#Llamas as far as the eye can see | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 1 month ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello? Are you still there?”

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

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

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

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

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

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

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

“I know that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

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

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

He looks like he’s been through hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s here?”

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

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

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

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Mateo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have listened to him.

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

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

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

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

His calmness is almost off putting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all happened so fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s Javier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

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

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

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, that’s enough.

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corpseidol · 8 months ago

Note

I saw you said requests are open and thought I’d send one! (Can I be 🦙anon?? If that isn’t taken by someone else!)

Imagine being Aiden’s sibling (and Ben’s cousin) and dating Tyler. Like just what that’d be like? And also had a thought like I could just see happening with being Aiden’s sibling and dating Tyler 💀.

But like Aiden always unintentionally stopping them from kissing?? Even just a simple kiss on the cheek because he keeps unintentionally interrupting/making it awkward every time. Even funnier if they have yet to have a first kiss and Aiden keeps unintentionally stopping it from happening without realizing?? 😭💀

SO FAR, SO CLOSE

author's note : you can be llama anon (i love ur brain)

concept : being aiden’s sibling AND tyler’s gf? genre : headcanons content : curse words, you’re involved with the phantom world stuff

⠀ › ⠀being aiden’s sibling meant handling annoying situations ⠀ › ⠀growing up, aiden was unintentionally your “patience trainer” ⠀ › ⠀unless you have the same personality as him (which would be way worse than the phantom world, you guys would be the cause of world destruction) ⠀ › ⠀dating tyler at the same time meant dealing with both their bullshit ⠀ › ⠀tyler does try to keep it cool, he doesn’t wanna bother you by shit talking your own brother ⠀ › ⠀tyler gets all “aiden was such a… rascal! he was being so!” he would pause to use the right words ⠀ › ⠀gets irritated when aiden interrupts your kisses to the point he literally accuses aiden of doing it on purpose ⠀ › ⠀”i swear you’re trying to start a fight!” tyler complained ⠀ › ⠀“what happened?” aiden scratched his cheek with a dumb smile ⠀ › ⠀tyler would sometimes blurt out cursewords at aiden “you dumb #### i will #### you! i swear to god!” ⠀ › ⠀at some point tyler would have actually yelled at aiden “i can’t even kiss my own girlfriend because of your lemon-headed ass always having to be everywhere!” ⠀ › ⠀like the twins, it was some unspoken rule to aiden that you wouldn't leave his sight unless you're just in your room chilling.

bonus:

⠀ › ⠀absolute chaos in the phantom world honestly. ⠀ › ⠀tyler would check on his sister and you first, obviously ⠀ › ⠀when tyler would save you from a phantom, he would heavily breathe and ask “you okay?” with his weapon up (blushing n kicking my feet) ⠀ › ⠀aiden would smile at this and kill the next phantom before tyler could and ask you “you okay?” before giggling ⠀ › ⠀tyler’s eye would literally be twitching and the others would have to remind them about the serious situation ⠀ › ⠀so many situations where they exchange “that’s my sibling!” and “that’s my girlfriend!” ⠀ › ⠀whenever you are going out on a date with tyler, aiden would come with you to “drop you off” ⠀ › ⠀you could feel the tension when aiden says goodbye with that eat-shitting grin on his face

#tyler hernandez x reader #sbg x reader #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard #sbg #sbg (webtoon)#sbg tyler #tyler sbg #aiden sbg #aiden clark #aiden clark sbg #sbg aiden #tyler x reader #aiden x reader

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jenneyquinn · 4 months ago

Text

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

in which the pine tree and llama are the epitome of soulmates w/c: 11.2k words (not proofread) masterpost

“in case if you have forgotten, pacifica northwest is the worst.”

well, near the end of their first summer in gravity falls, worst would be the cumulative word to describe pacifica—in the view of dipper pines, that is. and how could he not? so far, all he’s seen of her was a spoiled, rich, mean girl who was nothing but awful to his sister. a product of a family consistent with fraudulence and an unwavering desire to be at the top—

“pacifica’s rich, she’s cheating at life”

“nathaniel northwest didn’t found gravity falls and your whole family’s a sham”

—dipper could describe pacifica in many words that would paint her in a negative light, but there could be only much to say about her that is justified by his character. he doesn’t hold a lot of money to his name, or his family for that matter, but he lived life honestly. to find the truth in all things.

and considering pacifica northwest was cruel enough to make his sister feel bad about herself? what more truth was there in calling her the worst?

amongst the roars and cheers of the audience in the telepathy tent, there was a pair of starry eyes that were completely struck in awe, and maybe... admiration?

but how could she not? from the flashing lights to the glowing cerulean bolo ties that match their eyes (which also managed to glow?)—pacifica southeast was hooked on the gleeful twins, especially the male counterpart of the pair; as revealed by the faint blush on her cheeks.

her cousin, gideon pines, begged to differ. though knowing him, pacifica knew that the chubby little nerd is hard to impress—hard enough that he might as well be dubbed the "fun police".

gideon just doesn't get it, she thought, if those dreamy blue eyes were in front of him, alluring as he is mysterious...

she then gets lost in the image that occurred just a moment ago: the gentle look of dipper gleeful's eyes boring right into hers, taking her warm hand in his cold one as he brings it to his lips, barely grazing the surface; all the while looking directly at her, the smallest hint of a grin gracing his face right after.

despite how cold he felt, how cold his aura was—pacifica couldn't have felt any hotter that summer night.

“i went from undergrad to phd three years ahead of schedule, wrote a thesis that was nationally ranked and was awarded an enormous grant for my own scientific research! but what to study…?”

after being rejected from his dream school, dipper pines worked twice as hard from his time at backupsmore uni to reap success similar to what he would’ve achieved had he made it into west coast tech.

one day, dipper pushes his hair back when he looks at himself in the mirror, pondering over his constellation-looking birthmark…

then suddenly, click!

in the blink of an eye, he finds himself in the middle of nowhere in gravity falls, oregon, obviously needing a place to stay.

that's when dipper goes to northwest realty, where he meets up-and-coming realtor, pacifica northwest.

"so, you wanna buy this lot?" she asks, unclear if she heard the guy right. "are you sure you wouldn't like to reconsider and opt for an alternative location? i mean—given this lot has been a preserved environmental space, and you'll be ways away from the town—you'd be funneling a lot of money just to get this lot and build a home here."

"oh, it's alright, miss—"

"just call me pacifica." she interrupts, but smiles.

"sorry—pacifica, i can assure you that money is no issue to me. i've recently received quite the grant to pursue an independent study, and this would be the perfect location to conduct my research."

"i see, but mister pines—"

"it's dipper," he cuts off, returning her smile from a moment ago.

she chuckles before continuing: "if it's researching your business here, i can gladly show you a place close to the local library—or the museum? our town archives?? surely this would be a more efficient use of your money."

"heh, you're not like the other northwests," dipper replies, reflecting on his own knowledge of the northwest family, "aren't you supposed to be like, bleeding me dry? i'm practically helping you more than myself here."

pacifica gasps, looking offended: "excuse me?"

suddenly, dipper realizes he's messed up. sometimes that mouth of his is too smart for his own good. he didn't mean to insult her, it was meant to be playful teasing that's all!

so he stammers, trying to undo the damage.

"i-i'm so sorry! i didn't mean it—to be insulting, that is! i s-swear it was only meant to be a lighthearted joke! you smell r-really pretty—"

amidst his ramblings, pacifica breaks into a fit of laughter.

"you're something, dipper pines. you know what, let me sell you the lot, and i'll pay a lumberjack to build your new home for you. don't worry, you seem to know a thing or two about my family anyways, so it's no big deal."

"really?" he asks, dumbfounded. "you'd do that? but why?? surely i have some money to spare after getting the lot—"

"i do have one condition, though."

dipper breaks into a sweat—though, he thought he's already gotten past that phase from his adolescent years.

pacifica takes out a small, square pad of yellow sticky notes from the front pocket of her orchid-purple blazer, puts it on her clipboard, taking a pen and writes on the pad. when she finishes, pacifica peels the sticky note from its pad and promptly hands it to the brunette.

"when that house of yours is built, how about i drop by for dinner? that better be some study if it's taking you away from civilization."

“call me crazy, but maybe she’s not so bad after all…”

dipper thinks aloud, surprised by the sudden change in his opinion. besides, how does one go from being the worst to not so bad?

perhaps he was crazy, or maybe it was the faint smell of champagne and flowers in those probably-fake blonde locks of hers... could there be something more to pacifica northwest that goes deeper than the surface? or something deeper between them??

impossible! come on, this is pacifica he's talking about. pacifica northwest! the greatest link in the world's worst chain—but that's like picking out a fresh apple from a basket filled with mouldy fruit.

so, as soon as he let his vulnerability scrawl across the journal page through his pen, dipper just as quickly crosses it out.

the picture can stay, though. after all, his artistic ability does a great job capturing the likeness of her beauty—

okay, i've got to stop that!

pacifica, on the other hand, could not have slept any better.

sure, she had to endure a grounding by her parents and a nightmare traumatizing enough to keep a tapestry of a one-eyed triangle demon locked in her closet so it would no longer bore through her eyes and into her soul.

but she also couldn't deny that it was a humbling experience for herself. pacifica had to face the music and realize that the pines twins were far from her problems... in fact, they might have been the first real friends she has ever had in gravity falls—and she's lived here forever.

the pines twins were the first to show pacifica northwest the truth—about her heritage, about what her family has really done to others, about the kind of person she's come from and whether she wants to maintain that legacy or not.

when she refused to shake that stony, moss-riddled hand, something clicked in pacifica. something that said her integrity was worth more than a dollar sign, that the price of morality could actually mean more than money; and she would have never come to that epiphany if it weren't for dipper and mabel.

after all, them being here has to mean something, knowing that she could sleep in peace, with dipper pines only a call away.

as the morning newspaper plopped on their doorstep, gideon was the resident of the mystery shack who picked it up off the planked stoop. what once was a facial expression of exhaustion immediately turned to one of shock and possibly disgust?

of course, when you read a headline talking about gravity falls’ most dangerous guy dating your cousin, those sort of things will do that to you…

GLEEFUL’S NEW GIRLFRIEND? LADIES STEP ASIDE!

gideon doesn’t bother reading the article himself, but he could tell from the pictures of his mortal enemy and his best friend-slash-cousin being dangerously close to each other—there is something calculated about gleeful’s smile… it’s clearly there for the paps, cameras and flashing lights and all, but there’s something more sinister to that small, suble, charismatic grin.

and that something sinister says: screw you, gideon pines.

“PACIFICAAA!”

despite the local news jolting him wide awake, nothing could’ve prepared gideon for the wolf-pitched squeals filling the shack, all coming from the small southeast.

“no! there is no EEE-ing about this, pazzy!” he bursts, all red in the face and pouty, to which pacifica couldn’t help but laugh to; it was a sight for sure.

it doesn’t take long for them to have yet another conversation about dipper gleeful being too dangeous for pacifica to date—let alone be in close proximity with—but she knows, deeper than the dark side dipper does have, that he is a good person.

but when you see the good in everything, rationality and skepticism won’t budge—which exactly is making the subject between the pines-southeast duo a million times rockier than it needs to be.

i should really get that mirror dusted… dipper thinks to himself as he adjusts his tie using his apparently dusty reflection in the mirror.

embarrassing. the man is already in his twenties, and you think that growing up properly-dressed, the least he could do is put on a tie correctly…

a ding-dong from the front of the shack pulls him out of his concentration, causing dipper to groan and throw his hands up in frustration. he was so sure he was going to get it right this time.

but a final tired, defeated glance at his reflection said otherwise.

nevertheless, dipper goes to answer the front door, where he sees his date looking… why is she wearing sunglasses, a shapeless trenchcoat, and a big hat? is she wearing a disguise??

is she embarrassed to come out here to see me?

letting herself in, pacifica removes the big hat and sunglasses, her platinum blonde hair cascading on her shoulders and down her coat, diamond eyes and strawberry-pink lips giggling at her dorky-looking date.

she approaches him already, which makes dipper more red-faced and sweaty. they couldn’t have their first kiss already?! not when their first date barely began!

he’s all the more ashamed when he puckers his lips only to meet air—cracking one eye open to look down at the woman adjusting his tie, smiling fondly.

when she finishes, she tip-toes to meet his height, giving a single peck on his red-hot cheek and chuckles.

“glad to see you, too.”

if there was anything that mabel has brought to the people of gravity falls, it would be her natural talent for matchmaking.

it’s already one thing that your enemy has stopped being your enemy, and another thing that your twin brother is finally starting to get over his one-sided crush, but for both your ex-enemy and twin brother to have a spark and potentially experience an epic enemies-to-lovers romance?!

it wasn’t the match she ask for, but love works in mysterious ways…

and if this match needs to be made, it shall be made!

it all started with the party at northwest manor…

while mabel had made up with candy and grenda, done with eye candy for the night, she just wanted to have fun and appreciate her girlfriends for a night—after all, it was their dream to party inside of northwest manor than camping out by the main gates like the rest of the townsfolk…

but then… from the corner of her eye, had she spotted her brother… smiling? and having fun?? with another girl???

if mabel has to be honest, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to find out said girl was pacifica northwest, but hey—if dip had to get over wendy, he had to start somewhere…

it didn’t help that she was laying in bed, wide awake in the dead of night, trying to figure out what was going on between the unlikely pair. it got more frustratingly confusing the more mabel paid mind to it, and can someone stuff a sock in her snoring brother’s mouth’s already!

but for a guy who rarely gets any sleep, mabel’s grateful that pacifica was able to entertain dipper enough that he practically went out like a light as soon as his body hit the mattress…

‘though not before sneaking in another quick entry in his journal,’ mabel notes in her head as her tired eyes spot the open journal laying atop dipper’s chest; rising and falling with it.

her eyes squint, trying to make out the drawing of the creature in his journal (not to mention, she’s trying to figure that image out in the dark)

when she catches a glance of the side profile, puffed dress sleeves, and voluminous hair, mabel’s hands join together as her eyes sparkle and a smile spreads across her face.

a scheming smile, that is.

roses are red, pacifica's blood is blue i read what you crossed out i'm onto you!

then, before she signs off her short, yet beautiful poem, mabel takes a final look at dipper's sleeping state; squinting her eyes and chewing the tip of her gel pen.

"start combing your hair, bro-bro..."

although pacifica southeast has barely cried in her lifetime, given that seldom events and things have caused her to be in such a miserable state, nothing could have possibly prepared her for the worst forms of sadness.

betrayal, deceit, heartbreak.

she knew she should've seen it coming, deep down in her heart she knew the true nature of the boy who instantly caught her eye... but it didn't stop pacifica from ignoring all of her cousin's warnings and looking on the bright side, as she typically did.

but maybe this time, there was no silver lining.

she looks back at the polaroid pictures in her summer memories scrapbook, a memorabilia she compiled of her first vacation in gravity falls and the first moments she would share with her family and new friends.

thinking that she would look back at these times in the future and see heartfelt memories, pacifica could only see the polaroid picture where she looked her happiest with dipper gleeful, as a tear drops between where the pair are shown.

he broke her heart, made her cry, but after some tears were shed and noses were blown, pacifica southeast was left with a heart done wrong and justice to be served.

if the gleefuls thought they would get away with this, they were dead wrong.

walking up to the doorstep of her boyfriend’s place, pacifica holds a small gift bag on one hand as she uses her free one to knock on the front door.

excitement is spread throughout her face as she smiles from cheek to cheek, unable to maintain her patience with each passing moment.

though, she wasn’t prepared for her smile to drop the instant when another woman opens the door, greeting pacifica with a single smile before swiftly exiting dipper’s home.

“oh, hey paz!” he greets his girlfriend, smiling. as if some other woman didn’t just leave his place—a woman pacifica clearly had no idea about.

she looks indifferent, refusing to give the guy any sort of response as she enters the shack, bumping her shoulder against his as she walks in.

noticing her sour mood, dipper tries to sweeten it up by using up his nerd charm. i mean, it was how he got to date her from the start.

