @yurihasurunbara @beckyninja @nereidof40k @hatsubara-8chan @moodymisty @solspina @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @wolf-feathers12 @egrets-not-regrets

[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament Round 2

Propaganda under the cut!

Towen:

"'they're like if bi4bi people were sad. owen is a classic case of "my one true love died because there was an alien in her brain so now i pick up men and women at clubs but can't commit myself to loving again" while tosh is more "i had a traumatic childhood but now im in a genuinely good place in my life and think my coworkers really cute even though he's an utter twat" my girl spends sooo long pining for him. but she does not believe in her ability to be loved because the last woman she dated was an alien with ulterior motives and the last man she liked was frozen alive and woken up to fulfill a time loop. also the last woman owen dated was from the 1950s but got sucked through a time rift and he was really sad about that. and honestly i COULD go into why the first woman he's liked was one who he knew would leave him and that's why he felt safe enough to fall in love but i digress. you see when owen dies, he's brought back temporarily and tosh confesses her love because it's her last chance. WRONG actually he's back for good. except he can't breathe or heal or whatever and he's possessed by death itself but that's irrelevant. what's relevant is that he's all like "I know you only said that because I was dead" even tho he's stupid and has interpreted every date she asked him on as a work thing. but then in the FINALE 💔💔 he dies again for real this time. owen is trying to stop a nuclear meltdown initiated by this guy john but he doesn't know what he's doing so he calls tosh to guide him through it bc she's their tech genius. but while she's helping john shows up and shoots her and they don't stop the meltdown in time and they both know they're dying but neither of them can stop it. tosh pretends she's fine but owen is having a breakdown and she just calms him down. and they talk about each other and their memories and he's sorry he didn't realise she loved him and they never got that date and it is VERY SAD 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 and then they both die"

Janice and Melina:

No propaganda submitted :(

[xandoria]

Penelope is Spartan

An overanalyzing of 'Would you Fall in Love with Me' from someone fascinated by the more domestic aspects of Sparta.

Something that I haven't seen Epic fans talking about is the fact Penelope is Spartan. They talk about the war effort, and how sometimes, a Spartan would kill a lover's enemies as an expression of love. They talk about Sparta's efficiency in battle and how Penelope could defend herself if necessary. But they don't talk about the other aspect of Sparta.

Penelope would have had an extensive education like most Spartan women, and she would have seen what happens when soldiers come home. Young girls were often the caretakers of physically able-bodied but mentally unwell soldiers who had just returned from the wars. She would have seen the night terrors, the shell-shocked, the flashbacks. The violent outbursts towards even family followed by the guilt when they return from the war in their mind. She would have seen the afterwards of war firsthand.

In 'Would you Fall in Love with Me Again?', Penelope is seeing her husband come home, haunted by things he did on the journey home, decisions he had to make in the Trojan War, the final screams of his crew and enemies alike. She knows he is different in spirit and body, but she also knows the horrors of war do not change who you are at heart if you are strong (Spartan belief, not my own).

His question is not a glorified 'would you still love me if I was a worm?' It is a beg for her to love him as a monster, because he truly believes he is a monster. Penelope doesn't see the monster. She sees her husband hurting and lashing out because while he was as prepared for what the war would do as someone could, no one could have been prepared for the journey he experienced coming home.

She sees her husband who has watched everyone he knew and loved die. Who lost their mother (and just found out according to Penelope). Whose son is over 20 years old, who he never got to see grow up. Who came home to find himself disrespected and betrayed by people he trusted to keep his kingdom, wife, and son safe: came home to another battlefield. His question is more like 'Is this another battle I must face to come back to you?'

But Odysseus has never been moved by words alone, and she knows from experience just telling someone the 'war is over' is not enough to ground them in reality. So she poses him a question for herself and him. 'Would you take our wedding bed away?' She knows it's impossible without destroying their bed, without destroying a symbol of their love. If he would do such a thing, he truly is not her husband: the war had damaged him too much, and she could not bear to face that battle, because it would be impossible to win.

But he doesn't try. He starts breaking down, getting angry at the mere thought of her asking him to do such a wicked act in his eyes. That is their love she is asking him to destroy. Penelope can work with anger: she's been toying with suitors for 20 years at this point and likely had to deescalate situations many times herself. And she knows her husband in ways he has forgotten he exists.

She matches his anger. She shouts right back at him, snapping him out of the spiral his mind is going through at the thought of her rejection, because to him, it was a rejection of his return. He is reeling from being tricked, because it was a trick. It has been 20 years: he remembered his wife was clever, but not how much cleverer she was then him.

She's saying 'you have committed acts of war, your hands soiled by blood I cannot imagine. But I do not love your hands on their own. I do not love the monster in your eyes alone, but your soul that remains full of love for me. Your hands have committed atrocities in the name of our love and returning home, your eyes' monster roars for me. No amount of anger, time, nor the gods themselves will take you from me.'

TLDR: Penelope has experiences with PTSD from warfare, and she won't let trauma keep her husband away from her.

[sundrop-writes]

Trouble Is...

Thomas (The Maze Runner) x Fem!Reader

All that I know is I just can’t say ‘no’ to you,

Funny how things never change.

All that I wanted was just to get over you.

Trouble is - I can’t find a way.

You’re part of me.

Trouble Is - you’re part of me.

Summary:

Now out of The Maze, everyone is enjoying their newfound sense of safety. Everyone except for Thomas.

He can’t enjoy the soft beds or the clean clothes or the food, because he’s too worried about you. You’re quarantined off somewhere else (presumably with other girls), and he hasn't seen you in days.

When he finally sees you, he’s too thankful to question why the two of you are put in a room alone together. Too thankful to question the mysterious smoke that’s pumped into the room. Too thankful to question why the door is locked.

Thomas (TMR) x Fem!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Sex Pollen. Set during The Scorch Trials. 

Word Count: 7,900

The Maze Runner Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warning that any and all TMR fics I write will be based on the movies and not the books, so any lore inaccuracies can be blamed on that; also this is a YA series, but DoB was in his 20s when he played Thomas, so for our purpose, these characters are aged up to at least 19 or 20; often sex pollen comes with a dubcon warning, but I’m not sure that applies here - these characters have a great deal of pre-existing affection for each other (I might even go so far as to say that they are in love), and they would have intensely enthusiastic consent, even without chemical enhancement; the reader does have some mental hesitation when she feels the pollen taking effect, but it’s not because she doesn’t want to have sex with Thomas, it’s because of PTSD from WCKD and feeling suspicious towards them (and when Thomas assures her that he will ‘take care of her’, she enthusiastically consents to having sex); warnings for unethical science because our characters do not know that they are part of a science experiment and have not consented to have these chemicals used on them (but that is just the canon of WCKD); the reader character has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; this fic DOES USE Y/N; this fic uses the beautiful age old trope that the reader character was the only girl in The Maze; mentions of the mental and emotional effects of isolation - the reader has been isolated from everyone else since leaving The Maze and Thomas is the first of her friends that she sees in days; this is mostly just smut with very little plot; because of the canon, both characters have had their memories erased and theoretically might be virgins or might not be virgins (yes, in the book, they were put into the Maze as ‘children’, but as I said, for my purposes, everyone is aged up) - so I am not explicitly stating if this is their first sexual experience or not, but this is their first sexual experience as a couple/first sexual experience with each other; as mentioned before, the main point of this is sex pollen - in the form of a mysterious sci-fi chemical compound that is injected into a locked room by WCKD as a part of a random experiment; scent kink - Thomas loves the way Reader smells (and has since long before being dosed with sex pollen); orgasm from clit stimulation through clothing; oral sex - reader receiving; hair pulling - Thomas receiving; unprotected penis in vagina sex; there is NO breeding kink here (the characters aren’t motivated or turned on by the idea of having a baby); there is creampie kink - Thomas does not pull out, and the characters are turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her; Thomas is very possessive in this fic (but it’s almost unconscious, as a need to keep the reader safe, not in a jealous or romantic way); cockwarming - they fall sleeping while Thomas’s cock is still inside of the reader; the ending is slightly bittersweet (it’s implied that the reader is kidnapped/hurt by WCKD, but not explicitly stated). I believe that’s all for this short fic.

A/N: I am genuinely surprised that it took me this long to write and post a sex pollen fic, because it's absolutely one of my favourite tropes ever to read. WCKD is such a perfect backdrop for a sex pollen fic - shady unethical company that does weird science experiments - it's just too fitting. I have a few more sex pollen fics in my drafts that are yet to be finished, but I can definitely see myself writing a lot more of this trope because it was so much damn fun lmao. I will squeeze it into any fic universe that I possibly can. I love tropes that make things hornier than they should be - sex pollen, fuck or die, hate sex. All of it. Anyway - I hope you enjoy the fic, especially those of you who have been waiting for this fic in particular!!

...

Thomas was going insane. 

At least - that’s what it felt like. Sure, escaping The Maze had been a victory. Being rescued by the military and being taken to a (supposedly) safe place was, for all intents and purposes - a victory. 

But there was one detail that Thomas was hung up on that nobody else seemed to care about. While everybody else seemed content to go about their ‘new’ everyday lives - sleeping in the dorms, eating in the cafeteria, going through the barrage of medical tests without question - you were missing. And apparently, Thomas was the only one who seemed to care. 

