#and i do often fall into the ''we'' thing

[muzansfangs]

Nsfw alphabet – the Salesman (letters f, k, q, t, w)

Starring: the Salesman x f!reader;

Format: head canons;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, creampie, unprotected sex, sadism, gagging, masturbation, public sex, toxic traits, humiliation, dacryphilia, spanking, impact playing, slapping, dom!salesman, sub!reader, gun playing, handcuffing, mention to pregnancy, anal sex;

Plot: some nsfw head canons about the Salesman aka the Recruiter, based on some letters of the alphabet;

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The Salesman has manhandled you in positions you did not even think were humanly manageable. Out of them, however, the salesman loves to have you either on your hands and knees, head pressed down in the pillow, or the good old mating press.

You could say it depends mostly on his mood. If he keeps the eye-contact with you, he is feeling somewhat more romantic, more human. Even if his cock brushes against your cervix unforgivingly every now and then. Your legs, pressed to your chest, make you look vulnerable and he loves that.

And, damn, is he not talkative when he messes you up like that?

“Fuck, I was thinking that fucking you raw is like playing the Russian Roulette. If I hit the nail on the head, we are screwed” he growled next to your ear, not minding the risk of impregnating you.

If he encloses the back of your neck with his hand and pushes your face down on the mattress, my dear, he is going to ravage you until you are sore. But he loves the way your ass ripple with each brutal thrust he gives you. The words falling from his mouth are far less loving than the possibility of getting you pregnant.

“Slut, you’re dripping like a cat in heat”.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man probably has a tattoo somewhere on his body reciting ‘kinky bastard’ in capital letters. The first one is dacryphilia. To some extent, he may care for your well-being during sex. It is rough, mindblowing. Obviously, it leaves you shaking, copious tears streaming down your cheeks. You have no idea how hard he gets, when you sob underneath him, needy, hapless and on the brink of breaking down.

Spanking and face slapping are a must. He does not hit you as hard as he does to the potential players he meets at the station. However, he does not go easy on you. You are bruised, at the end of the day.

If he is upset, expect him to lure you to have some anal sex. Your whimpers when he stretch you out himself are a manna from heaven. Unfortunately, it may last not as long as it does when he is messying up your pussy. It is all about pain. The more desperate you are, the faster he spurts into you.

The mention of honor goes to gun play. He never tells you if it is really loaded, or not, when he presses it against your temple. What you know is that you are still alive.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Our dear recruiter is a busy man, especially when that time of the year comes. When he comes back home, it is so late you are already alseep. Do not think he would have remorses in waking you up, if he needs to fuck you dumb, because he would.

The thing is he needs to rest too. Quickies are not his thing, but they are necessary. He is a sneaky bastard, not sticking to have them early in the morning, or when he is about to leave.

He may stalk you down the streets, easily becoming your shadow until you end up nearing an alley. My dear, this is when he clasps his hand over your mouth and shoves you against the wall. You are used to his antics by now. You do not feel ashame to walk off with a limp, afterwards. Not anymore, at least.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This man has probably owns an arsenal of toys. And, no, we are not talking about his weapons. He is not the type to indulge in plain vanilla sex. There is always going to be some kind of an object among the bedsheets, when he pins you underneath him and reels at the lewd faces you make for him.

He is a sadist inclined to use the toys on his favorite victim: you.

Do not be surprised, if he handcuffs you to the bedpost, or involves ropes in the particularly intense sessions awaiting for you, when he had a bad day. You cry out in pleasure and pain and it is irking him? Fine. Gags it is.

He sees you as a small pet eager to please him. Drool for him, whilst he uses nipple clamps on your already sensitive buds. If you wince, when he is deep inside of you, he may just shoot his load deep in your bowels. Nothing excites him more than your teary eyes and wobbling lower lip.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is definitely territorial. His jealousy takes over easily and, along with hickeys hard, if not impossible, to camouflage with a scarf and some make up, he jerks off with your panties. He does not see the necessity to make you wear your now cum-covered underwear, if he is by your side, though.

Yet, expect him to demand you to parade around the city, unable to hide the squelching sounds of your thighs brushing together, when the cum seeps from the fabric and stains the inside of your legs, if you are going out alone. Your boss, your friends, the men you cross paths with throughout the day, well, they just have to know you have a boyfriend and that you comply to his excessively unhinged and demeaning requests to please him.