“c’mon, northwest, no ‘hey four-eyes’?” he asks playfully, dropping his arms to her waist, “no ‘hi dip-head’?”

pacifica pulls away from his arms before he got the chance to pull her in any closer, turning her nose up and away from him as she closes her eyes and huffs.

“hey…” hurt starts to rise in dipper’s voice as she pushes him away, “are you okay? if i did something wrong, you need to tell me. you know i’d never hurt you, right? paz…”

“do i, pines?” she retorts, sounding frustrated. “do i know anything about you? because i know nothing about that girl who just left your house in a good mood, i know nothing about your family, i don’t even know what the heck you research or why you’re in gravity falls!”

“pacifica…”

she sobs as more tears stream down her face: “is it because you don’t think i’m smart enough for you? that i’m nothing more than a pretty face and sort of walking, breathing trust fund you hold onto so when you’re short on money, i’ll be the one saving your butt??”

the blonde turns away from him, not wanting him to see her so vulnerable. dipper, on the other hand, refuses to take this. was this what his girlfriend really thought of their relationship… of herself?

in that moment, dipper curses preston and priscilla northwest for causing their daughter to possibly think so low of herself.

“pacifica,” he speaks up, bringing a hand to her chin and getting her to face him, “the reason why we’re dating isn’t only because of your looks… surely, you must know that?”

he looks into his girlfriend’s tear-filled eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of her miserable state: “you’re so much more that what your parents make you out to be. i date you because i have fun whenever we’re together… you absolutely destroy me in fight fighters and show me that there are other ways to have a good time than books…”

he blushes, internally recalling their shared moments, “the truth is, i get scared. a gorgeous woman like you, inside and out, going out with a nerd like me? it’s like a dream i don’t want us to wake up from… but what if one day, you do wake up? i have nothing much to give to you, pacifica. i don’t have much money to my name, and my research is… laughable to a lot. what if you laughed at me too? you’d think i’m just some loser that’s wasting his time and grant money on weird stuff…”

“dipper pines…” she looks into his eyes intently “do you trust me?”

a silence fills the room for a moment, until he replies.

“of course i trust you, pacifica.”

taking a deep breath before she continues, pacifica continues to look into his eyes through those big glasses of his: “maybe i don’t understand what you research… maybe i never will… but, your work makes you happy."

she smiles at him, her diamond-blue eyes still hot with tears: "i like when i see you happy, dipper. it's... cute? i never felt this way about anybody else before, but i like feeling like this. i like when you geek out about weird stuff—it's when you're really yourself, and i like that you don't let what other people think change that about you."

now, dipper begins to tear up, but trying his best to compose himself—wondering how he got so lucky to be dating such a person.

finally back in her good mood, pacifica hands the gift bag to her boyfriend.

"i got this for our one-month anniversary, it's not much, but i thought i'd get you some more 'thinking pens' for your research... and a pack of chewing gum because i don't want to date someone with braces... or worse—toothless."

after sharing a laugh together, dipper takes pacifica by the hand, leading her to his lab.

"maybe now would be the perfect time to show you what i've been studying since i've moved to gravity falls."

mabel knew that summer's end was fast approaching, but it doesn't mean that there would be no time for romance!

besides, she knew that the plan she was about to concoct wasn't something to be done overnight... sure, making a match for robbie stacy valentino took a couple days to work out—along with the consequences of her social circle—but this project? compared to robbie, he was a piece of cake!

this was her brother. and her former enemy.

the seeds still needed to be sown.

it wasn't completely hopeless though. at least, after the events of the northwest's party and dipper's journal entry, there was potential to be explored. and if dipper pines singlehandedly had the ability to spark a change of heart in pacifica...

if only mabel knew how pacifica northwest felt for her brother...

then, just like a prayer answered, a 'ping' goes off on mabel's phone, revealing a text from an unknown number...

hey, dipper... so about that hug...

hug?! what hug?! she had all wendy's, candy's, and grenda's numbers in her contacts, so who could've possibly wanted to text her brother about some hug that they wanted to forget—

suddenly, as mabel gasped, it was totally clear who it was.

now, there was many ways she could approach this. so many possibilities. does she pretend to be dipper and try to hook him up? does she try to be a supportive friend and be honest with pacifica??

actually, come to think of it... after all the times she's been embarrassed by the hands of that northwest, she's been overdue for a bit of humiliation herself.

a mischievous smile spreads across mabel's face. matchmaking can wait, anyways.

“it’s over, southeast!”

cornerned by the two terrorizing twin-bots, pacifica is left out of options as the gleeful twins have captured gideon, his tiny body restrained by the big metal grip of the mabel-bot.

“you’ve been had,” mabel continues, “the only way for boys to be interested in you was by pretending—which is exactly what my dear brother had just done."

as pacifica turns from mabel to dipper, he turns his head; refusing to look back at her. whether he actually felt a twinge of guilt or didn't care enough to return her gaze was irrelevant—pacifica's heart broke all the same.

"now, we’ve won! with gideon possessing the first and third journals, the gleefuls can finally take over gravity falls… heck—we can take over the galaxy!”

as she laughs maniacally, the turns to gideon, still in her steel grip: “with you as my lil’ king!”

“a-hem,” dipper calls from behind—his robotic hips on one side, metallic arms folded over each other, and a foot tapping against the forest floor; probably scarring away any woodlen creatures nearby.

“you heard me, diphead. there’s only room for one pair of rulers here—but hey! you and will have made decent sidekicks in the past. if all goes well, i’ll make sure there’s room for the both of you in my court—ha!”

with that, mabel’s robot violently shoves dipper’s with one hand as she keeps gideon the other; her grip still tight on the poor child.

“AHH!”

dipper screams as he falls out from the robot’s head, his eyes shut as he braces his demise… if only he still had his amulet.

pacifica gasps, watching dipper in the sky.

“dipper!”

pulling out her grappling hook, she shoots it without a second thought, praying to whatever force out there that it latches onto some sort of strong branch, and leaps forward; the recoil pulling her towards the endangered gleeful twin.

then, before he had any idea, dipper doesn’t feel the weight of the wind and gravity pushing him down anymore. instead, he feels the warmth of something… or rather yet, someone, holding onto him.

he cracks one eye open to see that, pacifica southeast, the girl he’s been deceiving for the past month, glaring at the mabel-bot.

“pacifica?”

“shut up, gleeful. the only reason you’re alive is because you’re helping me get gideon back.”

TACK!—TACK!—TACK!

the stones that hit against the glass of pacifica's bedroom window were enough to annoy her awake. she hoped that her parents weren't bothered by the sound as well, despite her doubts.

"chiu?!" she exclaimed in a hush voice, "the heck are you doing out here? it's three in the morning!"

"pacifica!" the ravenette in the lab coat calls out to the northwest, fiddling with her hands, jerking her head from side to side; as if somebody was watching her. "y-you need to talk to dipper! he doesn't g-get it! wh-what's coming—"

"whoa, candy, hold on," pacifica interrupts, rubbing her temples, "chill. breathe. slow down. what doesn't dipper get? what do you mean 'what's coming'?"

"i'm not crazy, pacifica!" candy panics. "something's coming. something bad. but dipper's too stubborn to stop his work! if you don't stop him, this could be the end of gravity falls!"

"c'mon, talk sense. this is dipper, we're talking about. he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"i don't think we're talking about the same dipper."

with that, candy makes a hasty leave from the grounds of northwest manor, leaving pacifica in a mixed state of exhaustion and confusion.

candy doesn't know what she's talking about, the blonde tries to convince herself, dipper's stubborn, but not stupid.

she sleeps with some difficulty that night, but come morning, she goes to her boyfriend's place to visit; clearly concerned about candy's warning from the night before.

when the door opens, pacifica greets dipper with a big smile, to which he reciprocates, but then asks about the reason of her visit.

"can't i just visit my boyfriend? c'mon, let's go to the lake—your skin's getting pale, dip."

"look, pacifica," dipper speaks as he takes her hand, leading her down to his lab, "i need your help. you've got to take this journal, get as far away as you can from me, and bury it where nobody can ever hope to find it."

as he gives his instructions, dipper shoves a journal into his girlfriend's hands; on the cover is a blue pine tree with the number '2' printed on it.

candy was right. why would dipper need her to go away from him? what did that dummy do??

"wait, you can't just tell me to do whatever you want—especially getting away from you. why do you need me to do this?"

he opens his mouth, but pauses before answering: "i don't think i can tell you that."

she scoffs, "you're kidding. you can't tell me or you won't?"

"i'm serious, i'm not going to risk you knowing too much."

"that's a whole load and you know it. what about candy?" she asks, pointing a finger at him, "she's clearly capable of knowing more than me."

dipper sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "don't make this a whole ego thing, pacifica—"

"an ego thing?! i thought we were a team, dipper. i thought you trusted me! or was that nothing more than a bunch of words filled with empty promises?"

she angrily waves the journal, now pointing to it accusingly: "recently, you've been doing nothing but coop yourself down here and write in these dumb books of yours! i swear, these journals have probably gotten more action with your face than i have for the past few weeks. and after finally getting to see you in person for so long—you want to tell me to get away from you? sending me off like some sort of blind dog?!"

"it's not dumb, pacifica—it's dangerous!" dipper exclaims, losing patience with the blonde, "don't ever talk down on my research—"

"well, it must be so lame if you never want it to be seen again. in fact, i'm going to walk to the city dump right now—"

"pacifica, don't!"

as she walks away, dipper goes up to her, trying to tear the book from her hands.

"my life's work!"

as he hastily snatches the book from her grip, dipper gives her a single push of his hand while protecting the journal with the other.

pacifica yelps, losing her balance as she is forced backwards. the side of her head makes an impact with one of dipper's many machines, cutting into her skin before meeting the ground.

"oh my god, pacifica! i'm so sorry, i didn't mean—"

"stuff it, pines." she spats back, dismissing him with her hand. pacifica tries to recollect herself by getting herself off the ground and dusts her clothes.

she then looks directly into his eyes with pure disgust.

"if your work matters more than our relationship, if you don't even trust me enough to let me help you or even tell me what's going on, i'm done."

pacifica turns away from him again, but dipper calls out to her.

"pacifica, wait."

she only turns her head: "do you trust me, dipper?"

just like before, the room is filled with silence. only this time, pacifica doesn't get any reply.

so, she leaves his house for the final time, leaving dipper by himself.

hey mabel, um... is it okay if i could text dipper for a bit? need to ask him something real quick

summer is almost over, her thirteenth birthday is fast approaching, but it already seems like mabel pines' wishes are already coming true.

"DIPPER! PACIFICA'S ASKING FOR YOU! I THINK SHE WANTS TO GO ON A DATE!"

"WHAT?!"

dipper didn't find mabel's exaggeration amusing in the slightest. "it's not a date mabel, she just wants to hang at the lake—as friends."

"okay, so maybe i should join you guys. after all, we're all friends, right?" she shoots back, taunting him.

"no!" dipper objects, his voice squeaking; to which mabel smirk grows. going red in the face, he clears his throat before continuing: "i mean, since paz only asked for me—"

"i'm gonna ignore the fact that you're on pet-name terms now, but you do realize she only asked for you because she—i don't know—might be totally into you!"

his blush deepens at his sister’s accusation.

“c-c’mon! this is pacifica we’re talking about! she only just stopped hating our guts like, less than a couple weeks ago?”

“fine, but you’re still gonna hang with her today, right? she still needs a friend, bro-bro.”

dipper knew mabel was right, and even if she wasn’t as encouraging, a part of him deep down was genuinely looking forward to hang with pacifica one more time before his birthday and leaving gravity falls.

before summer ended and heading back into the unknown.

“help us, will! don’t forget i’m still your master!”

“don’t listen to him, you moldy nacho! i’m your master, not dipstick’s! obey me!”

“ENOUGH!”

the sound of will’s voice booms throughout the forest, bringing the town of gravity falls to a standstill. apart from the triangular demon, only the gleeful twins, pacifica, and gideon remained unfrozen

"i've had just enough of you two brats! generations of torment... well i'm sick of it. no longer is will cipher going to be a slave to the gleeful family! from now on—you guys are on your own! good luck taking over gravity falls without me, you weak flesh-sacks!"

the four children gasp, in shock at the enslaved demon's outrage. with a single snap, the mabel-bot goes powerless, causing it to go limp and tip over.

dipper and mabel clutch onto pacifica for dear life as the latter panics; trying to find a way to get to gideon as he is loosened from the metal grip, freefalling to his demise.

BOOM!

an electric, smoky bubble of blue bursts upon the mabel-bot’s impact on the ground, a ripple spreads throughout the town; bringing a gust of wind to the to the townsfolk.

because of the robot’s explosion, the people of gravity falls gather towards the source of the damage, where they don’t find bodies.

instead, they spot pacifica, mid-air, her hold on the grappling hook breaking her fall. dipper and gideon cling on to each of the blonde’s sides, with mabel’s arms wrapped over her brother’s shoulders from behind; nearly choking the gleeful twin.

as officers powers and trigger catch sight of the gleeful twins, they rush even closer to their aid.

"mabel! dipper! what happened?" trigger cries.

already pulling out the waterworks, mabel puts on her mask again: "it was southeast and pines! they tried to attack us and blew up our statues with dynamite! arrest them!"

dipper simply rolls his eyes as powers gets the handcuffs ready; gideon and pacifica gasp.

"officers, she's lying!" gideon exclaims.

"sorry kids," powers apologizes, "but we trust the gleefuls. and there's nothing short of a miracle that could ever—"

"okay, i'm getting tired of this," dipper deadpans, cutting off the officers. "pacifica southeast and the pines kid are innocent. we were the ones responsible behind the—"

"mason pines you shut your mouth right now!" mabel snaps, momentarily breaking through her façade, before realizing her slight error and giggles it off.

"heh, what i mean to say officers, is that my poor brother must be concussed and clearly has no idea what he's saying—heh—right, dipper?"

"hmm..." he hums, tapping his chin in thought, "i don't think so, i remember someone shoving me... causing me to fall from seventy feet high..."

staring at mabel, dipper gives a smirk her way before swiftly referring to the hand in his front pocket, revealing only a sliver of a small, black, flash drive.

then he leans close, whispering to his sister: "now wouldn't exactly be the best time to put our enemies incarcerated, mabel. don't forget who saved your butt from meeting death just a moment ago."

mabel growls for a moment, then takes a deep breath before she speaks again.

"as a matter of fact... it was all a misunderstanding, officers. gideon and pacifica were saving us," mabel explains, pulling gideon close to her for a peck on the cheek: "my heroes!"

it has been weeks since pacifica had left dipper's place for the last time, and obviously, the heartbroken blonde hadn't heard from the four-eyed dork.

good riddance, she thought bitterly. as if it was any surprise.

but as the days turn from weeks to months, pacifica knew she needed to leave the house. the fluorescent lights and chandeliers in her family mansion wasn't doing much to help her tan... but what to do...

she starts by walking to dusk2dawn, the same darn convenience store where she met her ex-boyfriend.

yeah, smart move there, northwest.

as pacifica reaches for the smile dip, mainly to take a closer look at it, she can't help but to overhear some commotion going on by the register.

"i've heard some strange stories about that old shack, strange and spooky experiments..."

"gosh, i'd pay anything to see what sort of shenanigans you've got going down in there."

no... could it be?

when the curious blonde sets down the smile dip and heads to the front, she couldn't believe her eyes on what's happening before her.

it was a woman. she looked like her ex-boyfriend. similar build, similar facial features. her appearance could easily mistake anybody for dipper, but the fact that this was clearly a woman kept pacifica's mind focused.

what is this lady doing here in gravity falls? why does she look like dipper pines?? and why is she claiming to live where he lives???

"what is your name, you madam of mystery?"

"uh ma—" the woman takes a brief pause, "mason pines. parents thought i would come out a boy, so you can call me dipper."

pacifica gasps, but covers her mouth to avoid drawing attention. she stumbles back, then rushes out of the store.

dipper, where are you?