Perhaps that was an exaggeration, seeing as the other boys from the Glade had known you longer, and they were likely worried about you silently because you were a dear friend to them. But it certainly felt like Thomas was the only one who was anxiously awaiting your return. 

When Thomas had come out of the Box, terrified, clueless, panicked - you had been the first person to be truly kind to him, rather than laughing at his blundering confusion. Every single time there had been an argument, you had stepped between him and Gally, making yourself known as a calm, motherly force that the other boys listened to - more out of habit than fear. 

You were a kind leader in the Glade that everyone respected, because you had earned their respect. Not because you bullied them into following you or even because you wielded some kind of natural seniority over them like Alby had. You were kind and sweet, and all the boys responded to that. 

Thomas had been surprised to learn that you had been one of the first people ever to come out of the Box. The second ever, according to Alby. You had such a strong, long-standing friendship with Alby, such a close bond with him. When Thomas saw the tears that streaked your face when you thought that Minho and Alby weren’t going to make it back before the doors closed was likely the number one thing that motivated Thomas to go dashing inside. He had wanted to rescue your closest friend for you. Some signal, some blaring siren inside him that screamed that he would do anything for you, that he needed to protect you. 

It was the same thing that caused him to hold you tight when you saw Alby slowly dying from the poison of the Griever’s sting, letting you cry on his shoulder. The same thing that drove him back into The Maze, looking for a way out. A deep longing to escape, to find a better home for you. 

And now, he was going more insane with each passing minute that you weren’t in front of his eyes. He was being driven out of his mind with each moment that your hand wasn’t grasped tightly within his own. Each moment that he couldn’t see you, feel you, hear your voice and know for certain that you were okay - it was slowly driving him mad. 

When the group had first arrived at this facility, this supposedly safe place - you had been ushered away from the rest of the group, viciously torn out of Thomas’s arms. His grasp on your hand the whole time had been bordering on melting his flesh into your own, and he was surprised when you had been the one to relax your hand out of that grip and give him that same soothing voice you did when he got into fights with Gally - telling him that it would be okay, that you would ‘catch up with them’ later. 

Thomas had wanted to kick and scream - he had wanted to yell, complain, protest about you being separated from everyone. He wanted to put up a fight about you being separated from him. But Minho clamped a hand on his shoulder and advised him to ‘shut the hell up’, clearly not wanting to upset the fragile peace they had established. Not wanting to disrupt the safety they had so freshly claimed. 

So Thomas kept his mouth shut - for now. It was for the greater good of the group. Everyone was bathed, clothed, fed, sleeping in warm beds. But he couldn’t help but to feel strange that he was the only one worried about you when they hadn’t seen you in days now. 

Minho simply assumed that girls weren’t allowed to co-mingle with guys in this new facility - and maybe he was right about that. But something about the whole thing just felt off to Thomas. It kept him on edge and kept him from sleeping more than an hour or so most nights while the other boys slumbered peacefully around him. 

On this particular day, Thomas was in the middle of picking at his meal, scoping out the area, theorizing if he could sneak past the guards somehow. If he could get past them, he could venture down any number of the hallways that they hadn’t been to before in order to look for you. He had all this romping through his mind at a break-rate pace when someone came up behind him - tapping on his shoulder and breaking him from these thoughts in a way that utterly startled him. 

Thomas whipped his head around to find one of those anonymous masked soldiers standing behind him. 

“Thomas?” 

He nodded in response.  

“Come with me.” 

Thomas wanted to question it, and when he looked back across the table, he saw Minho, Newt, and Fry looking at him with concern - but he gave them a gentle nod and rose from his seat to follow the man. Something in his gut told him that this might finally lead him to you - that his patience would finally pay off. And he wouldn’t risk that by throwing an emotional fit now. 

He followed the man through a door he had never been allowed to touch before, down a long hallway, through another set of doors, and down several more long hallways - Thomas memorized the twists and turns as he had done with The Maze. First left, then right, then another left. It felt like they had been walking for too long, and Thomas had to wonder just how large this building was. 

Just as Thomas was starting to feel truly on edge, the man came to a stop in front of a seemingly random door - one with a number on it. 708. He reached out, turned the handle, and opened the door. Then he nodded toward it. 

“In.” He said, giving Thomas a simple, brute instruction to get inside. 

Thomas was anxious and hesitant, but he pushed back those feelings - and he ended up being so glad that he did. 

When he stepped inside, he was overjoyed to see you. 

You were sitting on the edge of the bed (it was a room that, upon closer inspection was more like a one room prison cell - with a single bed, a single a toilet in the corner, and a small metal desk with a chair in the other corner) - you looked up when you saw movement in the doorway, having no clue what was coming next. 

Your entire face lit up with intense joy when you saw Thomas. 

“Thomas!” You cried out his name with intense relief, emotional tears quickly springing up in the corners of your eyes as you jumped off the bed and rushed to greet him.

“Y/N,” He breathed out your name like a prayer, his arms opening wide for you as they had been many times before. 

You were quick to fall into the hug, tightly wrapping your arms around his strong torso, not wanting to let him go anytime soon. You had just been escorted back from your daily shower and your fresh clothes were still clinging to you with wetness, but he definitely didn’t mind the feeling of your damp skin under his hands. He didn’t care if you were getting his clothes wet because it was you. 

It only truly hit you now how utterly terrifying the past few days had been. Going from your home in the Glade to such a strange new place, being ripped away from everything you had ever known. Alby’s death, Chuck’s death, Gally’s death - your friends dropping like flies. Being brought here and being ripped away from the safety of your friends, ripped away from the last people you knew and being completely isolated from them, not knowing when you would get to see them again. 

Thomas’s tight hold around you - the familiarity of his body surrounding you, making you feel safe, it was something that made you realize how truly alone and scared you had been over the past few days. It made you realize that you had been swallowing down all of your emotions in an effort to protect yourself. It made you realize how much you truly cherished his hugs. How much you truly cherished him. 

“I was so worried about you.” Thomas breathed out, clearly making a heaving effort not to cry himself. 

You let out a gentle sob into his chest and he rubbed your back, trying his best to comfort you. 

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “It’s okay - I’m here now. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you go ever again. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, Y/N - I swear.” 

Unconsciously, he was promising these things more to himself. He felt like a failure for letting you out of his sight in the first place. He had no clue what they had done to you that had made you so upset, and he cursed himself for not being with you in order to protect you from it. Even though he didn’t know what ‘it’ was, it was stupid for letting anything bad happen to you. 

If either of you had been paying more attention, less caught up in the heightened emotions of the reunion, then you would have noticed the door sealing shut behind Thomas. You would have noticed the heavy ‘click’ of the lock as both of you became trapped there. But you had each other back now, and you couldn’t exactly care where you were in those moments - as long as you were in each others’ arms. 

“What happened?” Thomas demanded sharply, pulling away from the hug slightly in order to put a hand on your chin, forcing your tear-streaked gaze toward his, hoping to get the truth out of you. “What did they do? What did they do to you?” 

His energy increased in franticness the longer he went without an answer, staring at the sadness in your eyes with a knot forming in his stomach. 

“Nothing.” You quickly replied, feeling as though this was the truth. 

They hadn’t done anything to you. At least not anything that was outwardly malicious. 

They had let you shower, given you fresh clothes, fed you three healthy meals a day. And other than the medical appointments that you didn’t fully understand the point of (some of which were slightly more invasive than you would have liked), none of it was dangerous or painful. You had simply been kept in this room the whole time. You had been scared from being under-informed and lonely from not being allowed to see your friends. 

But none of that seemed like a crime. Especially compared to the treacherous deadly Grievers in The Maze. 

“Please don’t lie to me.” Thomas said quietly, his throat choked off by the intensity of the emotions - the grief he felt for your sadness, the anger he was holding back toward whoever had hurt you. (And towards himself for not better protecting you.) 

“Look, it’s nothing.” 

You assured him, reaching up and grabbing his hand, soothingly petting your fingers over his knuckles in a gesture almost too affectionate for someone you called ‘friend’. 

“Just - I was lonely. And I was scared because they wouldn’t let me see you. I was probably stuck in here, feeling all the same things you felt-” 

Thomas cut off your words by pulling you back into another crushing hug, which you eagerly leaned into, cuddling your cheek into his chest, enjoying the warmth and the safety you felt from having his arms around you again. 

“Yeah.” He easily agreed to this sentiment. And then he wondered: “Where have you been the whole time?” 

“Just here.” You told him honestly. 

You didn’t feel the need to tell him about the doctor’s appointments - even the unpleasant ones. Especially because you assumed that he and the other boys had been through the same, likely with a different doctor. 

This caused another knot in Thomas’s gut. They had been keeping you in the same tiny room, not letting you see any other people? So - Minho’s theory about you being off in some other dorm making friends with a bunch of girls had been completely wrong. 

It wasn’t outright cruel, but it made alarms go off in Thomas’s head. It made his protective instincts toward you act up again. 

“I won’t let that happen to you again.” Thomas said firmly, trying his best to be assuring, even though he knew that he had no real authority over the decision. 

He cradled your head soothingly, petting a hand over your hair in a sweet, protective way. 