When you reunite at home, he expects you to sit on his lap and narrate the mortifying experience of talking to strangers, or coworkers whilst entirely soaked and smelling of his semen.

Author note.

Hello there! This is my first time writing for the Squid Game fandom. Hopefully, I did not disappoint the audience! Let’s just say that my brainrot for this man was eating me alive and I had to write a little something for him. Your impressions and comments are greatly appreciated!

Love,

– Luce

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, Part 26

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

“Hey, chum, you’re up early,” Bruce said, his own voice still rough with more exhaustion than sleep. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the mess of black hair as he passed the kitchen table. “Didn’t sleep great?”

Danny blinked up at Bruce. His startled eyes glowed faintly green eyes in the dim, more night than morning light of the kitchen. He clutched his coffee mug like a lifeline.

Bruce pulled his hand away from Danny’s hair and took a small step back. He kept his arms carefully relaxed at his side, palms forward. “I’m sorry Danny, was that too much touch? It’s fine if you feel it was. I was acting on habit, like I would with my other kids.”

“No, um, it was nice. I just didn’t think that you would… we were…,” Danny wiped at his eyes with his sweater sleeve in a jerky, frustrated motion. “Sorry. Just was a rough night, and I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“That’s more than understandable.”

It was only the second day after Danny had told them everything. The kids had spent that first night building an impressive pillow fort and watching movies all night. The day after was basically a game of distracting Danny. It wasn’t a surprise that it was all hitting Danny now.

“Do you need any more coffee?” Bruce offered.

Danny offered up his cup silently and Bruce too it over to the kraft. Coffee with creamer for Danny while Bruce added a splash of creamer and sugar to his own. He took the seat next to Danny when he got back to the table, careful not to step on Ursa, who was sleeping under the chairs, snuggled against Danny’s blue bear.

“Danny, you’re my kid, chum.”

Danny looked down at his coffee. “I’m your clone.”

“You’re a child,” Bruce said gently. “Specifically you’re a child with my genetic make-up. You just have more of it than normal. That doesn’t make you any less my kid. I… can be bad at words. I am, often, especially when it matters most. I say a lot more through actions and touch. I am trying to be better. Danny, you are my kid. This is your home whenever you need it to be, and I love you as much as any of my children. You don’t have to earn or wait for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said with a sniffle as he scrubbed at his eyes again. “Can I—is it okay to ask for a hug?”

Bruce held open is arms and Danny flung himself into them. Bruce pressed another kiss to Danny’s hair. “More than.”

-

After breakfast, showering, and more coffee and tea than was probably healthy for one family to consume, those that were still in the house settled outside on the patio. They watched Dick and Danny frolic about with the dogs in the yard; Damian was watching from the sidelines.

“Damian is going to be tackled by a dog soon,” Tim commented, almost absently, as he glanced up from his tablet.

“Yeah, he totally is,” Duke agreed. He was stretched out in his chair, feet up on an ottoman, and half looking like he was ready to fall back asleep.

Bruce smiled slightly. “I’m sure that he’ll manage to survive the attack.”

“After screaming about it,” Jason added.

Bruce nodded in agreement. There probably would be screaming; it would wake Duke up. At least it would be a lively mid-morning. It’s a shame that Danny was still healing, or they could go swimming later. Well, the pool would still be there another day. They had time.

“So,” Tim said. He glanced up from his tablet again to catch Bruce’s attention. “What are your plans about Danny?”

Jason snorted. “So clinical, Timbit.”

Tim flicked Jason off.

Bruce sighed, “Boys.”

“Bruce,” the two of them chirped together, utterly unrepentant.

Bruce valiantly resisted the urge to sigh again. “I’ll arrange a press conference once we are sure that his back story and papers are iron clad. I’m sure that Barbara has already been work on it, along with you, Tim.”

Tim just shrugged, unrepentant. “It seemed prudent to. We haven’t decided anything concrete, though Babs may have started to hack into things in Michigan to have access down the right bread crumbs. We figured sticking midwest was best, even if he doesn’t have much of an accent.”

Bruce hummed in reply.