"when are you going to start opening your gifts? i broke a nail wrapping mine."

as pacifica holds up her taped-up hands with an amused smirk, the pines twins laugh along, picking up their gifts—though none of them were from pacifica.

not that she minded. in fact, she hoped that no one else would watch as dipper got to opening her present. she didn't think it was much special, so it must've been embarrassing in comparison to the other gifts the twins will receive, especially after losing northwest manor to preserve their fortune—but she did put a lot of thought into them.

after selling her parents' yacht and her last pony, she hoped that the presents she prepared for both dipper and mabel would be enough. more than enough, ideally.

"oh, pacifica! i think this one is from you!"

dipper's voice pulls her out from her thoughts. he gives her a big smile as he holds up the gift box, which is evidently, poorly wrapped. everyone else sees this, all of them giving her looks.

unable to take all this attention, pacifica's cheeks flush red, rushing towards dipper before pulling him over to the side of the mystery shack.

"whoa, sorry! i didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed," he immediately apologizes to her, reassuring her that it was never his intention, "if it makes you feel any better, i did so much worse my very first time gift-wrapping."

the two share a laugh, followed by a single nudge from pacifica.

"just open it, dork."

"you don't have to tell me twice."

so, dipper rips his gift open, revealing a book with a written note placed on top of the cover.

something to go with that new journal mabel got for you - paz :)

"you got me a revised, updated copy of anomalous phenomena!? anomalous phenomena was one of the books grunkle ford studied after university! how did you get a hold of one of these?!"

"i'd be lying if i said i didn't ask around for help," pacifica answers, looking a bit bashful, "mabel suggested i talk to ford, and he told me about the book. apparently, fewer and fewer copies of the book get made with every revised edition, so i called in some favours. it did cost me my last pony and my parents' yacht, but after everything you've done for me—i mean, the town—it's worth it."

"pacifica..."

she really has changed, he thought. and to think, this was the same girl who bought her way to keep up her family's fraudulent past, who actively tried to humiliate his sister every chance she got.

it can't be, not since he can't see her that way anymore.

so, dropping the gifts to the ground, pacifica lets out a small yelp as she is caught off guard by dipper's arms wrapping around her; pulling her in for an embrace.

"thanks, paz. i couldn't have asked for a better birthday gift."

returning the hug, she rests her head on his shoulder. "don't mention it, dork."

i'm watching you

at the gleeful manor, dipper and mabel haven't been getting any sleep. not since they've brought will to the edge and emancipated himself from their family.

where will has been tortured day-by-day, he has generously returned the favour to the gleeful twins nightly.

but today, mabel isn't having it.

"ugh! how the hack can we defend ourselves against will if we only have the second journal?! everything we know, will has a way to counter-act it!"

"you know, if you keep pacing like that, you're going to burn a hole into the ground."

mabel stops pacing at her brother's words, noticing how much she actually had been pacing. she groans in frustration, all while dipper smiles into his phone.

"you know, instead of being completely useless, you could help me—considering will's going to be after you, too?"

"i could..." dipper chimes back, "but where's the fun in that?"

"are you implying that staring at those not-so-secret creepy photos you take of the southeast girl is more fun than helping me? your own sister??"

"pacifica saved our lives, mabel."

"you heard her—she's done with you. why don’t you just move on like the rest of the human race?"

but if there is anything to know about the gleefuls, it's that they are indeed stubborn.

“how could i have moved on when i’ve never been infatuated at all?”

as if the timing couldn't have been any more perfect, mabel's phone buzzes.

"besides, i suppose your recovery in getting over gideon has been going spendidly, is that correct?"

“you better watch that mouth of yours since will’s not around to protect it anymore,” mabel threatens, turning away from her twin and picks up her phone.

“looks like my widdle giddy-widdy’s going golfing with—” she shivers before finishing, “pacifica.”

dipper sighs, putting his phone down.

“i’ll call soos to bring the car up front.”

"thanks for visiting the mystery shack! come back soon!"

as dipper waves off the last customer of the day, she goes back inside to close the front door; turning the sign from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED'.

what she didn't notice, however, was that there was a stranger out in the woods nearby... hiding in the bushes...

wait, it was not just any stranger...

"alright, you con-artist..."

pacifica mumbles to herself as she observes the shop owner as closely as she can, though the windows prove themselves a difficult task for the blonde.

"i don't know what you've done with my—i mean—the real dipper pines..."

the merchant remains on the sales floor, adjusting, tidying, and restocking product. it looks like... she has even more knick-knacks to display, and...

oh god, that does not look fashionable at all...

pacifica shakes her head, getting her focus back.

"i don't even know who you are... but i know you're not good news..."

she looks down at the notebook before her, filled with notes and sketches of some sort...

maybe you're not such a dummy after all... she thinks to herself, reminiscing her former partner, hopefully these parts of your research will be enough to find you...

pacifica reflects on one of her many dates with dipper, this one taking place in her room at northwest manor...

"whatcha working on there, dummy?"

pacifica's question pulls dipper out of his thoughts, turning away from the open notebook before him to face her. he chuckles before answering her.

"you'll see..." he replies as he concludes his notes, "... and there!"

upon finishing, dipper tucks his pen back in his pocket, closes the notebook shut, before handing it to his girlfriend.

"what... is this? you know i can't understand all this anomaly junk like you do..." she says, chuckling afterwards.

"you're selling yourself short, paz," he speaks as he places a hand on top of hers; which is on the notebook. "you're smarter than you realize. when you put your mind into things, you excel at them..."

he then looks back at her, making direct eye contact with his partner.

"... this isn't to say that i want you to get into this life with me... i could never force you to do what you are not interested in... but i have a feeling, paz. a gut feeling... that i may be getting in too deep, that i'm about to discover some truths that will come with dark consequences..."

"dipper... don't scare me like this..."

"sorry, pacifica. i didn't mean to... but it's the truth. this research of mine—i have a feeling that someday, i won't be as careful as i usually am... so when that happens..."

he looks back down at the notebook, causing pacifica to look down as well.

"let this notebook help you. it may not be as detailed as the journals—but this information is still important. i'm going to need someone that i can trust and count on to help me if i get myself in trouble."

she's silent for a moment, taking in her boyfriend's words: "... but you're gonna be safe, right? if this is very serious, maybe candy would be a better—"

"it has to be you, pacifica. i trust you."

as she finished her reminiscence, she looks back up from the notebook to the newly-opened 'mystery shack'—catching the right moment that dipper inputs some sort of code into the vending machine, creating a secret passage for her to enter through.

"i'm going to save you, dipper. i promise."

"so this is it... you're really leaving, huh?"

dipper is in shock to see pacifica northwest standing at the front door of the mystery shack as he is about to leave it for the final time this summer.

she looks at his bags, then back at him as she makes her comment: "i guess gravity falls is about to have two less dorks once again... heh, g-good riddance."

her voice trembles a bit toward the end of her words, clearly saddened by the twins' upcoming departure.

yet, dipper gives pacifica a soft smile in reassurance.

"it was bound to happen sooner or later... but you did it. you finally got rid of us, right?"

she sniffles, but gives a chuckle, "right."

"hey... it's not like we'll never talk again. we have each others' numbers—well, you have mabel's and we have yours. we'll always be a call away from each other."

pacifica's eyes begin to water, trying to keep up her act up: "ha! l-like i'd ever miss you or your weird sister..."

she crosses her arms, turning her head away, but he sees right through her.

pulling her in for a hug, he whispers in her ear.

"i'll miss you too, pacifica."

as a crowd gathers around pacifica, at the final hole, she gets her golf club ready; a determined look written across her face.

from afar, the gleeful twins and observe with two wildly different facial reactions: mabel's being of digust and unimpressed, while dipper looks rather bemused and intrigued.

as the golf ball makes it way through the final hole, it becomes merely inches away from a hole-in-one, which draws further attention from the gleefuls.

so close... so, so close... is it going to—

but right as dipper thinks about it, the ball misses the hole by some centimetres, swerving around it and landing in a muddy puddle.

"pathetic, isn't it, diphead?" mabel taunts, "anyways, it's about time to show that loser how a real golfer plays, right?"

dipper scoffs, "whatever."

with that, the gleeful twins make their appearance known to gideon and pacifica: mabel sucks up to gideon as usual, but he rejects her advances and reacts uncomfortably.

dipper goes back to his antics, as well. he steps closer to pacifica, taking a bow, as well as her hand. however, this time, she quickly pulls her hand back and gives him the cold shoulder.

"what gives, sunshine? c'mon, let me see that contagious, cute smile of yours, huh?"

pacifica doesn't say anything back, but only frowns deeper.

"can't you guys just leave us alone?" gideon asks, breaking the silence, "you two have been enough trouble for us this summer!"

then pacifica finally speaks up, only looking back at mabel: "and apparently now we can't even play golf without you two stereotypical horror-movie murderous magical twins lurking over us!"

mabel gasps in disgust, but dipper is dumbfounded... maybe even impressed?

"oh, it's so on."

oh, dipper... what have you done?

as he wakes up, dipper finds himself in... he can't even begin to describe his surroundings. though, to sum it all up in one word: unnatural. yeah, that's the word.

even though he could try to pin all the blame on her, deep down, dipper knew he had no one else to blame but himself for putting himself where he is right now.

"bill! you lied to me! where does that portal really lead?!"

"oh-ho! looks like mister brainiac finally got smart! let's just say, when that portal's complete—your dimension's gonna know how to party!"

"no, i'll stop you! i'll shut it down!"

"a deal's a deal, pine tree! you can't stop the bridge between our world from coming, but it would be fun to watch you try! cute even!"

good going, dipper! he berates himself in thought, internally facepalming, if you didn't build that dumb portal, you wouldn't even be in this mess!

after lamenting his current situation, dipper thinks of his loved ones, those that he's come to realize—he's just left behind.

pacifica... oh, god—pacifica...and █████... take care of yourselves, please.

in the first month since they've returned home in piedmont, dipper and mabel were stuck in a loop between sleeping and hour-long calls to friends back in gravity falls while bringing their parents into the loop of their family lore as well as going back to school.

sadly, they couldn't make time to talk to their grunkles as much as the likes of wendy and soos, but, given that the stan brothers needed time for themselves to catch up with each other, the mystery twins weren't bothered in the slightest.

in fact, there was so much that was happening—with melody permanently moving in with soos and his abuela to assist her boyfriend's new promotion in the mystery shack, wendy working less hours as she faces another year of hell— high school along with the rest of the group, and the friends of the twins who were closer in age also preparing their return to school.

"so..."

"you can stop smirking, dipstick, we both know i'm not enjoying this."

pacifica orders as she looks at her phone screen, currently on a video call with dipper... on mabel's phone, that is.

"c'mon, public school isn't as gross as you think it is, paz..."

"it's not just that... i just— i don't know how people will treat me... after, yunno..."

"hey," dipper smiles empathetically, trying to reassure her, "we've been over this. candy and grenda promised they'd take care of you and have your back."

"i know, i know..." she waves it off, knowing all that worry to be a waste of energy, "it's all too surreal though... like i'm trying to wrap my head around it. after all, a lot has changed for the northwests since we've had to sell the mansion."

"well, at least you can take this fresh start with a sense of pride, right? you could change what it means to be a northwest. make something honest of yourself and bring truth to your heritage. you were the chosen one!"

pacifica giggles at dipper's clichéd humour, "speaking of... lazy suzan said she'd be glad to take me in. something about needing an extra set of hands at the diner—another pretty girl to reel in some empty stomachs with full wallets."

"she's not getting any younger, right?" he asks.

"more like, she could only handle so many customers at a time."

"you'd make a pretty cute waitress, greasy's won't know what hit 'em."

heat instantly rises in pacifica's cheeks at dipper's sudden comment, immediately taken aback by his words.

although it looks as if dipper didn't fully register what he was saying either, as his facial reaction practically mirrored pacifica's as soon as the words left his mouth.

"you're getting too clever at sucking up for your own good... before you know it, i'll be hearing about a new girlfriend by the time you come back to gravity falls, huh?"

pacifica tucks a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, revealing more of her face along with her signature purple hoop earring; to which dipper's blush intensifies.

"maybe... it's not a bad thing, right?"

"i will sue you! i will sue you and i will own you!"

gideon, pacifica, and dipper share a victorious look as mabel threatens the lilliputtians from the outside of the gold course. though, those looks were wiped off their faces as soon as the latter turns back to look at them.

"look, i don't have any idea what just happened right now," mabel speaks, pointing a finger at pacifica, "but if you think—"

the guilt-ridden blonde cuts off the angry mage, handing her a turquoise-colored sticker with bubbly text which reads 'i a-paw-logize', featuring a mini illustration of a small—yet adorable—puppy.

"i'm sorry mabel," pacifica apologizes, rubbing her arm in shame, "i should've let you beat me fair-and-square."

mabel looks down at the sticker in her hand, inspecting it with a look of indifference as she raises her eyebrow. then, after a small moment, she looks back up at her arch-rival; reverting back to her casual behaviour, but visibly calmer.

she replies as she pats the sticker on her teal polo, "you're just lucky this sticker looks good on me."

pacifica smiles, a sense of hope and the idea of finally leaving this feud between them in the past. although mabel isn't as joyous, a hint of a grin graces her face, showing that the feeling is mutual.

then, a tap on the former's shoulder along with the sound of someone clearing their throat causes pacifica to turn around, finding the other gleeful twin holding a rose, looking more shy and sympathetic than he's ever been in his life.

"i believe i owe you an apology as well, sunshine," dipper says nervously, "it wasn't right to toy with someone's feelings, especially somebody who's kindhearted as you—"

"can it, gleeful." pacifica cuts off coldly, which is rather out of character for the bubbly blonde.

"you've got to try harder if you think i'm trusting you again."

twenty years have passed...

twenty years since dipper had mysteriously disappeared... the real dipper pines, that is...

and as much as pacifica hated to admit it... the search for her former partner is getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

when she looks at herself in the mirror first thing in the morning, she doesn't even recognize herself anymore, but it wasn't her looks she was thinking about... in fact, she aged gracefully and managed to stay as radiant as ever.

though, as someone who's been self-absorbed in their personal vanity throughout their whole life, pacifica doesn't see the point anymore. what's a couple wrinkles compared to losing someone who actually meant something to her?

so instead of the natural blonde that remains in her hair, or her designer top, pacifica looks into her eyes and sees someone who's stopped living twenty years ago.

in her reflection, pacifica sees nothing more than a shell of who she used to be.

however, today, she decides to try something different. since she's heard word of the new twins that have come to town, descendants of 'dipper' that are staying in gravity falls for the summer.

especially the six-fingered child. something about him reminds pacifica of the man she once dated—but she can't put her finger on it...

she goes to her walk-in closet, rummaging through the deepest corners to pull out... a-ha!

it wasn't anything special, no name to it, unlike her designer top, but the worn-out, slightly oversized cotton orange shirt brought some warmth to pacifica's cheeks as well as a heartfelt smile.

so, she replaces her slim-fitting lavender top with the worn-out shirt. seriously, it's a miracle how this shirt hasn't managed to get any moth holes in it or gradually fall apart after multiple washes...

then again, as long as that shirt's in pacifica's care, she can take care of that shirt for as long as she's willing to.

she has to—because it means that one day, he'll come back, and who knows if he needs something decent to wear.

after a few more months pass since the young pines twins have returned home, christmas has come to both piedmont and gravity falls—and though the feeling is supposed to be merry all around, it's not exactly the case for either dipper and mabel this holiday season.

with the possibility of their parents' separation being more and more of a reality each day, it's also becoming more and more difficult to keep spirits up—even for the shooting star.

but not all hope is lost—because today, the pines family has gone out to do their christmas shopping, and mabel was obviously looking forward to restocking on yarn for more sweaters to knit for her friends and family back in oregon.

dipper on the other hand, was stuck. not only did he not have the slightest clue on what to get for the others, but his mind was simply too pre-occupied with his parents' situation to even distract himself by consumerist indulgence.

"hel-lo! earth to dipper!"

the sound of mabel's voice was enough to pull her brother from his thoughts.