“Thomas-” 

You were about to remind him of the fact that he held no power over this when a very strange sound caused your voice to shrink back into your throat as you became distracted. 

You and Thomas both became drawn to the sound, both of your heads whipping up to look at it. Immediately, you saw that some of the tiles lining the ceiling had shrunk back, making way for small metal tubes that protruded out of the walls all around the room, creating a high-pitched hissing noise as they sprayed some kind of white mist into the air. This went on for about twenty seconds before it stopped, and then the tubes retracted back into the walls and the tiles slid back into their usual place. 

… 

“Chemical compound LI69 has been distributed.”

“How long until the subjects feel the effects?” 

“Effects will be immediate. Symptoms should be noticeable in ten to twenty minutes. Desired outcome will be inevitable within twenty four hours.” 

“Good. Keep bi-hourly notes. I want a full report.” 

… 

“What - what the hell was that?” Thomas wondered aloud, frantically looking around the room where the tubes had disappeared into the walls. 

“I don’t know.” You replied honestly. “I mean - that’s never happened before. It - it was probably a disinfectant or something,” You shrugged, trying to rationalize it, trying not to jump to the conclusion that it was something poisonous or harmful. 

Thomas let go of you and whipped around to the door - panic flooded him when he turned the handle and found it locked. 

“Hello?!” He screamed, banging on the door and fruitlessly jiggling the handle. “Hello?! Assholes! You can let us out now!” 

“Thomas,” You scolded him gently - his panic naturally unsettling to you. 

You wanted him to calm down - his nervous energy was making you nervous. And you had spent far too much time over the past few days cramped up inside of this room being nervous. You wanted to simply be able to enjoy the pleasant fact of his presence after missing him for what felt like decades of loneliness. But Thomas wasn’t going to lay down and make that easy on you. 

He rushed to the other end of the room, stepping up onto the desk chair and then the desk, peering into the vent as though he would be able to find a way out through there. 

“Thomas, please - just calm down. I’m sure it was nothing.” You continued, trying to get him to calm down. 

“Nothing?” He scoffed. “It’s never just ‘nothing’ with these people.” 

This was the last thing he said to you before his mind locked in on the task, and he focused on trying to find a way out of the small room. 

He spent a few minutes trying to loosen the bolts on the vent (which wouldn’t have been large enough for either of you to crawl out even if he did get the vent cover off). So all he did was make his fingers sore fighting against the welded metal. And then he moved on to brute force - he picked up the chair and tried to simply beat the doorknob clean off. 

But again, it was something that was very well made, seemingly bulletproof. And by the time he had taken a few good swings, he was heaving with sweat, breathless, and he found it to be way too hot in the small space. 

Surely his body was boiling over from the efforts of swinging the chair around in such a small, closed space. So he placed it down and moved to take off his shirt, surprised by just how damp the fabric was, seeped with sweat already in such a short time. He balled up the fabric and began patting himself down with it, trying to get some relief on his overly heated skin. 

And then, his entire system became utterly distracted by a single, tiny sound. 

A whimper. 

He whipped his head around at lightning speed, realizing that it had been you who had made that sound - it had been your whimper. And suddenly, everything in Thomas’s body, every single one of his senses became utterly overwhelmed by you. 

The sight of you on the bed, sitting patiently, waiting for him to fetter away at whatever plan he came up with next - you looked so stunning, so breath-taking. You were covered in a sheen of sweat, obviously warmer than before - so it wasn’t just Thomas. It wasn’t just because of his exertion in trying to break out of here. 

Were they turning up the temperature in the room? Were they planning to cook the two of you as some kind of punishment? 

Yet - that thought quickly dissolved off into Thomas’s mind as a distant worry the more he looked at you; the more he drank in your slightly parted, bitten lips - so pretty, so kissable. The more he looked at the way stray hairs stuck to your flushed, sticky skin, wanting to gently wipe them out of the way. The more he admired your breasts gently heaving with each breath, your nipples sticking off through your shirt and thin bra. 

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, but he could even smell you in the air. 

Your natural smell was something so prominent in the air, something so perfect he could suffocate in tight in the small space. Shamefully, that scent was something he knew so damn well, something he had memorized and treasured close when his memories of life had still been so few and his head had still been so empty. 

Hugging you those first few times, he had tucked his nose into your hair and greedily whiffed deep breaths of your scent, absolutely loving how you were sweet, soapy. Even if you were slightly sweaty from a long day of work, your natural scent was so damn perfect to him. 

It was a smell that he loved so dearly - on top of everything else that he loved about you. 

This time that wonderful scent that he knew as yours had something else underlying with it - something needy and pungent that he wouldn’t quite know yet was arousal. Your arousal. But it was bringing back that feeling of anxious insanity that he had been boiling with earlier that day. The feeling that made him practically crawl out of his own skin, feeling like he needed to get to you. Feeling like he needed to save you from some big, unseen danger. 

Here, now, being in this room with you - he still didn’t feel close enough. He wasn’t close enough to you. He still didn’t feel as though that anxious thing inside of him, calling out for you had been answered. Not yet. 

Thomas had the urge to reach out and pull you close, hold you in his arms again, but he had a feeling that he would squeeze you tight and not want to let go - and then he would lose focus on getting you out of this room and to a safe place. And that just wouldn’t do. 

“Thomas - you-your shirt…” You whispered the words on the edge of your breath, as though you were breaking some terrible secret by speaking it aloud. 

He had almost forgotten that he had stripped off his shirt in such a haste. The fabric was now clutched tightly in his shaking fist. Unconsciously, he was directing all of his energy to that point, furiously focusing on his grip to help himself resist the urge to reach out and grab you. 

He hadn’t yet noticed the way you were looking at him. 

Your eyes hungrily raking over his bare torso, scanning over every inch of him. From the muscles that bulged in his biceps while he moved, to the veins protruding in his forearms, to the trail of delicious dark hair down from his belly button that disappeared into his pants. It was a way you had never looked at him before. You had never truly noticed how Thomas - your strong, comforting Thomas - was so utterly, carnally sexy. 

He thought nothing of taking off his shirt in front of you, because it was something he had done plenty of times before. He had done it while working in the gardens with you (as a leader in the Glade, you had rotated jobs a lot, going wherever a spare hand was needed). And you certainly hadn’t looked at him with anything resembling hunger in your eyes back then. 

At least, he thought you hadn’t. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled out, worried that he had made you uncomfortable by stripping so casually in front of you. “I just find it really warm in here, too warm, it’s hot - do you find it hot?” 

He had to ask, hating that nagging heat, almost as if it was crawling under his skin - something so much different from the pleasantly warm sun of the Glade. This was a heat bubbling up from his very core, pin-pricking all over his skin from the inside out. He wondered if this was what a fever felt like. 

Was he getting sick? Was he going to get you sick?

He felt another thick bead of sweat roll down his face and he used his balled up shirt to wipe it off. 

“I guess?” You huffed out, seeming irritated. “Maybe.” 

You squirmed on the spot and let out a pained sound, something that had Thomas on high alert once again. 

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked, purposefully locking his knees to keep himself from jumping toward you. 

If he was getting sick, then invading your personal space wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact - he made it a point to take a step back, putting distance between himself and you. But he kept his eyes locked on you, keeping a protective watch over you while his back became flush with the metal of the door. It was a pleasantly cooling sensation for a moment before the fever inside of him overpowered it - reminding him just how boiling hot he was. 

“It hurts.” You told him, your voice dissolving into a shaky, pained whine. 

Shamefully, the sound rocked Thomas, and flooded him with something that could have only been described as arousal. 

Fuck. 

The way you looked up at him with glassy-eyes, tears barely edging your waterline, clearly hot and overwhelmed yourself, squirming against the bed - trying to get some friction against your… oh. Oh wow. That realization rocked him like a ton of bricks to the head, and even more heat swelled up inside of his gut. 

You must have been feeling all the same things that he was. 

Dizzy, hot, overwhelmed - having an intense need to hold you and to be held. Brain thumping with nothing but thoughts of you, mind littered with nothing but your smell, nothing but thoughts of your skin. Willing to do anything for you at a moment’s notice. 

Thomas finally let himself flex to those needs, and raced across the room toward you - literally falling on his knees in front of you. 

If you had pain, he would fix it. He would do anything for you. 

“What hurts?” He asked, realizing that the desperation throttling his throat made it sound more like he was begging. But he was too far gone to care. “What hurts? What’s wrong? Come on, tell me. Please.” 

You were almost too incoherent to put the feeling into words so quickly, as quickly as he needed you too. You were too distracted by the sight of his big soft brown eyes staring up at you with utter worship in them - along with his pink cheeks and bits of his dark hair stuck to his face with sweat, that softness contrasted by the broad hardness of his shoulders spread across your lap. 

“Thomas-” You gasped out, cut off by his next action. 

“Y/N, please.” 

He grabbed up both of your hands, clutching them tightly in his own - and that, the first skin-to-skin contact you had felt since becoming this overwhelmed with the heat and the need - it set something off inside of you. It sent sharp shocks up your spine and made your pussy clench around nothing, sending a flood of wetness soaking into your underwear. And it made you feel too weak for your own good in that moment. 

If you lingered there for too long, you would tumble into the abyss. You would simply give into every instinct screaming inside of your body and beg for him to fuck you until you didn’t know your own name. 