“What’s going to be your excuse for his scars?” Jason asked.

It was true there would be no hiding them.

“His mother was a casual affair,” Bruce said. He pulled together the threads of a plan as he spoke. “She never let me know that she was pregnant, though after being abroad for a time she did reach out to me hoping to meet up in a few months. I thought nothing of it until Danny showed up. We were old acquaintances but never socially that close. It turns out that she died in child birth before we could ever meet again. Danny went to live with a someone estranged aunt. While the inheritance money from his mother’s estate lasted, things were neglectful but manageable. When it started to not live up to the Aunt’s desired lifestyle, she became cruel and methodical in her abuse.

“Desperate and trapped, Danny started to look for new hiding places in the house. It lead him to finding his mother’s journals. Her thoughts, some old letters, and the occasional picture. He started to put things together. He risked taking his Aunt’s cellphone one evening when she was drunk and looked me up. He made a plan to come this way however he could manage. Enraged at losing her meal ticket, and social standing with him, the aunt went into a rage. She died in a drunk car accident when she drove into a light post the same night Danny ran.”

“Right. You’re scarily good at that,” Jason said after a beat. “I guess then we just go more with the truth. He arrived in Gotham, got stabbed, and ended up on the Bat’s radar. They took care of him of him until he was ready to tell his story and meet you.”

“That’s two more people that we need to make a paper trail for,” Tim grumbled.

“Annalise Linwood. I met her in boarding school,” Bruce said softly as he watched his children play. “I would be seen in her company on and off throughout the years. She had reached out to me for help on how to approach the birth of her child from an affair she was having. The father was a sometimes violent sort who she had used to think she could save. She died in childbirth, as did her child. Her estranged sister was her only living relative after a tragic accident with small aircraft the year before. The sister was reclusive unless she was drunk, or so Annalise had said once. It would be easy to assume she home schooled Danny and kept him out of the social eye. So, no, we just need to fake the paperwork for Danny.”

Bruce could feel Jason’s eyes on him.

“Oh.”

Bruce smiled softly, sadly. “It is changing the story of the dead, but Annalise was looking forward to being a mother. I think she would be alright with it, if it helped a child out.”

“Right, one set of paper trails,” Tim said quietly. “I’ll make sure Babs gets the information.”

There was a sudden shout from the lawn as Damian went down under the weight of Titus. Duke jolted awake and scrambled to not fall of his chair. Jason barked out a laugh as he tried to help catch Duke. Tim took photos. Danny ran over to help Damian, Ursa on his heels.

Yes, Bruce thought, Annalise would be alright with this.

---

an: great, now I'm emotional over a filler oc I made! ;-;

[nochd]

I imagine there's variation across Christianity as there is in anything else.

I don't recall my (Evangelical) church using the nouns "heresy" or "heretic", though certainly some theological positions were "heretical", adjective. "Heretical" meant a more sinister kind of Doing Christianity Wrong than mere "cultural Christianity", however; "heretical" was believing wrong things about Jesus, like the Jehovah's Witnesses or the Mormons.

"Cultural Christianity" was part of a broader, less evil range of Doing Christianity Wrong which we called "lukewarm Christianity". Lukewarm Christians might really believe in God and Jesus and everything; they might believe all the right things about God and Jesus; they might even actually have been Saved at some point; but they no longer made God a priority in their lives. But "lukewarm" also included people who didn't believe in the Bible and only went to church at Christmas and Easter and for weddings and funerals. Those people were rumoured to call themselves "cultural Christians".

We tutted and shook our heads. Cultural Christianity wouldn't save you from Hell.

I can't express enough how firmly it was drummed into our heads, at Sunday School and at Christian summer camp and in all the material given to us to take home from both, that imitating Christians doesn't make you a Christian. You had to believe the right things about God and Jesus and the Bible, but that belief, while necessary, was not sufficient; you also had to repent of your sin and make a personal commitment to Jesus in your heart and soul.

And, just to reiterate; in the eternal scheme of things, the only difference between people that really mattered was the difference between Christians and non-Christians. Christians go to Heaven; non-Christians go to Hell.

To leave Christianity and stop believing in God was to fall from Heaven to Hell.