"c'mon bro-bro, i'm all stocked on yarn but you haven't touched anything yet... what gives?"

he sighs, clearly not interested in talking about their current familial situation, "i just... don't know what to get anyone. stan and ford are practically neck-deep with treasure, soos and melody are more interested in raising funds to improve the shack, wendy and her family are visiting relatives out-of-town, and pacifica—"

"ooh, pacifica~" mabel teases in a singsongy tone, smirking.

dipper blushes, but continues: "pacifica has everything. well, she lost all her ponies and the yacht after weirdmaggedon, but what do you get someone who has the money to get anything?"

as he crosses his arms, dipper leans back against a nearby wall and sinks down to the ground; bowing his head into his arms as if suggesting defeat.

so, mabel sits down as well, placing a hand on his shoulder: "dipper, you're the smart one here. if i was the one upset about being unable to find the right gift, what would you say?"

he raises his head slightly, giving only a peek at his sister: "i dunno, something about how christmas shouldn't be about gifts, but the people you care about?"

"ding-ding-ding!" she cheers, smiling proudly.

"okay, but it doesn't change anything. stan and ford are probably still out in the middle of the atlantic or pacific ocean or whatever, wendy's not even in town, and everyone else is with their own families. so what does that solve?"

the once bright, encouraging grin on mabel's face begins to falter, disheartened by dipper's sadness.

however, he catches sight of this, beginning to feel worse by his own actions. after all, his sister was only trying to lift his spirits and make him feel better. he told her what had been going on between their parents before they left for gravity falls in the beginning of the summer, and she's been trying to look at the bright side even more than usual.

this christmas might've not been perfect, but mabel was trying to make the most of it... maybe dipper should as well.

"i'm sorry, mabel. i've been too much of a buzzkill. the holidays have just been sucky this year... we've never known our family outside of california, but now that we do, i guess i wish we could've gotten together this year. things haven't been great since mom and dad... yunno... and things aren't getting better..."

"i know, dipper." mabel says, a mix of bitterness and disappointment in her voice.

"—but we have each other. we've had each other our whole lives, so at least there's one thing that can save this christmas from completely being the worst."

mabel sniffles, holding back her tears as she smiles at her brother.

"let's go home, bro-bro... i have a feeling that it'll feel better being there than at the mall."

so, the pines family leave the mall, returning home to rest before dinner. while mabel is beginning to knit sweaters for candy and grenda with the help of waddles, dipper plays dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons with their father; leaving their mother to cook dinner for the family.

however, beknownst to her children, mrs. pines prepares a dinner that is definitely much more than four stomachs to fill.

as the family is occupied with their own activities, the ring of the doorbell along with a knock at the front door gets the attention of everyone in the household.

"dipper, mabel, could one of you please get the door?" their mother asks, remaining at the stove.

"not it!"

"not it—augh."

mr. pines smiles at his son amusedly, nudging his head towards the door.

"maybe next time, dip."

getting up from the floor, dipper walks towards the front door.

who could it be? he asks in thought, it wouldn't make sense if it was a food delivery, especially when's mom's already cooking.

nevertheless, dipper turns the doorknob, to which he's met with—

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

he couldn't believe it.

"grunkle stan?! grunkle ford?! soos?! melody?!"

as their names take mabel away from her knitting, she dashes towards the front; squealing and jumping into the arms of her grunkles.

"you've made it! you really made it!"

dipper, taken aback by his sister's words, asks, "mabel, what are you talking about? they never told us they were coming."

"correction, bro-bro: they never told you they were coming," mabel says, "but actually, they didn't tell me they were coming—not if i was the one to invite them over!"

"what?! what about mom and dad?"

"why do you think mom's been cooking a lot since we got back home?"

the sound of their dad's voice causes dipper to turn around. jaw dropping, his shock intensifies as he realizes that their parents were in it too.

"we totally got you dude!" soos exclaims, laughing with melody, "just look at the look on your face!"

"what about candy? grenda?? wendy???" mabel asks excitedly, tugging on stan's dress-shirt.

"sorry, pumpkin," stan apologies nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "of course they wanted to come over, but they have their own families to spend the holidays with. i hope you're not too upset, honey."

"besides, you still have one friend who'd rather drop dead than spend christmas with her own family, anyways."

as the four visitors step aside, another familiar face is revealed to be in their company.

same old blonde bangs and bouffant, same atlantic eyes, but in place of her signature purple eyeshadow, she wears silver with a subtle red to frame her eyelids paired with a slightly-muted matte red lipstick. instead of her diamond-shaped earrings, are diamond-encrusted snowflakes, her classic purple outfit replaced with a lake foam green chiffon dress stopping at the knee with a fur wrap that is white as snow, finally completing the look with a pair of pumped-up silver louboutins (remember, pacifica is less rich, not flat-out broke).

"pacifica?" dipper says, his cheeks turning into a very faint pink.

"lied to my parents that i was going to the bahamas with tiffany, alexis, and tiffany's parents—thank god they make good alibis."

mabel's squeals cut off the blonde as she rushes over to her old enemy-turned-frenemy-turned-friend; the former pulling the latter into a crushing hug.

"AHH! PACIFICA!!" mabel screams in excitement. "i'm so glad you're here with us for christmas!"

"so, you must be the pacifica our mabel and dipper have been telling us about," mrs. pines approaches, rubbing her hands off on a kitchen towel, "i've heard a lot of things about you."

the child's eyes widen, immediately turning bashful: "um, more good things than bad, right?"

"of course," mr. pines answers, "we knew mabel would take a liking to you, but dipper? well, i—"

"okay!" dipper intervenes, laughing rather too loudly for comfort. he takes pacifica's hand, leading her into their home. "i think that's enough of that! everyone, come in!"

pacifica giggles at the boy's awkwardness, her cheeks growing a tad warm.

"glad to see you too, nerd."

"my wittle giddy-widdy! i need your help—"

"you're the worst."

and with that, gideon shuts the door, already heading back to the armchair before he hears the same pounding on the front door a second time.

"mabel?! let me answer!" pacifica beams in excitement, causing gideon to shrug and continue to make his way back to the television.

"go nuts," he deadpans.

"hey, mabel!" pacifica waves, smiling brightly, "what brings you here?"

"oh, hey pacifica," mabel replies, instantly losing her enthusiasm, "there's something haunting gleeful manor—"

"it's true, sunshine," dipper says, smiling at her, "if your cousin can't help us, our party could be ruined."

"okay, first of all, you're the worst." pacifica narrows her eyes, glaring daggers at the gleeful brother before turning back to his twin, "the party? you mean the same party your family throws at gleeful manor every year?!"

"yes, this party," mabel answers indifferently.

"hmm..." the blonde hums, tapping her chin in false thought, "i suppose i can convince gideon to help you guys."

"really?!" mabel asks, suddenly beaming.

"i guess..." pacifica draws out in response, "but in exchange, he's going to need three extra tickets to the party."

"what?!"

gideon's attention breaks away from the television once more, returning to the front door to clarify what he just heard. he tugs his cousin's arm, pulling her aside to speak to her in private.

"pazzy, these are the gleefuls! the same pair of twins who tried to kill us earlier this summer?!" he says in a hushed voice.

"but it's tiffany and alexis' dream!" she explains.

the two then turn to pacifica's friends, still by the television.

"DREAM~"

gideon then sighs in defeat, turning back to dipper and mabel.

"you heard her, it's three tickets or nothing."

"aah! i don't understand—what could i have possibly done to warrant this much arrest?!"

today's the day. after twenty years, pacifica had finally done it. she had caught that imposter; resolving the last piece in the puzzle to bring back dipper pines.

stepping outside of the government-owned vehicle, she joins agents lee rianda and nate menville, smiling victoriously as an officer pins the person identifying as 'dipper pines' onto the hood of the car, placing handcuffs onto her wrists.

agent menville takes out a tablet, displaying it in front of the felon, revealing footage of a government waste facility.

"at 0400 hours last night, we've noticed footage of an unknown party stealing three hundred gallons of hazardous waste."

"that's not me!"

pacifica, having just about enough of this con-artist's cover-up, steps up, raising a finger, pushing dipper's chin up.

"don't play dumb, pines. we all know it's you. you're as guilty as stealing that nuclear waste just as much as you're guilty for committing identity theft and causing a disappearance!"

the northwest was by no means, as smart as her ex-partner, but she used her strengths where they were needed.

she had connections. people she knew who specialized in genealogy, the kind of people who could scientifically prove that the apprehended woman before everyone wasn't really the person she claimed to be.

because of this, the evidence made the poor woman all the more incriminating to the government agents; fueling the grounds on which she were to be arrested for.

"miss northwest, you're making a mistake! sure, grauntie dipper might shoplift the occasional sticker sheet here and there, but she wouldn't make herself a threat to national security."

feeling guilty for the confusion and childlike naïvety that the young stanley pines was experiencing, she walks over to him, squatting down to his level and placing a empathetic hand on his shoulder.

"look, hon, these guys may have been watching your grauntie all summer—but i've known about her ever since i've moved here. i know i've been nothing but civil to you ever since you boys have come to town, but what you need to know is that your grauntie is not what she seems."

"you're lying!" stan accuses, pointing a finger up at her. "a-are you?"

"i wish i was... but the truth is... uglier than i'd like to talk about."

A/N: that's the end of the first part! if you want more, don't worry! i have a lot more coming! unfortunately, i reached the limit of 30 photos per post, so i'm going to have to make this a two-parter! basically, what i wanted to do here is work on three arcs in one! the thing that i really love about gravity falls, really comes down the endless possibilities! i've heard so much about the reverse falls au, but the relativity falls au is also brand-new to me. also, when it comes down to it, i really am just a sucker for multiverses (one of my first gravity falls fanfics was a crossover between this show and rick and morty—it was for a creative writing class in high school). i'm not sure if i'm 100% certain if i'm going to post the second part, because if anything, this was mainly me yapping about how i see dipcifica becoming official in not just the canon universe, but also the other au's i've included here. but if this turns out to be interesting for you guys, i might as well try to finish it.

in the meantime—please please please tell me what you think of this! i wanna know about your guys' interpretations of dipcifica in both canon+other au's! or maybe just other au's in general, since there are slightly different interpretations in both relative and relativity falls... i noticed that i've had more fun writing relativity falls, probably because that au is more new to me than reverse falls...

now that i'm yapping here, i gotta cut this short and get into the next part of this... fic?

and if you actually read through all this and got to this part—thank you so much :') it's been fun writing this so far, especially since this has heavily distracted me from the pain of my wisdom teeth extractions.

#gravity falls #jw: i love you in every universe #dipcifica #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #dipper x pacifica #dipper gravity falls #gravity falls pacifica #gf pacifica #gf dipper #reverse falls #reverse falls au #gravity falls au #relativity falls

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pedge-page · 9 months ago

Text

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.

Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.

You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.

The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him.

He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”

"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"

He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S F O R T H E B A B Y.

It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings.

But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor.

He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.

You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up.

He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.

You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.

The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it.

Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.

"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"

You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field.

"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.

"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap.

“Right. That."

You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.

“Can I have yours???"

He had only sliced 4 cuts for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you.

Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.

"You gotta watch the salt intake—“

“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”

“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.”

“What about the fist one?”

“….We split that.”

“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you.

“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?”

You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.

"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.

Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"

"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”

His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“

"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable.

He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”

You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.

30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.

You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”

Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”

He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.

Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.

His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?

Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.

And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers.

"Babe"

"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"

"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”

You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”

He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now.

"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)

"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."

You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!"

He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.

“So how about it?”

“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”

“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”

He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.

Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.

You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.

He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.

Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.

“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.

You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time!

It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy

"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water.

“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.”

"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”

Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "

“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”

Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”

You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”

Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.

Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.

He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.

"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.

But you don’t move. “No"

"Now.”

"I want an orange.”

"No. You—you just had your snack."

"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.

Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.

You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam.

You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.

You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.

Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.

“Yes?”

"Peel it.”

He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.

Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.

You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“

Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.

You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.

“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!"

He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”

Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.

“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”

You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.

You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time.

“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”

The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.

You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more.

It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.

He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place.

“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“

His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.

“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.

Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn.

Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you.

You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.

“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.

Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him.

If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.

Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”

“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”

Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.

He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #last of us fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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llamagoddessofficial · 10 months ago

Note

llama i must know

do you have any thoughts about siren bad sanses? 👉👈(//ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠//)

do i

Horror: Now, Skull is a cecaelia. But I think Horror would be a little different. A big frightening toothed whale - particularly, a Risso's dolphin. Risso's dolphins have a cool effect where any time they get an injury, their scars lose pigment and remain white forever. Horror is slowly turning whiter and whiter as time goes on.

Just like usual, he used to be normal sized, but his injury kickstarted a bizarre growth spurt and he's become far larger than he ever should've. He enjoys targeting boats - since he's so big he can easily sink small ships, his favourite 'game' is ramming vessels and seeing who survives after the ship rolls over. He eats anyone who drowns.

I can imagine him falling in love with you from the water, and rocking your boat purely to get your attention. If you ignore him he slams into the hull in frustration. He'd never sink your boat, of course... not unless you were really, REALLY ignoring him, and he lost his temper.

Dust: An oceanic whitetip shark. The beautiful dark colouring. The 'dusty' white edges of the fins and tail. A solitary, wandering creature that's probably responsible for many of the open-water shark attacks attributed to other species... IMO, it's absolutely perfect.

Before joining Nightmare, he travelled long distances in isolation, avoiding large vessels or groups but hunting down and killing anyone (or anything) he caught alone. He'll follow prey for weeks; he often waits for people on boats to go stir crazy before he attacks.

He's a distant admirer. He'll stalk from afar, but come closer at night, when it's hard to distinguish his dark shape against the moonlit sea. He thinks you'll be a very pretty siren.

Killer: @aka-indulgence suggested Killer is a bull shark and she's absolutely right. Killer is hyperactive and murderous, but incredibly loyal to those he cares about (even if he won't admit he cares). Bull sharks are fast, notoriously aggressive, yet surprisingly social.

Killer just enjoys... well, killing. He sometimes plays with his prey, but the games are never as forgiving as Horror's, or as patient as Dust's. He likes to bite the limbs off of his targets and watch them struggle to get away.

He's extremely friendly to you. Worryingly so. He lacks any subtlety, he'll come right up to your boat and put his arms over the edge when he wants your attention, flirting like you didn't just watch him murder another siren in cold blood. A swift strike with an oar is usually enough to ward him off - but unfortunately, it never seems to chase him away permanently.

Nightmare: He isn't any one species. He's much, much older. He was something else before his corruption... but times change, don't they? If you don't know what to call him, he certainly doesn't mind the ego stroke of being called a kraken.

Obviously it would be ridiculous of me to make Nightmare anything other than a cecaelia. He's large, scary, black as midnight sea, beautifully bioluminescent when he wants to be. He has attributes of lots of different deep-sea creatures; retractable hooks in his tentacles, a toxic bite, terrifying teeth, incredible vision. He's not the kind of thing you want to encounter underwater. Ever.

The other sirens would be very reluctant to let Nightmare know you exist. But when all three of his underlings are chasing the same prey... well. You'll catch his eye sooner or later.

#llamagines #cw drowning #killer comes back to nightmare with a huge mark on his face (you hit him with the broadside of an oar when he called you a snack)#bad sanses #siren sanses

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hoonvrs · 1 year ago

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SECOND BUTTON — n. riki

PAIRING riki × gnr

GENRE fluff, confessions, coming of age

WARNING none

W. COUNT 0.5k

S. NOTES happy bday to my baby <//3 cant believe he’s growing up

finishing high school is a bittersweet feeling.

realising that you’ll never be in the same school as all your friends anymore, that you won’t be seeing them five times a week when everyone moves on with their lives attending different colleges. safe to say it isn’t the happiest day in your eyes.

halls filled with students crying and hugging, some with markers in their hands as they write their goodbye messages on each other's t-shirts, their own covered in colourful messages.

everyone roaming the buildings one last time as a high school student before they leave to officially enter their adult stages. thankfully exams were over so the weight on your shoulders had lifted slightly, making sure to cherish the last few moments you had in this stage of life.

“guess what? i heard that kei is going to give hana his second button,” your friend gossiped, filling the whole group with gasps.