And even though that was everything you had ever wanted, all you could remember wanting right then and there, especially from Thomas, the small remaining sense in your brain said that it was a bad idea. 

You let out a sharp gasp, and raced to escape the touch - you knocked your hands out of his and squirmed away from him, jumping up off the bed. Thomas let out a whine of disappointment and crumbled tighter onto his knees, wondering what he could have done to disappoint you. Knowing that he needed to do anything he could to make up for disappointing you. 

But something inside of his skull was chanting: 

She’s in pain. Make it stop. Make her pain go away. 

You know the answer. 

And while you panicked, hoping to fight against what your body wanted, hoping to delay the inevitable, the thing that Thomas already knew he wanted, Thomas picked himself up off the floor. 

All too soon, he crowded into your personal space from behind. You let out another shocked gasp as he pressed his body into yours from behind, the firm, intensely heated muscle like wall of lava engulfing you. 

This time, not letting you get away, he secured you there with a hand around your chest that was oddly comforting, making sure to pull you close and keep you close. He forced you to feel every single inch of his boiling hot body pressed right up against yours. Sweat gently sticking against you through your clothes, his hot breath huffing against your neck, and what must have been the hard bulge of his cock pressing against the roundness of your ass. 

It was all too perfect. And still, something nagged in the back of your mind that you couldn’t have that perfection all to yourself. Something must have been wrong in order for this to be happening to you. 

“Thomas,” You whined out - unsure if you wanted to tell him to get off or wanted to beg him for more. 

Instinctively, you reached up and gripped at his forearm, sinking into the security of his touch. It was soothing, in a sense, and at the same time - it drove your body mad and made the pain in your cunt so much worse. 

Any mental clarity you previously had was quickly fading. 

So much so that neither of you had the mind to piece together that this was happening to you because of the chemicals that had been sprayed into the room earlier. Not that you could do much about it now. 

Thomas leaned over your shoulder, stuffing his nose into your neck, taking in a purposeful, thick whiff of your scent. He drank you in so shamelessly now, so happy to have you in his arms, right where he wanted you - right where he needed you. He held your body so tight to his, almost crushing you in his grip in the most perfect way - as if worried you might escape if he let you move even an inch. 

Between desperate pants, he laid slick, open-mouthed kisses along your forehead, down the side of your face - lavishing you with affection, grateful and greedy now that he had you in his arms, now that he had caught you. Grateful that he had taken you from those bastards who had stolen you from him. Grateful that he had won. 

His actions left you panting wildly into the air as the heat surged within your body - this attention on your skin not being enough, but yet, your mind was too muddled with the overwhelming heat to ask for more. 

He continued kissing your skin, even nosing along your cheek before he finally gathered enough of his mind to speak. 

“I’ll help. I’ll help you, Y/N.” 

He huffed out, heaving more of his dense beautiful breath across your skin, making you whine again in return. 

“I’ll fix it. Just tell me. Just tell me what hurts. Please, tell me. I promise I’ll fix it. I can fix it.” 

His utter dedication to you was sewn into every word, clutching you tighter across the chest in a way that almost crushed your windpipe - something that made you gasp for air and nearly thank him for it, wanting to dissolve back into his hot muscles and live there, somehow still not close enough. 

“I’ll do anything for you, Y/N, I will. I’ll help you. Just tell me, please.” 

You found the fire of that dedication more enlightening than the one slowly boiling you to death from inside, and it was that - that sacred promise that had you finally giving in. It was Thomas’s sacred affection for you that finally made you feel safe to give into your body’s needs. 

You reached out and grabbed Thomas’s hand - the one hovering by his side that wasn’t keeping you trapped tightly against his chest. His fingers locked tightly in a fist without the fabric of his shirt to keep his knuckles from popping under the fury of his own grip this time. You rubbed soothingly on the back of his palm, loosening the muscles there before you guided that hand between your thighs, guiding him to touch you on your still clothed pussy, through your pants. 

“Here, Tommy.” You breathed out, your tongue feeling so fat and useless in your mouth. “It hurts here. Need your help. Need you.” 

Without a moment of hesitation, instantly understanding what you needed, sparked with even more desperation by the nickname on your lips, Thomas sprung into action. 

He began frantically rubbing your pussy through your pants - inadvertently pushing the zipper at the front of your trousers right up against your clit with the heavy weight of his palm. A sensation that made you keen out and arch back into him as though you had been possessed, harsh, amazing tingles zapping through your body from that tiny point. You threw your head back against his shoulder and relied even more on the strength of his body and the will of his grip across your shoulders not to fall down as ravenous pleasure overtook you. 

“I’ll fix it.” He huffed into your ear. 

His voice barely registered to you past the shocking beautiful pleasure he was causing between your thighs as he continued to rub your clothed clit. 

“I’ll make it better. I’ll make it all better.” 

He laid more hot, sloppy kisses against your neck and your cheek, and you could do little more than moan out loudly and squirm against him, becoming utterly lost in the sensations. You accidentally humped your ass against his cock in a way that made him growl and rub your clit even harder, even faster. It made you absolutely alight with pleasure, filling all of your senses with nothing but him. Nothing but the feeling of his strong arm working between your thighs, nothing but the scent of his sweat in the air, nothing but his quiet growls against your ear. 

“Oh, Tommy!” You moaned out. “I’m gonna-” 

Before you knew it, your body had been overtaken by the intense wave of an orgasm, something that had you crying out loudly and shaking in his arms, your body beautifully dizzy in seconds. You reached out to grip his forearm, leaving claw marks in his skin while you let out a stream of incoherent sounds as the sensations rocked you. 

“Hey, shh. I got you. I got you,” He was nothing but a sweet assurance in your ear - his dick still throbbing and utterly needy in his pants, but forgotten in favor of pleasing you. For now. 

After a few moments, he lifted his hand from between your thighs, causing a sharp whine of disappointment from you. He used this touch to force your jaw toward him, twisting your neck awkwardly to meet him in a kiss over your shoulder. It caused an ache in your neck, but you delighted in the feeling of his lips desperately clinging to your own, the chance to steal his breath.

You had thought about kissing Thomas many times before - but you had never imagined that it would be like this. 

When it was over, there was one thing that both of you knew for certain: you both needed more.

“Please, Tommy.” You breathed against his mouth as you pulled away from the kiss. “I need more. Please.” 

Every single instinct inside of him screamed to follow this order - that this was the divine answer to his existence. This was everything his life had been leading up to from the moment he had seen your sweet face after he had been pulled out of that fucking Box. 

“I got you.” He assured you. 

He then guided you back to the bed and - very hesitantly - separated his grip from you in order to make sure that you could comfortably lay down on your back. Within seconds, he was on you again, absorbing your mouth into a hot, desperate kiss while he laid flush on top of you. 

You couldn’t help but to moan into that kiss, fisting your hands into his hair, holding him tightly to you as though he was your only source of oxygen - welcoming it when his tongue forced its way into your mouth. You sucked on it and moaned around him, becoming dizzier with the heat. 

When you felt his hard cock against your thigh, feeling him jutting his hips forward to try and find some relief against you - it caused a deeper pain in your pussy, a distinct feeling of emptiness and you knew that you needed more. You knew exactly what you needed - what that ‘more’ was. 

You pulled back from the kiss to whimper against his lips. 

“More.” You pleaded gently. “Please, Tommy.” 

“Yes.” He huffed back in return. “Anything - anything for you.” 

Naturally, his hands went back between your legs, and you guided him up to the button of your pants, both of you working frantically in tandem to get your pants off this time. That nagging heat only building inside of you, something telling you that you would go insane if you didn’t get your clothes off soon. While Thomas ripped your pants down over your thighs, pulling your underwear with them, you sat up slightly and ditched your shirt, leaving you wearing only the thin cotton bra that had come with this set of new clothes. 

Thomas let out a growl when more of your delicious scent hit him. With your pants around your ankles, it was more pungent now, ripe in the air, smacking him in the face in the most perfect way. And he felt another wave of crippling heat punch him in the gut as it fogged his brain over. It was so pungent that it was ripe on his tongue and he needed more. Something in his brain was chanting at him that he needed to taste it - he needed to devour that delicious scent, the essence of you, right from the fucking source. 

With his tongue lapping at the air like a fucking dog, Thomas let out more thick, heavy breaths while he desperately tried to untangle the fabric from your ankles, trying to free you so that he could have better access to you. After a moment too long of struggle for both of your liking, he was finally able to toss it all carelessly behind him, leaving you almost naked beneath him. 

But he didn’t have a moment to marvel at the beauty of your bare body. A sight that he had imagined so many times before in his mind’s eye, snuck away into the privacy of the woods with a hand tight around his cock thinking about this exact sight - no, he couldn’t sit back and simply drink it in. 

He was a man on a mission - a man living through a years long drought and finally met with the glorious fountain that would eternally quench his thirst. 

He didn’t even question the need to put his mouth on your pussy, didn’t wonder why the thought was so prominently at the forefront of his mind. Instead, he simply pinned your legs open against the bed with his palms flat on your inner thighs and did it, chased the urge that rang through his mind so damn clearly. 

“Oh, Thomas!” 

In seconds, it was the most divine thing he had ever experienced. 