“poor guy, she’s definitely going to reject him.”

every year there would always be a select group of boys handing their crushes the second button of their uniform, a common confession practice at the end of high school year. there’s something sweet about it, giving the person you like the button closest to your heart instead of outright saying it.

it feels youthful, too shy to speak but brave enough to do something so bold in front of the whole school.

so after witnessing keis rejection live, your friends decided to go out to eat not being able to handle the second-hand embarrassment from their classmate. you didn’t make it too far out the school gates before someone called your name.

“yn!”

turning around to see someone running towards you, nishimura riki. everyone knew of riki for his dance skills always shown through the multiple stages and events he holds yearly, and maybe you’d spoken to him a few times but nothing enough to be considered friends.

you can hear your friends mumbling behind you as you walk towards him meeting him halfway, “hi riki, what’s up?”

there’s no denying riki is cute. from the mole adorning his face and his pouty lips, anyone could see he was blessed with looks alongside talent.

“erm—“ you could see him nervously fiddling as he reached for something from his pocket, “i just wanted to give you this.”

in his hands was a single gold button engraved with your school's cherry blossom design. you look up, scanning his uniform to see all his buttons intact except one.

the empty space where his second button once was stared back at you, as riki was starting to feel his adrenaline wear down and embarrassment start to crawl up his body when he noticed your friends a few feet away giggling and talking amongst themselves.

“you don’t have to take it. actually, this is stupid. i’m—“

before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed the button before his hands could close around it, clasping your own around the metal and pulling it closer to your own heart, “thank you riki, i'll text you?”

under different circumstances, you would’ve been worried how red the boy had gotten in the face as he aggressively nodded his head before running back the way he came.

maybe this next step is sweeter than expected.

perm taglist @mesopret @whoschr @haknom @shinsou-rii @redm4ri @lacimolela @llama-lyna @boyfhee @lazysmushi @flwoie @kocokookie @kyexvly @seongclb @dammit-jjk @flwrshee @produmads @teddywonss @aleiouvre @dneltrise @aleiouvre @nyxvrse @yohanabanana @whois-alexis @tinyegg @sserafimez @satsuri3su @yuemvi @chirokookie @idk-tbh777 @s00buwu @ynsvnte @isawritesss

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pawl3ss · 4 months ago

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I came here to be a hater and hate on the minecraft movie trailer.

Get ready because this is probably the longest and the most autistic post ive made so far

I wont talk about the weird cgi and how unprofessional it looks but about how inaccurate the trailer is because it pisses me off and I have to be a nerd about it <3

ALSO IM NOT SURE IF TUMBLR WILL LET ME POST ALL OF THIS IN ONE POST so if it doesnt ill reblog with the rest <:3

first of all, those are NOT minecraft mountains.

Yes such seeds exist and you can find smt like that super easily in the game but it does NOT look so blocky

It should be a bit more smooth like here ⬆️

Next, what the fuck happened to the flowers.

Alot of the plants, trees, etc look like a disrespectful rip off of minecraft

Talking about plants, the trees are a big wtf

On the first pic you can see the log is SO THIN. LIKE THINNER THAN A TOOTHPICK. In the second you can see it is thicker, but because the block that fell out is so Itty bitty, you have to make the tree thinner.

The tree is as wide as the players, and when the block falls out its bigger than whatever the fuck this is. Yes I understand they have to carry the blocks and they can't make it too big, but you know what's a good solution? - make the blocks bigger when they fall out, but make them shrink when they get close/get put into a chest or inventory. SO EASY

Also I know you can find pink sheep naturally in the game, but oh come on.

You want to show how sPeCiAl the characters are and that they're sOoOoOo special they found a pink sheep on their spawn but oh my God you could have just let it be a normal sheep.

We stay with animals, and WHAT HAPPENED TO THE POOR WOLF. THE SNATCHED WAIST???? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM ☹️

and why is the creeper so, fluffy. Creepers are NOT made out of fur they are made of what alot of minecraft players suspect rotten skin like zombies or a skin-alike material, but it is NOT fur.

Also, *wrong buzzer sound* llamas don’t just spawn naturally. Unless theres a wandering trader (or however theyre called in english) they aren’t able to spawn just like that. They also usually have the carpet on their back.

EDIT: TURNS OUT THEY DO SPAWN NATURALLY IN MOUNTAIN BIOMES. still the Llama being here looks like they just put her there to try and "be funny" ykwim?

I also wanted to also say, this one character I feel that they're gonna be the most stereotypical, annoying one out of the whole movie and my ears hurt just looking at them

I wanted to say that the portal shouldn't be blue but like. Only the nether portal is purple, it's unknown how other portals look so... yeah

But still wtf is this cube??? What's the fuck are you holding young man???

Also, talking about mobs, piglins dont look like that, they dont have red light in their eyes, they dont have those drum-things because THEY DONT EVEN EXIST IN MINECRAFT which i will get to latur. They aren’t able to build like that, they aren’t able to get wood for trapdoors and for the fences and iron for the chains. Also they do not even know how to craft, they probably domt even know what a crafting table is. And ghasts also aren’t able to be in the overworld. I understand that theyre invading the land ans taking over but still Like Cmon >:(

I also wanted to say that this is not how nether looks but like. It does a bit, like where the piglins usually spawn ykwim? so ill give them that, the nether looks alr

Anyway TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT DONT EXIST IN MINECRAFT: whatever this is, it isnt craftable in minecraft, unless there are mods installed. But the „mods” excuse can be used for everything in this post. It was the first thing i saw that pissed me off so badly that i had to make this post because like JUST USE ALL THE STUFF THAT THE ORIGINAL FRANCHISE HAS TO OFFER! NORMAL BUCKETS WOULD PROBABLY WORK JUST FINE!

Last but not least, if you think those two are the same character ive got some bad news for you buddy.

At least dye his beard brown. At least get the colours right. Please.

I think i mentioned everything i wanted. Lets hope the movie will get fixed or will turn out to be at least a bit better.

Thank you for letting me get nerdy about it <3

#pawl3ss #shitpost again #Rant #minecraft #minecraft movie #Honestly im so happy to talk about this because i absolutely love minecraft and talking about something that can -#- that can potentially ruin the fanbase of one of the most beloved franchises lets me yap about minecraft & it just makes me so happy :3 #it makes me so mad that a movie about one of my favourite games is being so disrespected like #i bet my whole life savings that i could have made a minecraft movie post it on yt and it woulve been ten times better that this shit

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

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I Will Explode With Joy, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Rafe loves to make the Holiday season the best for his angel.

Masterlist

Rafe loves to go all out with presents during the Christmas season. He has to stop himself from filling the living room with presents from his angel. But this Christmas, he has found the perfect excuse that allows him to buy her a gift that costs at least two thousand dollars. The cost doesn’t phase him; his fiancée deserves the world with how hard she has been working on her Master’s. As soon as he feels her heavy breath meets the skin of his chest, he carefully untangles himself from her hold. He places a pillow with one of his shirts on it underneath her so she has something to cuddle. He heads down to the basement to start bringing up the things he needs for her gift. It takes him about three hours to get everything together, but it’s going to be worth it once he sees how excited she will be when she sees this gift. Because, of course, he will have more than this for her Christmas presents. The minimum he can spend on her is five thousand. He puts the final touches on the gift and makes his way back upstairs to bed with the woman he is going to marry.

———

Y/N wakes up before Rafe does and she stays in bed until he does too. His eyes flutter open with a massive grin forming on his face at the same time. “Merry Christmas, Angel,” he whispers, kissing her nose. She matches his facial expression, “Merry Christmas to you too, Rafe.” His arms reach out to pull her closer to him. “Are you ready to go open presents?” he asks with excitement laced in his voice. Her lips pucker a little, “I am, but with how you are acting, I’m scared of finding out what you did this year.” Rafe chuckles and kisses her forehead. He gets out of bed, holding out his hand for her to take. He guides her downstairs and her eyes almost bulge out of her head at the sight of the most obvious gift.

It is a five-foot-tall Christmas tree made out of books, like the one she has seen on social media. The books overlap each other like bricks to make rows and rows of circles that meet at a point at the top. Ornaments rest on small book ledges alongside a light garland. At the very top, is a decorative book that has the pages forming a heart. It has to be at the very least one hundred books and she knows they are all new books because she recognizes some of the books from her to be bought list. She doesn’t walk further into the room; instead, she opts to stand in the doorway with her mouth agape. Her silence causes Rafe to panic. Did he get the wrong books? Did he go too far? Should he have made it taller? He knew he should’ve made it six feet. “Angel, do you like it?” he frets, placing a hand on her shoulder. Tears start to form in her eyes, “I don’t like it. I love it. I will explode with joy, Rafe. This is amazing.” She jumps into his arms, bringing warmth to his face by attacking him with her lips. Her legs wrap around him and he lets out a sigh of relief. “Good because I really wanted this to show you how much I love you,” he confesses. She gives him a final kiss on the lips, “You always show me how much I mean to you, but this really does take the cake. I love it and you, Rafe. Thank you.” Satisfied with her reaction, Rafe places her on the couch so that she can open her other presents. He’ll help her move all her new books into her library later today. She’ll probably need a new bookshelf too.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama

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julianalvarez9 · 2 years ago

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sundays are for lunch at the messi's / pedri

requests: podrías escribir otro de pedri x reader argentina? el otro me encanto 😭😭😭 & pedri and childhood best friend reader??? 🫶🏽😭

pairing: (argentinian) messi!reader x pedri (childhood friends to lovers)

author's note: the ages don't make sense but I DON'T CARE THIS IS FICTION.

summary: pedri and you had been friends for the longest time, so you don't need to introduce him to your parents, they already know him. but there's a slight change of titles that they're not aware of, and you need to face.

wc: 2k words.

you've lived in barcelona your whole life.

you're accustomed to it all: the good and the bad. the recognition on their faces when your last name is heard, the little gasps and whispers that came with it. you never liked it, of course, but there's nothing you could do about it. you're aware that anyone that has ever come close to you always wants something. when you're 15, and all you want to do is be normal, be like the other girls, it's hard. but there's one person who never saw you as anything else than just a little girl, sometimes too shy for her own good, but who was always down to play with him if it involved football.

pedri has been by your side ever since your father brought you to ciutat esportiva one time as a kid. you were meant to just stay in the bench, "total es un rato, sí?" (it's just for a bit, yeah?), your father had promised, but being 9 years old, your legs can carry you anywhere you set your eyes to, especially when you’re bored. and, being the daughter of a football star, it’s only right for you to be drawn to a ball. you don't even see the kid with big, brown eyes and black hair at first: the owner, for sure.

"¿quieres jugar?" (do you want to play?) the kid, who looks just a bit older than you due to him being just a bit taller, kindly asks, and you only nod your head in affirmation. he passes the ball to you softly, not wanting to be too rough, and you surprise him greatly by passing it back to him in a smooth movement. “¿cómo te llamas?” (what's your name?) he questions, and you only reply with your name before asking for his.

not long after, your father comes looking for you. “creo que alguien te está buscando” (i think someone’s looking for you) pedri says, tilting his head to where your father is, although he doesn’t recognize him at first. leo’s smiling, like he always is, and you wave pedro goodbye before running towards your dad. your little friends sees the last name printed over your back, but he doesn't think anything of it. he has "messi 10" printed over his too.

“¿te estabas divirtiendo?” (were you having fun?) your father asks once you get to him, and he helps you put on the jacket that is, still, to big for you, but needed to provide the warmth the chill air had deprived from your little figure. your cheeks are blushed pink when you nod, but you hope he only thinks it's because of the cold.

but something had changed in all these years.

now you're holding his hand, hard, while he tries to drive you to your parents house. it isn't too far from where you're currently living, but if anything, that makes it worse when you're holding on to him for dear life, your nerves getting the best of you. it's not like they didn't know pedri. but that was the issue: your father knows him as his teammate, one of the promising youngsters raised in la masía just like he was once. the little kid who was kicking the ball with you that one time you had run away from his watch. not as his daughter's boyfriend.

"bonita, si esto te está poniendo mal…" (pretty girl, if this is making you this anxious…) he's the first one to talk when the traffic light goes red. his dark -but still warm- brown eyes are set on you, lovingly, while his thumb strokes your hand up and down in a calming gesture. you know he's trying to reassure you, and he'd be happy just to drop you off if you're not comfortable with the idea of presenting him as your partner, but you know it's not that.

"no, no. está bien. solo estoy un poco nerviosa" (no, no. it's okay. just a little bit nervous) you get to say, before pressing a soft kiss in the back of his hand that has him smiling widely. the light turns green again and he has to focus his eyes on the road once more, but not before trying to lighten up the mood. "ya me conocen" (they know me already) he jokes, and he's not wrong. except, there has been a slight change in the titles that your parents aren't quite aware as of yet.

"sí, como pedri, número 8 del barça. no como pedro, novio de su hija" (yeah, as pedri, barça's number 8. not as pedro, their daughter's boyfriend). he gulped, realization dawning on his face at understanding why you were as fidgety as you were: meeting your girlfriend's parents is a huge step in a relationship -not that he would have experienced it before, giving that you were his first-, but even more considering who your parents were. you would have laughed at him, if it wasn't because the nerves were engulfing you whole too. "bueno, si lo pones así…" (well, if you put it like that…).

sooner rather than later, you two arrived to your destination, and even if you wanted to stay in the car just for a bit longer, to feel a bit more prepared, your brothers had already heard the sound of the car and jumped straight out of the house to find you. they were a little surprised when pedri stepped out of the car after you, but given that they were avid barcelona fans due to your dad, they were the good kind of surprised: almost starstruck, which made you laugh.

the noise outside eventually drew your mother out, too, and antonela smiled widely at seeing that there would be one more person joining them. she genuinely loved organizing parties or family events, so the more, the better in her opinion. "¡que sorpresa, pedri!" (what a surprise, pedri!) she said, clapping excitedly. your boyfriend straightened again, after squatting down to talk to your brothers more closely. "bienvenido, pasá, hay lugar para todos" (welcome, come in, there’s room for everyone) she encouraged, and you both got closer to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, before the six of you went inside.

it doesn't come as a surprise to you that everyone is pleased with his arrival. it's almost like you're erased to a second place, and you're happy with it, never one to thrive in the spotlight. pedri, on the other hand, loves it. loves to chat happily with your mom when she asks him about how training has been, loves to follow your three little brothers when they beg him to play some football with him. your father is in the backyard, so occupied with grilling the meat -as he did every sunday, maintaining the ritual of making asado even if he was miles away from his dear argentina- that he doesn't think any of the noise.

"así que vos y él…" (so you and him…) your mother inquires once it's just you and her, and just a nod from your part does it for her. antonela has been your relationship's number one supporter even before you two realized you liked each other. she just knew, as she puts it. "te mira como me mira tu papá" (he looks at you just like your dad looks at me) she had gushed one day, and you could never brush the comment of your mind ever since. two weeks later, pedri actually confessed his feelings for you after scoring an important goal for the team, saying "fue para tí. cada uno de mis goles, siempre fueron para tí” (it was for you. every one of my goals, they always were for you).

this was something you didn’t consider could be a problem before: your dad knew him. he was used to seeing you two together often, as you were the closest friends before starting to date officially. pedri being invited by you to a family lunch wasn’t that weird, even if it hadn’t happened before -and that should be enough indication that something had changed-. but apparently, not for leo messi, who remained clueless.

the lunch goes smoothly: you two are laughing with your parents, and everyone seems to be having fun. sometimes his hands find your leg in a reassuring way, or your hands find his to calm his nerves a little, but it's all under the table: no one sees. at least, when they're all seated at the table. but soon enough, your two little brothers, mateo and ciro, grow impatient, and they leave the table to go play football. that's when they see.

"¿por qué pedri y vos están agarrados de la mano como papá y mamá?" (why are pedri and you holding hands like mom and dad do?) ciro asks, and mateo, who is normally the mischievous one, holds his hand against his mouth, like trying to keep the secret from spilling out his lips, even though it's too late.

antonela only grins, but since she already knew from before, she whips her head to see her husband's reaction. you do something similar, switching your focus to pedro, who instead has his face drained from color, blood clearly gone to his legs in case he needs to run for his life, kind of a fight-flight reaction. and even before thinking about it consciously, he knows he's not fighting lionel messi. no matter how much he loves you.

"¿por qué todos me miran a mí?" (why are you all looking at me?) your father frowns, and he genuinely looks dumbfounded. you don't want to say you're expecting him to lift from his chair and grab him by the neck, because he's not like that, and above all, he knows pedro is a good guy, but still, his reaction takes you by surprise. even more than his following words. "ya sabía!" (i already knew!).

now it's your turn to have the blood drained from your face, not having expected this answer from him. how did he know already? you were careful of not being pictured with him alone, deciding it was best to spend the day at your house, or at his, to avoid any pictures from leaking. you didn't even hang out outside if there weren't some of your mutual friends with you, to avoid suspicions. you knew pedri drawn attention, even more so now that he was a permanent feature in the starting eleven, but you two figured that it wouldn't exactly help that your last name was messi.

"¿qué significa que ya sabías?" (what does it mean that you already knew?)

he laughs, clearly amused with your reaction, and then begins to explain. "bueno, para empezar, no es como que gavi sea precisamente callado al hablar" (well, for starters, it's not like gavi's the most quiet guy to talk) he says, and pedri, by your side, laughs. gavi was one of the few that knew about you two -if not, the only one- and pedri curses him for being so careless. "que cabrón" (what an idiot) he mutters under his breath, and you turn to smile at him, which he reciprocates. "y después, vos, pedri" (and then, you, pedri) leo begins again, and it has your boyfriend's eyes diverting from you, once again. "no es como si no viera que cada vez que hacés un gol, apuntas al palco de mí familia" (it's not like i don't see that every time you score, you point at my family's box).

"¿y no te molesta?" (and you're not bothered?) you ask, but this time you're afraid of the answer. it's not like he can forbid you from dating pedro, or to date in the first place, but still, you care because it's your father. and it's his teammate.

"para nada. lo supe desde que te escapaste para jugar a la pelota con él" (not at all. i knew it since you ran away to play football with him) he says, and you try to hide your burning cheeks from everyone's eyes with your hands, but it's no use.

"sabía que te habías enamorado de mí ese día!" (knew you had fallen in love with me that day!) pedri quips, and you hit his arm jokingly, too embarrassed to admit that, yeah, little 9 years old y/n messi had fallen in love with pedro gonzalez at first sight.

#football imagines #football imagine #football x reader #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez imagine

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spicyclover · 1 year ago

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Delilah | part three

Summary: “Hey there, Delilah I know times are gettin' hard But just believe me, girl Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar We'll have it good We'll have the life we knew we would My word is good. “

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

“Delilah, come on. Let’s go. We’re done shopping for today.” She turns to you, and the stranger raises his head. Your heart misses a beat. It’s not possible. What’s he doing there. The eyes of the unknown also open.

The world stops. Your breathing stops. You never thought for a second that this day would come so fast. You are stunned, frozen on the spot. You look at this man who was once a close acquaintance. You do not know what to say, and neither is he. His brain integrates information.

For a moment, when he saw this little girl at the corner of a booth, he thought he saw his son's face. It was only the blink of an eye for a moment, but she had this expression and figures so similar that it troubled him. Trouble because he knows very well that his son has no children. He needs to see her closely. He watched her from a distance for a few minutes before daring to approach her. And then their eyes met. The same as his son. It was almost a return in time. For a second, his five-year-old son was in front of him.

Delilah watched the man with big eyes before she started talking to him happily. She smiled with all her teeth when he showed interest in her finds in her pink basket. She made him a complete inventory of its contents before smiling again at the elderly man. Then your voice resounded, and the moment passed. Carlos Sainz Sr’s eyes rose towards your figure, and the surprise is read on his face. Never in his life has he thought of seeing you again. You exchange no words. The discomfort and uneasiness is heavy and pressing. You only want to escape as quickly as possible on the first train. You take your daughter’s little hand and move away from the square.

"¿Cómo te llamas, pequeña?" Ask Carlos Sainz Sr, pushing his voice through the crowd. What’s your name, little one?

"Delilah. Delilah Y/L/N." She answers proudly before turning to her mother.

You met your parents in the car. You want to run away. Far away. Isolated. He knows. That’s for sure. He’ll tell him. It will ruin everything you’ve built. You close the door violently, and your father starts without asking anything. You can feel their worried looks on you. Delilah, in her car seat, looks joyfully at the landscape. You are lost in your thoughts. Why haven’t you been more careful? You’ve managed to keep it a secret all this time. Questions scroll through your head like a groceries list. You feel your phone vibrating, and your heart misses a beat. You remain forbidden for a moment before taking the object and opening it. It’s a message from Paola; Cato chewed your shoelaces. A sigh of relief escapes your mouth, and you answer vaguely that it is nothing.

The rest of the day is quiet. You help in the gardens while Delilah plays in the small pools that your parents bought. You watch her from the corner of your eye. Her little polka-dot red swimsuit brings out her caramel complexion and dark eyes. She’s swimming, monopolizing your father’s concentration, trying to get the garden hose to work.

“¡Papi! Mírame a mí,” She screams, her head popping out of the water. “¡Papi!” Papi! Look at me!

“Sí, sí, es genial Delilah.” Your father responds vaguely by grumbling after the tip. “¡Esto es una mierda!” Yea, yea, it’s excellent, Delilah. It's crap.”

“¡Papi!”

You wipe the earth with your hands and go back to the front of the house to get a bag of potting soil. You’re focused and don’t notice the two people outside the portal waiting. You only raise your head as you hear the sound of a voice that is familiar to you. Your eyes cross their eyes. Carlos Sr and Reyes stand, a bottle of red wine and a basket in hand. You sigh and slowly approach.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"We want to talk to you, Hermosa." Answer Reyes nicely.

Reyes has always been there for you. She has always considered you her daughter. After all, you have spent many summers in their company.

"I have nothing to tell you."

"I think you do."

"It’s none of your business." You say turn heels.

"She looks like him like two drops of water. You’re not going to make me think she’s not his." Carlos says, pointing away in the backward where they could hear your daughter laughing.

"No, you’re right. I have nothing to make you believe. He’s not the father. Leave before I call the police."

You grab one of the bags of soil and head back to the back of the house.

"Y/n!" Call Carlos Sr. "He’s not perfect, but he has a right to know. Why you hid her from him?" The drop gets the vase full, and you flip, an angry expression on your face.

"Because you think he doesn’t know?" You exclaim. "You think I didn’t spend months trying to reach him. That I did not come crying in tears at his door, begging him to open it to me in the pouring rain. That the only thing he had to tell me was that he didn’t want it and that I had to get rid of it because I was not and would never be good enough for him. If that’s what you believe, you’re wrong. Now get out of here and don’t come back." You say, the tears running down your cheeks. Reyes' eyes fill with tears, and Carlos Sr can’t believe what you say. How can he? His son is perfect...

You turn around for good and return to the back of the house. Your mother notices your puffy, reddened eyes with tears but makes no comment. She knows you don’t want to talk about it. You go back to tapping the earth to flip it. The shovel blows into the ground slowly, calming you down and lowering your pressure. No one suspects they came to see you. The rest of the afternoon and evening is spent in a peaceful atmosphere. You can even forget about them when you bathe Delilah. She always makes you laugh with the foam on her head. That’s when you’re glad she’s in your life, despite everything that’s happened. You are grateful that she is there daily and that you share your life with her. Seeing her grow up hurts you but, at the same time, fills you with joy.

Delilah is sleeping peacefully beside you. You’ve been watching the ceiling for three hours now, unable to sleep. You sigh one more time before you give up and get up. You go up to the window and sit there. The night is clear. You can see some stars. Somethings, back in Fuengirola, you got up to the roof and lay under the stars. You often did this during the summers when Delilah was much younger. Hearing the city and the agitation of the night always helps her calm down from her disturbed dreams. You sometimes think; it makes her feel less alone. Delilah dreams. You hear her whisper incomprehensible phrases in her sleep. She whispers your name. She has always had a troubled sleep. She talks like he does it too.

It was a cool autumn night, and you were all in a cottage by a lake. Your two families are gone for the week, and you share your bed with Blanca and Ana. You’re lying next to her in the queen bed while Carlos sleeps on an air mattress on the floor. You can’t sleep. You argued before you left with your boyfriend then, and you replay the scene in your head. He is angry because you refuse to have advanced relations with him. You’re only sixteen, after all. You don’t feel ready, but you can’t help to feel pressured by him. It makes you angry and a feeling you can't quite describe yet. You turn your head and look at Carlos. He sleeps peacefully next to you. His mouth is ajar. Her lips are so soft. You often imagine how they would feel on yours. Your body turns, and you watch her sleep. You hear him whispering in his sleep, little words or little sentences. You are not sure. You come closer to try to understand, but it’s just gibberish.

Your hand comes out of the warm duvet, and you stroke the outline of his nose with your fingertips. He shudders, but he doesn’t wake up. Your finger continues its journey and arrives at the corner of his lips. You hesitate momentarily before passing your hand on it when you feel Carlos move. His body jiggles, and his head comes to find your finger. You find yourself in the middle of his lips, and unconsciously, he gently kisses your index. You blush strongly, and you withdraw your hand quickly. You are warm, and this heat spreads throughout your body. You feel your crotch become sweaty and turn to the other side. Ashamed of what just happened without his knowledge. You close your eyes, and you only see his lips kissing your finger. You spend the rest of the night awake with that strange heat between your legs.

The following day, when the sun is high, you sleep deeply. The others have already left the room for a long time. The shutters are pulled. A slight breeze cools the room. In your sleep, you are out of the duvet and intertwined in it. Your shorts are raised at the corner of your buttocks, and your t-shirt covers very little skin. You are sure your stomach and your head are facing the window. You are deeply asleep, and you do not hear the agitation downstairs.

"Carlos, ve a por Y/n para almorzar. Sé que estamos de vacaciones, pero no estamos aquí solo para dormir.” Says Reyes, pointing the stairs at his son. "Carlos, go get Y/n for lunch. I know we’re on vacation, but we’re not here to just sleep."

He gets up from the couch, and heads against the heart goes the room. He always thought of you as his sister, but recently, he has emotions that he does not understand when he sees you. His heart capsizes, and every time you laugh, his body warms up with a strange warmth. When you gave him your ocean eyes. He has never experienced this with anyone. He enters the room and sees you. Lying down. In this innocent position. His body reacts, and his cheeks warm up. Your breathing is slow. You are asleep. He sees through the sheets and your t-shirt the tip of your breast. "She is beautiful." He thinks while trying to drive away these impure thoughts towards you. He approaches you. He can’t help but run his fingers over the bare skin of your legs. "So soft, so warm." It gradually rises, tracing the contour of your body. It is warm and feels the thrill you run under its hand. He smiles before continuing his way. He touches the outline of your buttocks before drawing that of your spine. He looks at your face, and his eyes stop on your lips. He wants to kiss you. He wants to capture them from his own. To hear you say his name. He leans over to you, letting his instincts speak.

Suddenly, steps resound from the staircase, and he abruptly departs. By the way, he accidentally hangs a strand of your hair and pulls it out of your bed, falling down the bed. You scream in pain as you open your eyes frantically. You look around, and Carlos' two sisters enter the room while Carlos struggles to get up, tangling in the duvet.

At this memory, a blank smile appears on your face. You raise your head and see the cute face of your daughter, who struggles to open her eyes.

"Mama," she whispers, still asleep.

"Go back to sleep, baby. It’s not morning yet," you get up from your seat and return to bed. She hugs you and places her head on your chest. Her thumb in her mouth and her cuddly toy in the other. She falls back to your side. Your eyelids are heavy, and you drift towards the arms of Morpheus in your turn. Maybe you can consider seeing them. They probably love to meet Delilah. She would like them too. In those thoughts, you really drift away.

______________________________________________________________________

Let me know if you are still interested in this story :) I have a few interesting ideas.

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#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fluff #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff

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sirianasims · 10 months ago

Text

After the main course, Paul went to the kitchen to get the dessert ready before midnight. I excused myself and said I needed some fresh air.

I had been to Del Sol Valley a few times when I was little, visiting my grandparents, but I didn’t remember much about the city itself.

The back of Paul’s mansion was the only thing not surrounded by fences, and the view was both breathtaking and terrifying. Bright lights as far as the eye could see, occasional premature fireworks going off, faint background noise from traffic that never stopped.

It felt like we were gilded birds in a cage up here, always on display yet forever out of reach.

I couldn’t imagine anything further from Copperdale and the quiet, snow-covered forests around it.

I wondered if Paul would expect me to move in with him at some point. I didn’t see how he’d be able to work from anywhere else. I could work wherever, but could I live here? Surrounded by fences and cameras and security guards in a huge, empty house?

I pushed the thought away as I heard the clacking of heels behind me.

“Julia, can I talk to you for a moment?”, Sierra asked softly. “I would really like to apologise for what I said earlier. It was never my intention to insult you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that, but I still can’t help feeling that you don’t like me very much. Or maybe you just don’t think I’m good enough for Paul?”

Sierra bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t have brought up his exes, especially not in front of you. The thing is, they rarely lasted long enough for the media to catch on – half the time I didn’t even get to meet them before he ended things. So when Paul first told us about you, I got worried. I saw him falling harder and faster than ever before, but you’re so much younger than him and I was struggling to see how it could possibly end well.”

“Right. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just being honest with you. I tend to be, perhaps, overly protective of Paul. He was even younger than you when we met, we shared a shitty apartment with a few other aspiring actors, all trying to break through. We cheered each other on, audition after audition, practicing lines, commiserating over rejection letters… And then he got the call for Llama Man, and I ended up as an extra in a cop series which later got me the lead in Cop & Llama, but I’ve fought hard to escape that, branch out to other roles, and Paul just… didn’t even try.”

“But he says he prefers the voice acting, though. If you’re his friend, why do you keep pushing him if he’s perfectly happy?”

“Because I’m his friend. Sure, he says he’s happy. Maybe he even believes it. But Paul was always the best of us, and he never took his talent seriously. He’s a great voice actor, but it always felt like he secretly wanted more, he’s just scared. What if he sucked? The media would have a field day, writing about how he should just stick to his cartoons. You’ve seen what they’re like, you just had your first front page. Which, by the way, must be rough. I’m sorry for adding to the stress you must be under right now. Can we maybe start over?”

“Apology accepted, I’m too much of a fangirl to be mad at you anyway. And I’m managing, but I must say, being on the cover of a magazine is a lot less fun than advertised.”

“Trust me, it depends heavily on the kind of magazine. But being hung out to dry by some gossip rag is a rite of passage in this business. You should have seen the frenzy when rumours about me and Dave started circulating. It was wild. I once walked out of an interview because they asked me if the llama costume stayed on during sex!”

“Well? Did it ever?”

Sierra grinned.

“No way – do you have any idea how heavy and warm that costume is? It’s not exactly a sexy superhero muscle suit, it’s a full size sports mascot.”

“True. Although I’m not sure I’d appreciate it if Paul kept his costume on either.”

We both laughed, and I barely registered the steps behind me before I felt Pauls arms around me, his warm hands covering my eyes.

“Guess who.”

I heard Sierra chuckle. “Actually, Paul, we were kinda busy out here, bonding over the trials of dating men in llama costumes. It’s a very exclusive club.”

“I guess Dave and I have to start our own club then. But it's almost midnight and I would like to borrow my girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine, you can have her back. I’ll just go get myself one of those fruit tarts before Lee and Dave eat them all.”

She walked back inside without waiting for a response.

She wouldn’t have gotten one anyway.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #paul romeo #sierra moss

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butterbabyflapjack · 2 years ago

Text

BRAT

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

[ Badjhur NSFW audio of chapter 2 ]

You’ve been acting like a brat, and Ghost has had enough of it.

“You can consider this punishment. Can consider it me spoiling your bratty behavior. But you wanted my attention, and you’ve gotten it. So tell me now if you don’t want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until it breaks, otherwise I’m taking what I want from you, and you’ll accept everything I give like the greedy fucking whore you’re pretending so hard not to be.”