With you moaning above his head, gasping out his name, with your taste so pungent on his tongue, with your heat beating under his mouth - it was too fucking perfect to let go of. 

Thomas moaned into your pussy, pure fuzzy pleasure melting his brain between his ears, making it impossible for him to think of anything but you. His mind filled with nothing but feed me, feed me, keep me alive, you are my life. 

The thick taste of your wetness on his tongue was all he needed, all he needed to live from now on, nothing more. He could feel you squirming and fighting against him; he could feel your thighs jolting and jumping under his hands as your nerves were overstimulated. He could feel your hips bucking up into his face, smearing more of that perfect wetness across his chin and cheeks, smothering him in it - perfect, how perfect. 

He could feel the sting of you tugging on his hair but it only added to the perfect sensation of dumb dizziness that pumped through him, that made him so fucking ravenous for you. It only made him moan into your cunt louder and shove his tongue into you deeper, looking for more. 

“Oh, ugh! Tommy! Tommy!” 

You felt like you were burning alive. 

His tongue against you was horrible and perfect - doing nothing to relieve the ache deep inside of you, one that demanded to be filled. 

His tongue lapping at you so hungrily only added more terrible, sweltering heat, causing more shocks of pleasure stinging up your body with each deep pass of his tongue that he swept over you, trying to devour you whole. 

The more he moaned against you, the more he vibrated your already sore clit, making you cry out, the more he caused your body to be consumed by that deep, uncomfortable he. The more he made it near impossible for you to breathe past the moans fighting out of your lungs. 

You desperately tugged on his hair, but only got his attention when you finally fought hard enough to get words out. 

“Tommy, please!” You begged, tears spilling out of your eyes now. “Please, stop! It hurts!” 

Those words - those painful words shocked Thomas back to reality. 

Had he been selfish, drinking from your essence to satisfy his thirst without considering your own? 

He pulled back from your pussy with a wet smack that made you whimper, taking his hands off your thighs, finally freeing your legs from the tight, stretched out position. Somehow, he looked even better staring you down with those needy, wide eyes while his face was covered in your juices. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I-” 

“Please, just - I need you.” You choked out in reply, reaching a shaking hand toward his pants. “I need you inside me, Tommy. I need you to fix it.” 

“Yes, yes, yes.” Thomas replied, chanting to you as though answering a prayer in a place of worship, fully prepared to worship you as the goddess you were to him. “Yes, I’ll fix it.” 

He rushed to get his pants and underwear off with just as much frantic struggle, and soon he was naked on top of you. Meanwhile, you ripped off the stupid bra in order to feel the satisfying press of his bare skin on yours, something impossibly boiling hot. A feeling that had you moaning into his shoulder while you hooked your leg around his hip, urgent to get closer to him. 

Without a second of hesitation, Thomas sunk his cock inside of you. 

His cock was a searing hot rod pressing into your well-slicked entrance, making both of you white-out with the feeling for a few moments while the need and satisfaction rattled through your insides. It was what you had both been waiting for, desperately needing from the moment that mystery chemical had hit your systems. And now that you had it - Thomas’s cock deep inside of you, the perfect satisfaction of being joined, being as close as possible, your body sang with perfect relief. 

But there was still that nagging for something more. 

Neither of you would be satisfied - it wouldn’t fully be out of your systems until you both came from this. 

It was that nagging that had him gripping onto your hips, holding you still so that he could begin hammering into you, desperate to answer that nagging in the back of his skull: fuck her, take her, fill her up - she’s yours. She is yours. 

It was a feeling so utterly perfect that you instantly relaxed against him - all of your muscles melting into the feeling of his cock fucking into you so rapidly, filling you up so well. You gripped tightly at his back, determined to hold him close, just as he had done to you before. You needed to keep him absolutely close, so tight to your body while his cock filled you up so perfectly. 

“Tommy, please. Oh, oh, Tommy!” You moaned into his neck, your pussy fluttering around him as his hips stuttered. 

Overwhelmed and dizzy with the heat, from the tips of his ears to the space where his cock sunk deep into your warm pussy, drowning in wetness, he could only focus on one thing. One single mission rattling between his ears. 

Fill her up. Make her yours. 

“Gonna fill you up.” He growled back, not even entirely realizing that he was speaking these words aloud - a sacred promise to him now, the only driving force of his entire life, the thing that his entire existence hinged on. “Gonna make you so full of me. So perfect, so full of me.” 

Getting lost in your warm pussy, filling you up, making your pain go away, worshiping you. He wasn’t going to lose you again, he was going to keep you safe. He was going to keep you in his arms forever, was going to keep you safe, wrapped around his cock - forever. He fucked his hips forward harder, making a loud, wet smack continually resonate throughout the room as he tried his hardest to deliver on these promises. 

“Gonna make you mine,” He growled, his voice reaching a deep tone that you had only ever heard when he had argued with Gally - ticked off, full of rage. “Gonna keep you safe. Forever.” 

But somehow - this was different. It was a rage that was twinged with passion. 

With love. 

It was a sound that made all the hair on your body stand on end, forced a sharp gasp from your lips as it utterly rocked your body. 

You dug your nails into his back, possessively gripping the flesh, holding him tightly, trying to keep him close. Forcing him to keep his promises. 

“Yours.” You echoed back, your voice half-breath, half pure need. 

“You are mine.” He groaned in return. “Mine, mine, mine, mine-” 

He chanted this as a mantra, fucking into you harder with each utterance of the sacred word before he cut himself off with a harsh gasp, his hips stilling suddenly. 

And then - perfection. 

He pressed into you as deeply as possible, filling you up with perfect warmth, delivering on his promise. Your gut curled with a nearly painful orgasm in response, causing you to bite down tightly on the flesh of his shoulder as you moaned wildly against him. Tears leaked from your eyes as you were nearly blinded with euphoria. 

“Mine.” Thomas hummed again, almost quietly to himself, leaving a small peak on the side of your neck to compliment his point. 

Once again, just as he had done when he first entered the room, he cradled your head so softly, petting your hair soothingly. It was a deep contrast to the near rabid man who had been fucking you only a minute ago. And he gently humped his hips against you, something unconscious telling him to make sure that he fucked his cum deeper into you - nice and deep. 

The two of you stayed tangled like this, instinctively not wanting to pull away from each other, an intense need to stay locked so close. Needing to be close to the person you needed most. In an effort not to crush you with his body weight, Thomas rolled onto his side, with you still holding him tightly, with your leg still hooked over his hip, with his softening cock slightly falling out of your now messy cunt - much to the disappointment of both of you. 

(Thomas surprised himself when he shoved his hips forward, trying to get closer, trying to get back inside of you.) 

But you both felt much more at ease now. And tangled together like that, with your arms wrapped around each other, with Thomas gently kissing over your forehead and your shoulders - you both dozed off into a gentle sleep. 

… 

Thomas woke up cold and alone. 

He dressed frantically, and surprisingly, he found the door unlocked. 

He had too many questions, and had one singular mission on his mind: 

Find you, and kill anybody who had laid their hands on you without his permission.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. If you liked this fic, please consider showing me that by reblogging or commenting, but if you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written instead of asking for more. If you want to see more fics from this fandom, I will be posting more in the future, and if you want to see more things that I have already posted, I have over one million words worth of work between my AO3 (linked in my pinned post) and my Masterlist for you to enjoy. Happy reading, and I hope you have a great day!!

[yell0wsalt]

♡💘💜 for Yangvik, please :)

Yangvik!!

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

In a way, it comes down to their love languages and how they express them. For Yangvik it’s physical touch and acts of service for them both. Yangchen has the one-up on Kavik in her flirtatious wit that throws him when they are in public. It gives her devious joy to see him melt in such a way. With that Yangchen ekes out the win in being more romantic openly, but behind closed doors, Kavik gets it as it is the degree of intimacy with his touches and affection that’s disarming. 

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

Developing a crush timelines is a bit tricky for them with Kavik essentially being played/cornered into being with Yangchen for her journey. Their initial dynamic started off with effortless flirtatious energy mostly on Yangchen’s end directed at Kavik. 

She enjoys getting him flustered but it didn't easily register in her mind that dynamic may be based in something beyond platonic attraction. 

Kavik doesn’t necessarily consider much of himself in his attractiveness. Color him surprised receiving such attention from Yangchen and it opens his mind to that possibility. 

While Kavik is able to better tap into his emotional side recognizing budding feelings as a crush (he did have previous romantic experience, so there was that), Yangchen reignited that spark in him while not fully aware of her flirtatiousness with him

💜: who said “i love you” first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

They are idiots that’ll dance around the three words forever, infuriating everyone in their vicinity. “Stay with me,” “be with me,” and similar phrases are what they primarily leaned on in the beginning. It was safe and didn’t completely open the can of worms that may come with acknowledging romantic attraction. 

The gestures Yangvik makes all elude to deeper feelings of love, but there's still a lot of work they need to unpack both on their own and as a couple first. It’s also a bit I guess one could say unconventional since I don’t see them ever having defined labels for their relationship status. 

When would it be “appropriate” to tell the other they love them? How would they receive the word love? It’s something so powerful as it may mean something surface level or far deeper. When they (finally) get to that point, it’s Kavik who says he loves Yangchen first. 

How fun as Yangchen is usually the one who takes flirtatious initiatives/teasing at Kavik’s expense. When he is able to throw that energy back at her, it’s something special that gets her all flustered.

ᡣ𐭩ship asksᡣ𐭩

[bekolxeram]

*Waaaaawaaaawaaawawawwaaaaaaa*

The infant’s cry wakes the two men from their deep slumber.

“I’ll go check on her,” Tommy kisses Buck on the temple, “I’ll come get you if we need anything, okay?” He leaves their warm, comfortable bed to tend to their baby daughter.

Buck wants to jump out and protest, it’s her daughter too, but Tommy’s the one on paternity leave now, while he himself has a shift next morning. Light duty, all thanks to Bobby. Tommy, on the other hand, has a job that doesn’t allow a single lapse of judgment, so he agrees to take time off first until both new parents settle into a routine, then Buck can take over as the primary caregiver. It’s been working fine for them so far.

Except tonight.

Buck might as well get up, since his daughter refuses to stop crying.

“Hey, everything alright?” Buck asks, still half asleep.

“Um, I don’t know. Her diaper wasn’t wet, I changed it anyway, but she’s still crying,” Tommy gently rocks her in his arms, “maybe she’s hungry? Can you go get her formula?”

“We’ve just fed her…” Buck looks at the clock on the nightstand, “2 hours ago. Is she hungry already? Never mind, I’ll go make some real quick.”

Buck stares at the digital water heater with a blank expression. It’s an extremely premium product in both price and functionality. With this gadget, you don’t have to test water temperature on the back of your hand anymore. It measures the air in the room, then calculate the safe and perfect temperature, down to the decimal, for maximum extraction of nutrients from the baby formula.

Buck is rather proud of his purchase, but at the moment, all he wants, all he can think of, is some sweet, sweet, shut eye.

“Here you go,” Buck hands Tommy the warm bottle. Relief washes over him when the infant latches onto the bottle’s rubber tip, but it soon fades away when she turns away and continues crying after a few gulps.

“Shhhhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Tommy coos at the baby, then shoves the bottle back into Buck’s hand.

“Do you think she’s sick?” Buck frowns. He can’t bare the thought of his precious child feeling sick without the ability to express it with words.

Tommy puts his lips on the infant’s forehead, “no, I don’t think so, she doesn’t feel hot.”

Buck relaxes.

“But get the infrared thermometer anyway, just in case,” Tommy demands, their daughter still wailing in his arms.

Buck nods and leaves on his way to find that thermometer, gifted by his sister. ‘You’ll appreciate modern science once you realize you don’t have to lube up a glass thermometer and hold down your child to take temperature anymore,’ Maddie said.

Their home is a mess, ever since they adopted their baby girl. Everyone around them with child-raising experience tells them it’s completely normal. But it’s time like this, when Buck can’t find the exact thing he knows is around, that he wants to disregard all of their advice.

“Ah! Found it!” Buck whispers to himself triumphantly, waving the infrared thermometer in the air a little.

It’s only now that Buck picks up the absolute silence.

“Ahhh, ah, ouch.”

Then silence again.

Buck rushes back into the bedroom.

He sees Tommy sitting up in bed, their daughter fiercely sucking on his dry nipple.

“Shhhhhhhh,” Tommy shushes Buck, “don’t ask me why, but it works, so don’t you dare startle her.”

“Okay, but I’m taking her temperature anyway,” Buck whispers back and points the thermometer at the infant’s forehead. “All good. She’s a bit cold if anything.”

Putting the appliance aside, Buck joins Tommy in bed again.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit. At least she’s not crying anymore. Go back to sleep, Evan, you need it.”

“Sure,” Buck gives Tommy a chaste kiss on the lip before climbing back into his blanket. “Hey, look, she’s finally asleep. I guess she just wanted the warmth and security of her father…”

Tommy smiles, carrying his daughter back to her crib.

“…her father’s voluptuous chest,” Buck laughs.

Tommy returns from dropping off the baby, “it’s gonna be you in a month.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” Buck says before going back to sleep, “I can’t wait for her to grow up to be as strong and smart as you.”

“And I can’t wait for her to grow up to be as kind and brave as you.”

Special thanks to @louciferssacrament for their support❤️

[antichilde]

margin of error: part 5

satoru gojo x fem reader, 2.1k words mdni

in which gojo figures it out

contents: teaching assistant!gojo, student!reader, no curses, college au, slight age difference (gojo is 20, you are a couple years older), he falls first, no smut (for now)

notes: Oh my god so much retconning. Gojo’s date has a name now. It was getting ridiculous referring to her as ‘his date’ all the time so my dumb ass named her Hana, conveniently forgetting that there’s a JJK character named Hana. Now she’s Manami (aka Geto’s secretary from JJK 0) because I may or may not have a weakness for her. (image citation)

part one | part two | part three | part four | read on ao3

The ache in Gojo’s chest has yet to go away. At first he doesn’t mind it, but as time passes the feeling begins to grate on his nerves like an itch he can’t quite scratch. It’s worse when you’re around so he tries to keep his distance outside of tutoring you. 

He also tries to distract himself. That’s how he ends up nursing a cider in the corner of a Halloween party he doesn’t really feel like attending. It’s too loud, and though the room is dark there’s some kind of disco ball throwing fragments of sickly orange and purple light onto the walls, meaning that Gojo is stuck wearing his glasses all night. 

He eyes Geto from across the room, watching him chat with a couple of kids they’d gone to high school with. No, he’s not quite desperate enough to go join that conversation, though with how things are going it’s only a matter of time. And what about you? What are you doing tonight? Did you stay in and get takeout like you’d planned? That sounds pretty appealing right about now, much more so than standing here avoiding eye contact with people he knows. 

Okay, he thinks, finishing off the last of his drink. Enough of this. 

He can’t keep thinking about you; it defeats the whole purpose of going out. Heading for the kitchen, he takes the opportunity to scan the room for familiar faces. There are quite a few— after all, Gojo spends a lot of his nights this way, though he usually feels much more enthusiastic about it than he does now. Eventually his eyes find their way to a bored looking girl loitering by the kitchen counter. The same girl, in fact, whom he’d been with when you’d inadvertently crashed his date. 

“Manami!” he calls, and she looks up.

Her face clouds with several emotions as he draws nearer: surprise, confusion, and finally irritation. Well, that was to be expected, given that their last encounter hadn’t ended well. 

“Gojo.” She doesn’t sound particularly pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question,” he says with a grimace. “I’ll let you know when I figure out an answer. What about you?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her White Claw. “My campus was dead tonight, so I figured I’d try my luck here.”

 “Doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t say this is my idea of a good time.”

“Not much of a partygoer?”

“Parties are fine. It’s making small talk with a guy who ghosted me that I’m not a fan of.”

Gojo winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I probably deserve that.”

She finishes off the last of her drink. “Not probably. Definitely. Though I’ll admit that it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I don’t know anyone else here apart from Suguru.”

Pausing, Manami crushes her can and tosses it into the recycling bin. Gojo’s brows knit together as he frowns. 

“So you came here by yourself?” he asks. “I know it’s pretty safe on campus, but don’t you think that’s kind of risky?”

“Aw, you’re worried. That’s nice.” Her voice is saccharin but she’s clearly unimpressed. Reaching around him, she plucks a bottle of water from the plastic wrapped set on the counter. The lid cracks softly as she twists it, the sound barely audible over the music filtering in from the other room. “No, I didn’t come here alone. My roommate was with me, though I think she’s already gone home with someone.” 

“And are you planning on doing the same?”

“Maybe, but don’t get your hopes up,” she says, waving the question off. “I haven’t thought that far ahead… though if you keep groveling I might consider it. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

 Don’t get your hopes up. Funny how he’s been hearing that so much lately. Even so, he’s pretty sure he knows where this interaction is going, and though he hadn’t planned on hooking up with anyone tonight it’s not like it was off the table altogether. Maybe this is what he needs.

pretty_blue_eyes: I’m heading out early

pretty_blue_eyes: You brought a key right?

suguroo: I have one. Everything ok?

pretty_blue_eyes: Yeah all good. I’m bringing someone home just a heads up

suguroo: Hmm

suguroo: Ok

pretty_blue_eyes: ??

suguroo: Dw about it. I’ll see you later

They end up back at his apartment tangled up on the couch. Manami’s body is draped over his own, his hands settled at her waist as he presses slow, lazy kisses along her jawline. He’s been saying all the right things, going through all the right motions, but it’s still not enough to keep his mind from wandering. Gojo knows she’s on to him well before she pulls back, planting a hand on either side of his shoulders and lifting herself just far enough to get a good look at him.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. He can’t make out much of her expression, not with the way her hair is falling around his face. It blocks most of the faint light filtering in through the windows.

“You tell me.”

Yeah, she definitely knows, but Gojo isn’t ready to drop his guard quite yet. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. Manami exhales in annoyance, sitting back on her heels. 

“I’m not an idiot, Gojo. I can tell you’re distracted. It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one from the restaurant?”

His mouth goes dry, and Manami’s expression falters when she realizes he isn’t going to reply. Without the curtain of her hair in the way Gojo has a front row seat to the hurt he’s caused; he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much to see the way her face falls. Honesty isn’t something that comes naturally to him, especially when there are potential consequences, but right now the idea of brushing aside her question makes him feel queasy. 