ೃ[ TAGS ] sexual content, sexual tension, dominant Ghost, cheeky Soap, power dynamics, messy feelings, voice kink, mask kink, glove kink, dom/sub, indirect daddy kink, biting, rough sex, begging, brat breaking, voyeurism, just a dash of possessive choking, forced eye contact, oral fixation, tactical gear kink, desk sex, possessive Ghost, love triangle, jealousy

ೃ[ TAGLIST ] @ahoycaptainautumn @your-highnessmarvel @wolfgalsniper @confuseddipshit @prettynalilgay @merzkihstuff @alfie2401 @emberwolfgames @willowbrookesblog @meujias @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @magicgal @verios @flrwpwr @jewelsisurmom @imjusthereforghostsmutt @circuskatt @darkstars-14 @maxksc-blog @lillianastuff @assia123-green @collarwhiskers @divergent-llamas-03 @voidinfernal

ೃ[ CHAPTERS ] chapter.1 - chapter.2 - chapter.3 - chapter.4

::chapter 4::

[ SUMMARY ] You try your best to avoid temptation, but Soap has other plans, ones your lieutenant might not appreciate.

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] If you started reading this when it first came out, there’s a nsfw audio of it now that’s super steamy thanks to badjhur and @urfavsunkissedleo~♡ it was a lot of fun to hear my work in a different format (not to mention badjhur’s voice is ummmmmmkhlkgjhj) and if you want to you should check it out! (with headphones!! trust me on this one)

Also, ♡!dubcon warning!♡ Also also, sorry about my poetry loving ass I could not help myself.

Also (it’s my last also I swear), I maybe forgot to say what your teammates look like, so here are their muses in case you’re interested.

You stare on in rising horror at the sexy little number Ghost is holding out on one far-too-casual, fully gloved finger; a stark contrast to just how overdressed he is yet how underdressed he wants you to be. Fighting not to feel the weight of everyone’s attention passing between it – that champagne-hued monstrosity – and you; the woman expected to wear it.

You.

You’re supposed to wear that.

For a mission.

This is not a joke. There is no punchline. Where’s a fucking punchline when you need one?!

And ‘dress’ really is a generous term for whatever that silky, clingy thing is he’s offering you in front of everyone, with all the silent expectance that you walk right over and take it.

And you should. You should just follow orders, especially since everyone is watching you.

“I am not wearing that,” you tell him firmly, instead; digging your heels in from across the room.

Even smeared black and shadowed by his hood, you can see the subtle flex in how he barely raises a single brow. And even from across the room, a room full of people staring at you, the darkened depths of Ghost’s eyes has its way of making you forget about everyone but him.

“It isn’t a request,” is his response, like gravel in his throat. Gruff. Succinct. “So stop being a brat. Come over here, and take it.”

But alright, we are jumping ahead of ourselves a little bit here. So let’s rewind about twenty minutes, to before your morning was ruined by shrink-wrap disguised as a dress. Back to when the only thing sabotaging your morning was one Johnny “Soap” MacTavish; and he was sabotaging it, and you, and everything.

The morning started out tolerably enough, about twenty minutes prior; heavy on the ‘started’.

Your eyes blink open, and though your cramped little room doesn’t have a window, you still get the sense that it’s dawn. And you sit up, rubbing your eyes awake upon the haphazard bed you’re still half-tangled in.

Getting the sense that its dawn is part of the reason you don’t like hanging out in your hovel of a room, even with its safety of a door to hide from the rest of your team behind. For all its supposed privacy, its lack of windows makes it feel like a cave with a lamp left perpetually on (because you don’t ever feel quite safe on missions, especially not in windowless dark, and especially not on this mission). Yet even with the lack of sunlight to tell you that it's dawn, to make you feel more human for a single second, life is good. Life is warm. Because when you first wake up, you don't remember anything.

And then that second passes.

And then you remember all the stupid things you’ve done.

Like letting your lieutenant fuck you over his desk, more-or-less in front of an audience.

And like you – vividly imagining sucking off Johnny’s calloused, spaghetti-sauced fingers at the exact same moment you’re batting eyelashes at him in the kitchen – also in front of an audience.

You really like making a fool of yourself on stage, don’t you?

Lord, what is this safehouse doing to you? To any of you? Nothing was this complicated before you all got trapped in this shoebox, before this mission began, and you blame this shoebox-sized apartment for everything.

So, yeah.

The morning started off tolerably, but this is where it starts to fall apart.

But don’t worry, it gets better – and by ‘better’ I of course mean worse. (And we're not even talking about the dress yet, but we’ll get to that. Believe it or not, there are worse things than that horrid little dress).

Lost in your frustration for this apartment and whatever mind games it's playing with you, a gruff knock at your door makes you jump so sharply you reel back in bed, thwacking your head against the headboard.

“Living room in twenty, Hush.”

It's Soap. You can tell by that husky voice you're beginning to loathe, because like Pavlov's dog, you salivate when you hear it.

Rubbing the ache from the back of your skull, you exhale a stifled groan, which apparently these paper-thin walls allow Johnny in on.

“You all good in there, lass?” he asks, sounding a bit too amused for your liking.

“M’fine,” you call back through your teeth, glad he can’t see you wincing, and maybe you should hide out in here all day even if it’s as suffocating as a submarine.

“Sounds like you took a tumble.”

You frown at your door, at where Soap must stand behind it, hand dropping. “Mind your own business, Soap.”

You hear his chuckle, like a rockslide breathed against the door, and suddenly you're blinking far too quickly at how the mere sound of laughter sinks like honey in your veins.

“Right now you are my business…” he murmurs, and why does something so seemingly innocuous make your gut clench?

You shake the flustering sensation away, forcing a scowl at the door. “Just – go! I’ll be out in a minute!”

Again, his lowered, breathy laugh does horrible things to you.

It’s the apartment – this stupid fucking apartment – it’s messing with you.

“If you say so, Hush,” Soap muses, before the heavy sound of his boot steps carries him further away down the hall.

Crisis averted.

For now.

It’s hard to be relieved when you know you’ll just come face-to-face with him again almost instantly, such is the size of this place. And when you do, who knows what you'll end up doing - it's like you and everyone else has lost their heads in here. And though you’re tempted to lock yourself away in your room, you refuse to hide in bed all day over two guys and a hundred possible bad decisions you’ve yet to make.

Mistakes have definitely been made during your unfortunate stint in this shoebox-sized purgatory, but that doesn’t mean you’ll entertain any more dumb ideas. And you’re fully resolved not to, just as you’re hellbent on pretending that nothing at all has happened already, that nothing at all has changed – not between you and Ghost, not between you and Soap, and definitely not between all three of you.

…

All three of you?

What’s that phenomenon called? That one where you tell yourself not to think about something, and then you just think about it ten times harder even more than you would have?

Cause that’s what’s happening now.

You and Ghost and Soap. It slips across your mind, and, oh, god, that’s officially the last thing you need right now, but like a viscid bad dream, you can't wake up, can’t scrape the image once it’s there.

And you have a vivid fucking imagination.

You can see it. Can feel it. A fever-wall of heat on either side of you, yourself a meal torn between two wolves; rough, greedy. Twin lips mapping your skin, your chest, your nape, your neck, marking every inch of you until everything is theirs. Gruff hands, wanting hands, possessive, tearing through your clothes, charting the smoothness of your skin. Calloused, wood-hewn hands that mold to you, mold you to them, between them, till every exhale is their groans or your gasps and you don’t know where you end and they begin.

And in this dream, this fever, Ghost’s mouth finds your ear from behind, rough voice warm against your skin.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, like he already knows. “Greedy fucking thing.” Grabbing your waist, jerking your ass back into him; a puzzle piece that fits so snugly between himself and Soap.

You try to gasp something, maybe to deny it, but he only laughs; a purring, deadly cadence.

“Your little shivers don’t lie.”

We have officially lost cabin pressure.

And for a moment, you forget you're even awake. That fever-dream of them consuming you. But then you fall back into orbit, blinking hard enough to realize what you're actually imagining right now, and nearly hit your head against the headboard again just to make it fucking stop.

What are you– Jesus, get your head on straight, you are not – and I repeat, not – anywhere even close to the realm of fucking…

Even thinking their names makes your mind spin, or maybe that's something else.

This mission…!

Just… focus on the mission!

And let us reiterate: this tiny awful place is just fucking with all of your heads (especially yours, apparently). Making smoke of boundaries, muddying whatever lines should exist. That’s all. That’s it. And as soon as you’re out of here everything will go back to normal, it'll all be mercifully the same. Ghost and Soap won't hold these invisible strings around your heart and mind anymore, you won't still envision horrible things about them as you lie still-awake in bed.

But for now, with all of you locked up in here…

You just have to focus and avoid them.

Just. Don’t. Think. About. Them. Either of them.

The mission. Focus on the mission. (Of which you currently have little detail, as apparently you’re on the short end of a need-to-know basis, but god do you hope it ends soon).

Your morning, horny fever-dreams aside, starts with a goal as simple as that. Just don’t think about them, and for the love of god avoid being alone with either of them. Even when some part of you knows it won't be that simple, but hey, denial is a thing, a great thing, so you cling to denial and keep on chugging.

You avoid leaving your fish-tank of a room for as long as anxiety allows, only vaguely aware of how you’re chipping away at the ‘living room in twenty’ wake-up call Soap gave you, before eventually sleuthing your way out into the narrow hall, relieved to see Johnny isn't still there, as if waiting to ambush you, even though you knew he wasn't there, you can usually hear that man like a muscle-dense freight train from at least a mile away, but this place is making you more paranoid than you should be.

Still, you're relieved to find the hallway empty, and you sneak your way with all the stealth 141 has ingrained into your every sinew toward the kitchen, as if getting there in silence is a matter of life or death. Peeking your little head in to ensure neither of your gravel-toned, fever-dream apparitions are in there, before slinking in to pour cereal like a mad-woman and shovel it in your face at Mach 10 speed, and damn you should probably slow down before you chip a tooth or something.

Ash gives you a weird look, being the only person in the immediate vicinity of your apparent starvation.

"'Mornin'," he says, though his eyes question your sanity – to which you mumble something around a mouthful that might have been "hello," flashing a 'nervous?-I'm-not-nervous', chipmunk-cheeked smile (read: grimace) and stuffing your mouth even fuller to avoid speaking.

And hey, you haven't seen Ghost, you haven't actually seen Soap, and you haven't choked on your cereal – somehow. So as far as your plan of avoiding them goes, you're doing great so far! Just keep this up and this mission will be over in no time (ha!).

Tossing back the rest of your cereal, you leave your bowl in the sink as Ash nags after you to wash your dishes and you insist back that you will, later (under the safe cover of night, preferably), but right now you need to hide (the brave kind of hiding – you’re not a coward, I swear). Not in your submarine cave, because you're like a plant, you crave the sunlight. Your room is a last resort. Right now, you head toward the next best thing – your usual reading nook. You know, the one Ghost found you in yesterday, before… well, we won’t get into that. The point is, it’s the perfect place to waste hours at a time spilling over whatever old books and dog-eared magazines the one-shelf excuse of a library has to offer.

But it's here that your feet grind to a sudden halt, rooting you to the ground. Here, just outside the doorway of said reading nook. Because it's here that you see Soap.

Soap, lounging lackadaisically, without a seeming care in the world. Dark tee and dark jeans that somehow cling to his ridges in all the right places. Dust-wrapped boots already kicked up on the arm of the room's moth-bitten armchair, as he dangles a book before his face, obstructing all but his scruffy, chiseled jawline and corded neck from view.

He’s just lounging around on that armchair.

Your armchair.

Because you've been reading in here since day one, the day you all got trapped here; you saw it first.

So what is he doing in here?

He’s never in here.

And what is he reading? Does he even know how to read? He’s never reading.

You’re caught in fight-or-flight, still puzzling when alarm bells in your head start ringing – warning, warning, abort, abort, this is not a drill get the hell out of there – and you haven’t made it this far in your career not listening to your instincts when you're sound enough to have them.

You turn, you bolt, you scatter, before Soap can even glance around whatever book he’s dangling across that stupidly handsome face of his. And no, it's not exactly a graceful exit, but if you don’t heed your instincts now you may not get to later. Soap's roguish, sapphire gaze has a way of drowning out instinct and reason, as you’ve learned the hard way last night, and right now reason's telling you not to stick around and find out why the hell he's lying around pretending to read on your futon.

Nu-uh.

Nope.

Not dumb enough to slide into that one.

Best to avoid it.

Okay. So. No reading nook, then (thanks for nothing, Soap). And though you briefly consider foregoing sunlight altogether and just hiding away in your room, you instead scurry back down the hall, toward the charmingly constricted living room/kitchenette combo, supposing you'll find safety in numbers by using the safer members of your task force as a shield against those two others that plague you.

Ash, Fuze, and Blight are all crowded around the tiny box TV in the living room that only gets clear reception on three stations, like three gorillas sprawled on a toy couch, one that barely fits three guys the size of linebackers (you might’ve poked fun at how cozy they look were you not so currently twisted). And seeing that Ghost's not in the room solidifies this as your current safe haven, your preferred hiding place (or, hiding in plain sight behind a shield of tv-glued gorillas place).

And speaking of Ghost…

You clear your throat of any lingering nerves, attempting nonchalance as you make your way toward the bay window at the furthest edge of the room, a ways behind where the group of guys are sitting; settling in to sit upon its windowsill, your back against the wall.

“Where’s L.T.?” you ask with all that supposed nonchalance.

None of your team bother to glance back, too enthralled with whatever nonsense is on screen, though you know they heard you.

“Out,” Blight says. And okay, thanks for all the detail, Blight.

Still, that one word's enough to leave your brows slowly furrowing. Its potential, unstated meaning sinking in.

“He left the safehouse?” you ask, staring at the back of Blight’s head. "As in…” Dare you cling to hope? “We might be getting actual orders that get us out of here?"

Ash speaks up before Blight does.

“Hopefully,” he says, eyes still glued to the screen. “But at least some wheels are turning.”

“What kind of wheels?” you ask, not sure why you’re brushed by a fleeting edge of nerves.

“Dunno,” Ash says. “Him’n Gaz were pretty tight-lipped about it, but they’re due back in ten, hopefully with good news.”

“And a few six-packs,” Blight adds, without much enthusiasm.

"And a fucking steak would be nice," Fuze supplies, one arm sprawled along the back of the couch from where he sits, locked onto the screen. "I'm pretty sure Gaz's trying to kill us with what he thinks is cooking – I've eaten better stranded and starved on rations."

As the other boys weigh in about what a shit chef Gaz is (and they're not exactly wrong, though you don't chime in), you turn away from the group of them, staring down at the far-below streets of Amsterdam beside you, though in actuality you hardly see a thing, caught in your mind as you suddenly are.

You feel like you should be far more relieved by this than you actually end up being. And it makes no sense how this news – good news – that you might finally be unshackled from this shoebox purgatory… how it doesn’t alleviate some ache inside you, doesn’t fill you with some sweetly warm ease.

Maybe this place has given you Stockholm, because something about leaving now eats at you, like there’s something started and unfinished, and though you’re not sure what that something is you’re somehow raked by nervous claws, torn by wanting to know and never wanting to find out.

You’re being silly. You’re relieved, you’ve just forgotten what relief feels like. You’re more than ready to leave this place, you’re praying every second while trapped within this hellscape that you’ll finally be released.

This is a good thing. Finally, you’ll all be free, and you’ll never take a mission in Amsterdam again.

Whatever that annoying, gnawing feeling near your ribs is, you shove it away. And for some reason you think of Ghost, you think of Soap, and that ache comes back again.

How are you so tangled up in them?

Sure, you’re all close, closer than close, with everything you’ve been through. It’s impossible not to feel attached, not to feel somewhat vulnerable around people who’ve brushed by hell and back with you. The things you’ve all done, what you’ve all seen – it strips away layers of you, all of you, and what’s behind, what’s bared…

There’s nothing like it. It’s indescribable, what you share. You care about them more than you’d ever admit.

But that doesn’t excuse how you’re suddenly, perpetually haunted, unable to peel them from your head.

You care about all of your team, not just them – it's not supposed to be so personal, yet somehow it is. It’s tangled and raw and messy and you nearly have to laugh at that, because at least you know that Soap’s name is really Johnny – you don't even know Ghost's name, haven’t even seen his face, and yet somehow you can't stop thinking about him, like he's carved himself inside your mind, taken residence there, claiming a piece of you that you can’t get back, a piece you don’t want back, a piece that's only his.

How did your feelings evolve into whatever nightmare this is?

And speaking of nightmares.

"You're not as stealthy as you usually are this morning, love.”

A husky, familiar voice wavers in through your tangled thoughts from somewhere right in front of you, and you blink, suddenly seeing as it cheekily adds, "You might wanna work on that."

For the second time today, Soap has you startling back into hitting your head, skull thunking against the wall of the windowsill you’re perched upon, almost like he wants you to suffer a head-wound whenever he shows up out of the blue. And he definitely looks amused at whatever your face is doing right now as your owlish eyes shoot up to him.

He regards you from just beside the window, dense arms folded across the expanse of his chest. And he exhales his watchful amusement as all you can seem to do for a moment is gawk up at his magical appearance out of nowhere – ta da! – leaning one heavy shoulder against the wall the longer you go on about it.

“Someone’s jumpy,” he observes with a subtly curling grin, azure glints beneath his lashes. One corner of his lips edging wider the longer you fail to say anything, all while you resist the dire urge to just push off the windowsill and run from the potential danger of yourself around him.

"You gonna say hello, or…?" he wonders, idly. Smile too devilish to be charming, and yet he still looks charming and you hate him for it. “Ah, I see,” he muses after a time, with a sage expression of knowing. “Tongue-tied. I tend to have that effect on people. I'll give you a minute."

If anything, your dour expression only further fuels his amusement.

"What do you want, Soap?” you ask at last, doing your best not to showcase the uncomfortable flare you feel in your gut just by looking at him.

“To bother you,” he says, hiking a mischievous brow. "Is it working?"

The part of you that enjoys what were your usual back-and-forths wants to crack a smile, while all the rest of you holds back, knowing he’s bad news in a place like this, that maybe you can’t trust yourself, that the last thing you need is to encourage him.

“Yup," you say, dully. "It’s working.”

He grins. “Great,” he says, his infuriating nonchalance unaffected; gaze a slash of blue as you muster up a scowl at him.

"Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're in a bad mood?” he asks, eyes creasing as you once again resist the temptation to bolt. “You can't really blame me for wanting to bother you. It’s hard not to play with fire when the burn’s so appealing.”

That cheeky fucking smile of his lengthens at whatever your contorted, silent reaction to that is.

“Aye – there it is. That’s the look,” he muses, smirking as annoyance fizzles off your back. “Adorable. You look like you might wanna slap me.”

“I kinda do, actually,” you say – only half-joking. "Though maybe I'll just punch you in the face again like I did the last time you annoyed me."

“Zero to ten, just like that?” he wonders with his charming, crooked grin. “I haven’t even said ‘hello’ yet.”

You feel yourself smile before you can stop it – quickly biting your lips flat whilst turning away, staring hard out the window in the decided effort to ignore his presence.

“So say ‘hello’ and leave, then,” you mutter at the glass. “I’m kinda busy.”

"Huh. You don’t look all that busy."

"I'm people watching, not that it's any of your business."

"And that's more interesting than talking to me?"

"Is that rhetorical, or…?"

His little chuff teases warmth down your neck.

“Ah,” he lowly broods, as if in discovery of something. And you can’t help from glancing up at him again, seeing one dark brow archly lifted. “So you are avoiding me…”

You blink, thickly – trying to stem your panic, because you do not need him knowing that. If he thinks you’re avoiding him – which you very much are but that’s beside the point – he might ask the seemingly innocuous question of “why?”, and you are not answering that right now, especially when you're not even sure you know the answer yourself.

And thus, you panic (discreetly), you balk (in your head), insisting, “I’m not avoiding you.”

He doesn't necessarily look convinced.

“That’s odd,” he says, Scottish accent threaded in his words. “I could’ve sworn you tip-toed past that little reading nook you like so much just a few minutes ago.” His brow’s further lifted, that insufferable half-smirk still scrawled across his scruffy face. “Are you telling me that had nothing to do with avoiding?”

You bite your lower lip into a scowl, avoiding even his questions. “What were you doing in there, anyway? That’s my reading nook.”

“I know it is.” His blue gaze sheens. “What do you think I was doing in there?”

Your eyebrows tug into a crease, as slowly your eyes narrow up at him – all those instinctual alarm bells from earlier starting to make a helluva lot more sense.

“So you were lying in wait for me…” you accuse as much aloud.

He shrugs; boyish, adorable. “Had to get you all to myself somehow.”

His eyes warm like heated sea glass, seeming to sense that flush creeping up your neck as, for a moment, you can't seem to look away from him. And before you can look away, or make up some excuse to leave or actually slap him, he’s already pushing off from his casual, one-shouldered slouch against the wall, settling down upon the windowsill beside you.

“Guess you have a thing for audiences, though,” he murmurs, with a glance at the gorillas on the couch, glued to their screen.

When he looks back at you, he's far too close for his eyes not to capture yours.

Those alarm bells make a desperate reappearance in your head again, but you can hardly think with him watching you like that, let alone heed them. Some flicker of heat teased low in the base of your spine as his playful gaze dances over yours.

“Maybe my utter lack of enthusiasm wasn’t obvious enough,” you murmur, distracted; trying not to let the gorillas overhear whatever's happening between the two of you, especially since you don’t need their gossip playing telephone back to Ghost about something that’s actually nothing– ”but me telling you I’m busy was my unsubtle queue for you to leave.”

“Oh, I got it,” he says; attention skating across your features. Your lashes, your jaw, your eyes, your lips. “Crystal fuckin’ clear.”

And okay, maybe he actually is a little bit charming underneath how insufferably annoying he can be, because you certainly feel charmed, like you can’t look away from him.

"So you can pick up on subtle nuances,” you muse.

He smiles. "I can pick up on lots of things."

Your pulse catches as his words feel to dig inside a place you won't acknowledge, won't allow him or anyone to see, and you’re forced to swallow against a sudden knot within your throat.

"So is there a reason you're still over here harassing me then?" you wonder, folding your arms against him. “Besides you wanting me to slap you, that is? Because I’m not much in the mood for fueling your kinky fantasies this morning, though I see your last bruise’s healed nicely.”

He exhales a bearish laugh, though his mirth is slowly fading. Something more serious, like a shadow, creeping in to take its place. Timber-carved, reserved, unlike him.

“Maybe you can indulge my fantasy of you not avoiding me, then,” he suggests, gaze passing over yours, as though searching. “At least for, let's say… five minutes? Think you can handle that?"

Why do you actually gulp – god you hope he didn’t actually hear that.

"Do you always have to challenge women into spending time with you?"

One corner of his lips curls; a fox with sapphire heat for eyes. “Only the ones I’m interested in, apparently.”

It’s like he somehow strips away more and more of that now tiny voice warning you away – like he can see it happening. And he leans in just a fraction more close, his voice by your cheek, his words a gruff murmur that lures you closer just to hear them, those words meant just for you.

“I get it,” he says. “Why you’re so abrasive right now. Why you’re twisted up, lashing out. Avoiding.”

He’s so close the warmth of his body radiates into yours, like the tease of a touch you inexplicably long for.

At least, until he keeps talking.

“Whatever happened between you and L.T.–”

And just like that – the mere mention of Ghost’s name and all your feelings tied to it – the spells broken, torn from whatever trance he’s somehow spun you into.

"I don't – you don't know what–" you start to stammer, though his hand as it wraps around your forearm stills you, succeeds in pulling your anxiety-bitten gaze back to his for at least a moment more.

His touch is gentle, as if to ease you from fleeing, and yet he still seems unable not to tease you about it all the same.

"The details of which shall remain, at the lady's insistence, a badly kept secret,” he softly smirks. Chuckling as your face threatens to expel actual, embarrassed steam.

When you turn away, you’re not sure if it’s in readiment to get the hell away from him or in trying to ensure that anyone else in the room isn’t listening, though his thumb and forefinger finding your chin wipes whatever your intentions away, a warm jolt springing down your middle as he turns your uncertain gaze back to him.

“Whatever happened,” he breathes, a graveled hush as his eyes reclaim yours, “it’s got you twisted.”

A subtle smirk plays his lips at how utterly he seems to hold your attention, at how his touch makes you glass, makes you fragile before him. And even now he teases.

“And for good reason, too. L.T.’s not exactly the kinda guy I’d wanna get locked in a room with.”

You're forced to bite the inside of your cheek not to call him every insult you’ve ever heard of, so loudly everyone in the room starts tuning in.

“Please, God, make this conversation end,” you mutter instead, to which his jeweled-eyes sparkle, an added coil to his grin.

For a man his size, he somehow moves like fluid – shifting still closer, so close you’re boxed in against the wall of the windowsill behind you. So close that unthinking panic has your head dully thumping in a wavering bid to create distance, and you’re really starting to think he’s inspiring head-wounds on purpose.

His only reaction is the low laugh tucked inside his chest, one you feel vibrating through him, skittering across your bones, making your gut clench. And you can feel his voice, right beside you. You could push him away, though you don't. Somehow frozen against his warmth. Frozen, but for the shiver that travels through your spine as his whispered words graze against your ear.

“But here’s the thing, sweetheart,” he breathes, his rockslide warmth dragging all those sticky little knots inside you up into your throat. “Whatever’s twisted you up, whatever games L.T. might be playing… I’m not playing. I'm not twisted up in anything.”

The bridge of his nose skims across the delicate curve of your ear; a hum catching low in his throat as he seems to drink down the scent of you, the warmth of your nearness, those unwanted shivers he sends trickling down your nape as he murmurs, “I know exactly what I want…”

You’re not entirely sure what kind of stifled little sound wants to claw its way out of you as you hear him breathe you in again, as his hand finds your knee, but you’re not sure you want to find out; managing to bite back on it; biting still more harshly as his hand circles around your knee, squeezing, an iron grip that travels possessively upward, up along your thigh, firm fingers digging at your plushness, like he can’t contain some animal that longs to tear you open, to slip inside. And so much for your plans to avoid him, when now it feels there's nowhere you could hide.

You should say something, anything, but you can’t – especially as his fingers bite into you more harshly, as you feel a shudder travel through him, hear him stifle a coarsened breath.

“Hearing you moan someone else's name through these paper-fucking-walls…” His words sink to a growl that scrapes across your skin, pulls your insides tight, so constricted you can barely breathe. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?” he wonders, satin sawtooth heat against your ear. “What you do to me?”

You’re not sure if he’s actually asking – your throat constricting with the lack of knowing what to say.

“Johnny…”

He hums his approval, the sound like thunder in him, exhaled against your ear as his lips brush your skin.

“Aye, lass,” he says, his hand smoothing up around your waist, taking hold as though you belong to him; calloused thumb spilling up beneath your shirt, down below the waistband of your jeans, tracing along the ridge of your hip. “That’s the only name I want on your lips.”

You fail to choke back a gasp as his tongue finds your earlobe, sucking it in between his hungry teeth, and it's both exquisite and torturous how the heat of his mouth spears straight down between your legs, lapping between how tightly your thighs twist together, as though your body’s betraying how much you need him there; a white-hot ache that pulls a whimper from your throat, crackling across all your glass-hewn pieces.

“S-Soap,” you stammer, as if his codename will save you where his given name could not – somehow still present enough not to waver above a trembled hush, even with his tongue and teeth against your skin, traveling down your throat, marking and making a meal of you. And though you grab his wrist as if to push him away, you don't succeed in actually tearing his touch from you, even as you choke out desperately, “Stop…!”

He doesn’t listen. Instead taking the back of your neck, dragging you in to kiss him.

Rough fingers coil in your hair, twisting, tangled in you as you exhale a small, startled noise against his lips, before, before…

Everything’s hot. Everything’s melting. You can’t think.

He licks inside your mouth, and with another breathy sound against his lips, you kiss him back, desperate for his warmth, his taste; as though lost in a storm that rises and consumes, that would see you torn to pieces but for the anchor of him you cling to.

You’re lost, and you're hopeless, and you're senseless and you need him.

You grab his shirt as he swallows down that little sound you make, tongue sinking inside your warmth, and suddenly you’re his. His to possess, his to do what he wants with.

Your heart nearly shatters through your ribs at the granite-coarse sound he makes against your tongue, before he’s kissing you more fiercely, gruff fingers twisting at your roots.

He pauses only long enough to tease you, because of course he does.

“Stop, she says,” he murmurs at your lips. “Slap me, and maybe I will.” Not waiting before his tongue draws yours back out to play, to belong to him.

And some vicious part of you wants to slap him, if only to disrupt how fucking cocky he is, but the wet, eager heat of his mouth erases all your thoughts until it feels like you can’t even breathe unless you’re breathing him.

This is when the front door of this dingy little Amsterdam apartment unlocks; a distant, metallic scratching.

This is when the front door of this dingy little Amsterdam apartment opens; itself thrown casually ajar.

Right now. With your and Johnny’s tongues wrapped halfway down each other’s throats. Because of course it does – you love an audience, right?

Twenty minutes are up.

“Fucking finally…!”

You somehow hear Blight's voice clamor through the fog surrounding your thoughts, like a ship horn far from shore; carving through the mist, growing louder, more clear, more jarring as he adds, “Please tell me we’re getting out of here, Ghost – I'm one Gaz-cooked meal away from blowing my own brains out.”

And then it hits you – reality punching you in the chest, all your nerves upended, and still it takes a single second – a single, time-defying second – to actually register, to react, to realize what the fuck you’re actually doing right now, making out with Soap in the fucking living room what the hell are you thinking–!

A single second. And then you tear yourself away, twist your kiss-plushed lips from Soap’s – jerking back, shooting to your feet, edging out a shaky step against the wall as though you’ll crumble without it supporting you. Eyes overwide as apprehension tears your heart out, and even then some ache pushes through your chest, pushing through your ribs, like it wants to climb right out of you, climb anywhere where it might at last be tended, at last be soothed, and you shove it violently away, just as you do all those tangled feelings inside you.

You see Blight shifting up off the couch, sauntering toward the door just a few feet ahead of him. And you don’t know why you’re panicking, but you're panicking, it seizes through you like a ricocheting round as you see Ghost and Gaz standing there. Gaz’s lips moving, saying something you can’t even hear as he shuts the door behind them.

Blight’s talking too, you think. Saying something to Ghost. And it feels like it’s been so long since you’ve actually seen your lieutenant, even when it’s only been a day.

Ghost isn’t looking at Blight.

He’s a shadow-carved monolith. A black smudge against a silver eclipse. A hooded omen with kohl-bruised eyes and a skull’s broad, pallid jawline sewn to the lower half of his face.

Tall. Imposing.

Rigid.

He’s a mountain of unknown intention. And he’s looking right at you.

Something about him snares you from all the way across the room. Grips your very bones, snatching them and you into his possession. There is no escape from the way he’s watching you. His eyes are chasmic, labyrinthian; dark, unreadable voids above his skeletal mask.

Those eyes suck you in, fill your chest and heart and lungs with their darkness. They slide against your marrow, inscribing words you’ll never see unless you tear yourself open.

And then those eyes fall to Johnny.

Ghost can transcend humanity when he wants to. You’ve seen it before, in the field. A rare and dangerous occurrence where he’s more beast than man. But you never thought whatever monster lie in him would ever direct itself at Soap. Would ever watch him like he’s watching him right now.

It’s a look that could bend iron around you. Could hollow your insides out, leave you a rib-caged cavity. A jackal look. A beast that bares its blood-stained teeth as the other jackals stalk near.

That look could stop your very heart from beating, and for a moment you swear it does, even when it’s not directed at you. Just being in its presence is stifling. Those eyes of Ghost’s a noose, a cattle-gun, a guillotine.

If people are still talking, you can no longer hear anything beyond the thud of your own heart restarting. Can no longer see anything else at all in that room. All you can see is Ghost, and all you can feel is that darkness radiating off him.

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

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I think Ghost might be mildly pissed off.

Thanks for reading!

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