Still, it takes him a long moment to find his voice again. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” she says, then pauses to reconsider. “Actually, yeah, now that I think about it.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gojo takes a deep breath to try and regulate himself. Manami’s position is threatening to give him pins and needles but that’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

“And what exactly is it…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “…What is it that you think is obvious?”

“It’s obvious that you like her. Really like her.”

Gojo can feel his pulse racing. He’s not ready to talk about this, not yet, but at the same time his head is filled with so many things he wants to say. 

Manami fiddles with the ends of her long hair, twisting the strands together. “I think I knew then too. When she came up to the table something about you changed. It was like… like you were taking notes in your head, and seeing that made me realize that your mind is always somewhere else when we’re together. I know we’ve never been serious, or exclusive, or anything like that. But in the moment I guess it hit me pretty hard.”

She stops, her eyes meeting Gojo’s when he finally opens them. This time she’s the one who looks away first.

“I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m not usually the kind of person who tears down other women but I took out my anger on her and that was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

The silence that stretches between them is awkward. Manami’s body tenses, her weight shifting as she struggles not to fidget, and though Gojo wishes he could mollify her with an ‘it’s fine, don’t worry about it’, she’d been honest with him. The least he can do is meet her halfway. 

“I owe you an apology as well. For ghosting you, and for using you as a way to distract myself from…”

He stops, unsure how to finish that sentence, but she understands anyway. 

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed to hear that. And I should probably get off of you now.”

Sliding off his lap without waiting for a response, she settles on the opposite side of the couch and pulls out her phone, presumably to text her ride home. Gojo sits up, wincing as the feeling returns to his legs, and though a long silence stretches between them he’s grateful that some of the tension has dissipated from the air. 

“You want to talk about it,” she says at last. It’s an observation, not a question, but even so Gojo nods in confirmation.

“Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah, I think I do. Would that be too weird?”

Manami shrugs, reaching for her purse. “I was the one who brought it up, so if it’s weird then I guess I’m equally to blame.”

Pulling out a compact mirror, she dabs at her smudged lip gloss. Gojo can feel there’s some around his mouth too, tasting it when he bites his lip in thought. Watermelon flavored, if he had to hazard a guess. 

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s not like it’s that serious. I only met her back in August, though I don’t know if that even counts since it took her a whole month to learn my name.” 

Manami clears her throat, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. He ignores her, though if he were in her position he’s sure he’d find it funny too. 

 “It’s just that she makes me so nervous, but I keep chasing the feeling anyway. I have no idea why.”

“Gojo.” 

The sound of his name snaps him out of his own head and he turns to look at Manami. “Yeah?”

“Have you never had a crush before?”

“I have,” he says, sounding more defensive than he means to. “I had one back in freshman year.”

…of high school. 

Gojo chooses to leave that piece of information out. He also decides to withhold the fact that it had been on Geto. That’s a story for another time and place.

“But I guess it has been awhile,” he admits. “I don’t remember it being this stressful.”

She snaps the compact shut and drops it into her bag, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out her lip gloss. 

“I dunno,” she says, her voice muffled as she purses her lips to apply a new coat. “It sure sounds like a crush to me. Getting flustered, butterflies, et cetera— that’s all pretty standard.”

He buries his face in his hands, trying to will away his blushes. Manami slips the strap of her purse over one shoulder as she prepares to get up.

“It’s not a bad thing, you know.” Her voice is softer than it had been, nice in a way he knows he doesn’t deserve. “It’s stressful, yeah, but there’s nothing wrong with letting yourself feel things sometimes.”

Getting to her feet, she looks down at him, and their eyes meet as he lifts his head. 

“I should go,” she says. “I hope things work out for you, Gojo.”

“Thanks. And thank you for listening. You were right, I needed to talk about it.”

She turns away and he stands to walk her to the door. Gojo’s ready to end the conversation there, but as Manami reaches for the door handle he realizes there’s one more thing he needs to ask. “Hey, you won’t mention this to anyone, right?” He avoids her gaze, focusing instead on his umbrella. It’s still leaning against the doorframe, untouched since the night he’d walked you home. “Nobody else knows.”

“If by ‘this’ you mean your crush, then don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” One corner of her mouth twitches up as she tries not to smile. “Though I doubt it’ll make much of a difference. I have a feeling you might actually be the last person to figure it out.”

Laughing at his noise of indignation, Manami turns away, zipping up her coat as she makes a beeline for the car idling outside. A gust of chilly autumn wind ruffles Gojo’s hair and he shuts the door quickly before any more heat can escape the apartment. Pulling out his phone, he logs into his messaging app to unblock Manami, but stops when he sees his texts with Suguru are still open.

pretty_blue_eyes: I’m bringing someone home just a heads up

suguroo: Hmm

suguroo: Ok

pretty_blue_eyes: ??

suguroo: Dw about it. I’ll see you later

He turns off his phone and slips it back into his pocket, leaning against the door and shutting his eyes. Yeah, Manami was right, wasn’t she? Gojo is definitely the last to know.

[marymary-diva17]

Abandoned sully (1)

Being the child of Jake sully was something that any child would be proud about, and everyone had praised the family for their close bond. There was someone who was a baby of a war hero jake and neytiri had other child a girl before Lo'ak and Kiri but she was not living with them.When she was born she was not like the rest she was born on rumored bad day and if five fingers were not something that scared anyone else, but some her human colored eyes scared them. Everyone had thought she will bring bad luck or she is a bad omen, all the the clan were in uproar of what shall become of the child, the alliance was in danger. Neytiri and Jake had to a hard decision to give up their daughter for the sake of everything else.

All the clans were in uproar of what will become of the child as no on wanted to keep the unions if you were still at the omatacayia clan.So neytiri and Jake had to make the hard decisions for their family, the clan, and for the rest of pandora they gave you up.

Moat " hear  my words clearly my daughter once you hand over your daughter this can be fixed" Moat and some elders told them not to do this as it will result in bad outcomes for everyone, but they were outnumbered in voted. 

Neytiri " mother we have to do this for our family and the clan" 

Moat " she is your family" 

Neytiri " she can't stay here if we keep her the clan will pay and make her pay ... we are doing this for everyone and her" 

Moat " you disappointed me daughter your father and sister will be ashamed of you" 

Jake " listen moat we are sorry but we will have to do what we think is right I'm olo'eyuthan and my word is final and it law, that what you and your daughter have taught me"'Jake looks at his mother in law, as he stands up for the decision him and his mate have made. 

Moat " then I will take her to a new home a place where she will feel safe and welcome" 

Neytiri " no mother let us take her so she can remember us" 

Moat " I'm an tshaik and elder I out rule the both of you now hand over the child it will be best if you stay here and, attend to your family and not some unknown baby" moat had taken the baby out of her daughter hand and soon called her ikran. 

Neytiri " mother please let her take this her song chord so she can remember us" neytiri was praying for her mother to hear her word, and just do this small for her. 

Moat " oh my daughter she will remember enough of everything and everyone"moat had glared at the string holding one gem, she didn't dare touch it right now. As she knew this songchord will only bring sorrow to the girl. 

Neytiri " please mother she needs to know we love her and will be waiting for her return"moat soon sighed and soon took the song chord into her hands. 

Moat " my the great mother forgive you all for your crimes against this child, but mark my words what ever happens in the future is all become of the decision made today" 

Jake and neytiri " ......."

Jake " we will stand strong together as couple and as parents for Kiri and neteyam, and in time she will never understand of the choice that had to be made here tonight" 

Moat " oh Jake sully you have fallen from the mighty hero you once were" moat turned her back on her daughter and Jake, but the couple followed her. 

Jake " tell us where you are taking her as her parents we have rights to know" 

Moat " the great mother has spoken you won't know where she is until right, now leave me be as you have two other children to attend to let's hope you don't abandon anymore kids until then" 

Neytiri " mother " 

Moat " I most leave if I'm going to get her there on time" moat soon got on her banshee and soon took off, into the air she was made about what was happening. She knew the child was innocent and old nasty rumors were sending her away from her family and clan. 

Many hours later 

???? " who is there you know it wrong to interrupt a tshaik when she listens to eywa" 

Moat " hello my old friend" moat was looking at an elder tshaik women. 

Tupia " moat it been so long I have heard your daughter has given birth to a baby girl" 

Moat " yes that why I'm here I have come here asking for sanctuary for the child" 

Tupia " come with me and we can speak about this serious matter" soon the two women and left to speak at Tupia home about you, and even Tupia was not happy about what she had heard. As the two elders talked you had been left in with some caretakers and younger kids, who already started loving you. 

Tupia " these young tshaik and leaders think they know everything, and the elders are worst holding the past against a child"

Moat " yes and if she stays trouble will come and I don't wish that for my granddaughter" moat worried about the safety and wellbeing of her granddaughter. 

Tupia " she can stay here and learn the ways of the Navi, the group will welcome her" 

Moat " Thank you" 

Tupia " does your daughter know of the major effect's because of her actions" 

Moat " I have tried speaking with her and Jake but they don't listen, they are worried about their family and clan" 

Tupia " they don't worry about their own child"

Moat" it seems like that" 

Tupia " do they know what the out come of this will be for them and everyone else" 

Mo'at " no they don't I have tried telling them that but they won't listen this is my own solution ... she can't go with the humans as they are being test by the other clans" 

Tupia " some of these human can come here and see the child as she might get Illness I can't cure here, and it will help her as well to undertake why she have five finger and toes" 

Moat " I will see if they can happen but seeing how they are loyal to Jake and his command they might not come" 

Tupia " then they will face harsh criticism from her when she become older hasn't anyone listened to you" 

Moat " they are all young and not experienced in life yet and think what they are doing will be explained easily for the child" 

Tupia " there a difference between fantasy and reality my friend ... they will see their actions to keep everyone else safe will be hard to get a child or teen to forgive them" 

Moat " it seems like my daughter was hoping she could rebuild a relationship with her when she was older rand welcome, her back home" 

Tupia " we will see if that happen my friend ... oh little y/n you will become something great it sad you will have to face it being seen as someone bad until the truth comes out" 

Moat " I will come see her when I cam and tell her what she needs, I won't keep her in the dark like everyone else was thinking" 

Tupia " understood" moat soon left but not without hugging you on last time and kissing your forehead she was sad to leave, but she knew her clan needed her and you will be safe with her friend. You could understand you were being left  behind and it took Tupia some time to clams you down but soon everything was better. Once moat had come home she didn't speak with anyone as she was upset about the situation she was praying to see you once again and that you will be well. Moat had knew you are safe and loved by those who will be there for you, until the end and make you into a wonderful Navi in time.

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 3: The Shadow to my Flame

Series masterlist

masterlist

Relief filled Ashe’s body as she let her friend in through the door before she closed it.

“You scared me for a second there,” she told him.

Eris had already sat down on her bed, head leaning against the wall and eyes closed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he answered. “It’s just been a rough day.”

Ashe sat down on the other side of the bed with her legs crossed. They just sat in silence for a little while. Eris never wanted her to ask and pry about his feelings. He would talk when he was ready, and that wasn’t yet.

Eris had saved her from one soldier once. The soldier had refused to let her go, even though she said no. He wanted her, and that wasn’t anything new. She would usually just let them have their way, but that day she had just started her cycle. While most males found that disgusting, that male didn’t care. It was almost like it made him want her more. Eris had randomly walked by and punched the male in the face. Eris had then helped Ashe into a warm bath.

Eris would since come to her room about once a week. Not to have sex as most the of soldiers thought, but to speak freely. Both of them.

It was terrifying at first, but eventually Ashe started to look forward to it. Their conversations were casual and safe.

“I got them out,” Eris started to speak. “The mother and her children. I helped them over the border to Summer.”

“That’s amazing, Eris.”

Eris abruptly stood up.

“They shouldn’t need to leave, Ashe! They should be able to live here as normal.”

She knew he wasn’t angry at her, but she also knew that he couldn’t show his true feelings to anyone that wasn’t her. So, she let him speak.

She listened to him as he poured his heart out. He was pacing in her small room, and every time he got close to the closet, Ashe got scared he would somehow know about the money and letter inside. Each time he turned to pace back the other direction, she felt like she could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.”

After each and every rant, Eris would end by saying sorry. Ashe had stopped telling him that it was alright, he didn’t listen to her anyway.

“How’s work?”

It was now Ashe’s turn. And she was so ready to speak about everything. But at the same time, she really wanted to read what was in the letter from Shadow.

“Honestly, I’m just tired. The amount of work is so much more than before and it’s exhausting.”

Eris’ eyes softened a little as she spoke. It was usual for him to react that way when she spoke. He never wore pity in his eyes. Only guilt.

“Do they pay you more?”

“Yeah, but still not a lot. It’s okay though. I don’t need more money.”

She thought about the money from Shadow. It must have been at least the same amount she would get for two months of work. It was crazy. It must have been a mistake. That was the only reason Ashe could think of.

Eris nodded gravely at her words.

“Chess?”

They spent the rest of the evening playing chess and card-games. Eris had eventually retreated to his own room and Ashe could finally read the letter. She ran and pulled it out the second Eris had left her room.

Thank you so much, Flame. I can assure you we are currently working on figuring out the most effective ways to help.

My High Lord has decided to join the ball Beron is hosting. Will you be there? If yes, you need to make sure you have a safe place to go to if something rather unfortunate happens. (We are not planning anything, but we don’t trust anyone.)

I have sent some money for you as payment for your help. I hope you will continue to share information with me.

Stay safe,

Shadow

And then it suddenly dawned on Ashe that she somehow had become a paid spy for the Night Court.

Ashe slept surprisingly well that night and when she woke up, she felt relaxed and well-rested.

That was until Maria came knocking on her door saying that the High Lord was calling them in for inspection.

Absolute terror filled her body.

Her hair. She hadn’t dyed her hair. She let Maria stand in the open door as she ran to her mirror. Her roots were definitely red. Her dark brown hair didn’t hide it one bit.

“Oh, dear,” Maria said with pity in her voice. “Well, there’s no time to fix it now. Come here.”

Ashe’s shoulders slumped as she walked to Maria. Maria lifted a kitchen towel she had at her waist and tied it around Ashe’s hair.

“Maybe he is less observant than usual,” she said to make Ashe’s anxiety less. It didn’t help.

They walked together with multiple other servants and went to the throne room.

The High Lord was seated at his throne, his wife sat beside him. The room started to fill up with all servants, gardeners and cooks. They stood in four long rows and waited for the High Lord to make his round. Ashe and Maria stood in the middle of the second row.

The High Lord stood from his throne, and it felt like everybody stopped breathing.

He walked slowly, almost too slowly. He stopped before each and every person. He gave some critic, but most of them he just walked past. Ashe saw him pass multiple others with similar scarfs or towels around their heads. He asked none of them to remove it. It made her calm down a little.

He started on the second row. Ashe immediately felt her back straightened. She needed to look proud. He had to see that she was proud of working for him. But at the same time, she couldn’t be too proud. She was a servant after all.

The High Lord stopped before her. She kept her back straight, but her gaze was on the ground. She gave him a small curtsy, just like everyone else had. She felt his gaze burning into her.

“Remove your headscarf.”

His intimidating voice gave her chills, but it was his command that terrified her. He would see it. He most definitely would.

She almost hesitated, but she knew it would only make it worse. She wanted to argue. To scream at him. Why did she have to remove her scarf? None of the others had to.

Luckily, she wasn’t brave enough.

Ashe lifted her hand and removed the towel from her hair.

It only took the High Lord a second before his new command came.

“Show me your arms.”

Her heart sunk. Why? Why did she have to be the first to mess up.

It didn’t matter. She did what he told her to do. She rolled up the sleaves of her dress and showed him both of her forearms. They were already covered in scars and burn marks. Some of the burn marks were from herself, but most of them were punishments.

He didn’t hesitate as he released his power and burned both her arms. The pain spread through her body. Her vision blackened for a few seconds, but for some unknown reason she managed to stand on her feet. Tears build in her eyes, but she didn’t scream. She did not scream.

“You have until tomorrow to dye your hair.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He finally moved to Maria.

Ashe had to stay in the throne room for another hour. Only two more people were punished, and both were new. Unlike Ashe, who had not only grown up as a servant, but also work there for over 150 years. She was so humiliated.

Maria shoved her back to her room. In silence, she put cooling cream over Ashe’s forearms and carefully dyed her hair. She gave Ashe a small squeeze when she finished.

“You can take the Lady this evening. Relax until then.”

Ashe couldn’t to anything but thank her.

That evening it was only planned a small dinner. Meaning, the Lady of Autumn needed minimal help. Ashe had combed through her hair and was using her powers to heat up the small iron-stick as the Lady started to speak.

“You’re brave.”

Ashe almost stopped her task in confusion. Did wasn’t unusual for the Lady to come with such compliments, but it felt unnatural.

“Thank you, my lady,” Ashe answered.

She then picked up one section of her hair and wrapped it around the hot iron-stick. She counted to three and let loose the curl. She continued to the next part of hair. Her forearms were still filled with burn marks that were hurting her, but the quicker she finished the Lady’s hair, the quicker she could go back hiding in her room.

“How old are you now Ashe?”

“160 years, my lady.”

The Lady nodded. She seemed in deep thoughts that evening. Ashe felt herself hope that the High Lord hadn’t done anything bad. But at the same time, she knew it was unlikely that he hadn’t.

“Have you thought about marriage? Or been in love?”

The question caught Ashe off guard. It wasn’t often the Lady would ask such personal questions. It happened once in a while.

“No, my lady. I’m afraid been a servant takes up most of my time.”

The Lady nodded once more.

“I really hope you do find love, Ashe.”

Ashe found herself agreeing before she could even think twice.

Love.

They spent the rest of the time in silence. It was first after Ashe had given her curtsey and was on her way out before the Lady spoke once more.

Ashe was so ready to go to bed, so being stopped was kind of annoying. However, she didn’t let her true emotions show.

“Yes, my Lady?”

The Lady had moved over to one of the draws in her room. She opened it and pulled out a small box.

“I want you to take this. It makes the wounds scar less.”

Ashe couldn’t do anything but take the box. As she walked out of the Lady’s cambers, she felt both embarrassed that the Lady had seen her being in such pain, but also happy that she got some help.

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