I don't now have a problem with being called a "cultural Christian" -- perhaps ironically precisely because, in my upbringing, it meant someone we didn't consider a Christian at all. I still celebrate Easter and Christmas with my family; I actually find I have more respect for Jesus of Nazareth now I think he was just some guy doing his best who's been lied about than when I thought he was God Almighty; I can quote Bible passages and often get old church songs stuck in my head.

But I can easily see why someone who's being told by their community of origin that they're no longer a Christian and going to Hell, would baulk at then being told by the wider community that they're still too Christian in some sense they can't quite get their head around.

Now I've typed the word "Christian" so many times it's starting to stop meaning anything.

I think maybe the reason the term “culturally Christian” is jarring for some people is that as Jews we come at this from the understanding that there are Jews who are straight up atheist and still do a lot of Jewish culture things, and a lot of the time we don’t use belief as a measuring stick for how Jewish you are because all of us are part of the nation no matter what. Meanwhile, the amount of Christian you are seems to be a function of how much you believe. So to us, describing something as “culturally Christian” doesn’t imply belief. But to them, since Christian culture is the default, the primary way to be Christian is to believe, so if we are calling them in any way Christian, we must be thinking that they believe.

[catdia]

Jayce Talis with a Chubby S/o

(Modern AU / College AU)

The first time you meet was late at night. You were coming out of your physics class as he was finishing up his biomedical engineering course.

You were trying to get home when a pair of male students tried to conner you and wouldn’t let you pass. Jayce was walking out a little later than he normally did and heard all the commotion.

“Come on! It’s not like anyone is dying for your number. Just give it to me.”

“No thanks—” You pivoted to the side, and yet again blocked by other of the guys.

“What do you mean no?! It’s not like big girls like you have any options! I’m doing you a favor. I doubt that any guys want to—”

“I said NO!” They were really starting to get on your nerves. Jayce decided to step in a heartbeat.

“What do you mean no?!” He raised his hand at you, making you flinch. Jayce ran towards you, furious at the gross display of disrespect you were facing. He steeped in between the small space the guy had created in front of you.

“She said no. Now let her go on her way.” Jayce pushed the guy who raised his hand to you. Making him stumble back.

“Look at this, man—” One of the guys playfully slapped the guy who was in your face on his shoulder. “We got a hero in your hands! Pathetic.” You discretely took out your pepper spray from your pocket, turning the handle and placing your thumb on the button.

“Just leave the girl alone and we will not have anymore problems.” You stepped next to Jayce, weapon at your side. You saw one of the fuckers get close in frustration.

“And what are you going to do if—” Before the guy could finish his sentence you doused his face with pepper spray. “H-Holy fuck! You bitch!” The guy fell on his knees in pain, rubbing his eyes.

“What the fuck?! I’m going to—”

Before his friend could react you did the same to him and landed a swift kick to his balls. Making his face hit the pavement below his feet as his eyes burned. Jayce was utterly stunned. A little thing like you having such violent behaviors. And he found that hot.

He felt a small hand in his palm, then a tug strong enough to make his feet shuffle. It was you trying to get him to run in what ever direction you wanted him too.

“Hurry before they get up!” You yelled at him, his feet moving as yours did. You stopped at one of the dorm buildings. Hands on your knees as you catch your breath. Jayce doing the same.

“That was fun.” He joked, earning a giggle for you. But he still could feel the sadness, the bleeding wound to your heart. He got a good look at you now. Hair messy from the run, cheeks busted pink.

“Yeah, I should get called a bitch more often if it means kicking balls in!” God, he had never seen a smile so bright, so sweet. He immediately saw your expression fall into one of sorrow. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, I’m sorry for what those assholes did! I’ll have them reported by tomorrow. We can’t have those type of people walking about.” You hummed a response. Those type of people have always been in your life, they could never be purged.

“You know them?” You were so soft, looking at him with your shimmering eyes. Why hasn’t he seen you before until now? Why hasn’t he noticed something so angelic like you in those damn science building hallways?

“Unfortunately, they happen to have a class with me.”There was a short silence. He looked at your sad expression. “What they said isn’t true. I-I, umm, think you’re quite pretty—” You looked surprised. You have never seen a pair of amber eyes so genuine before. Could this be what wanting someone a felt like? Did it look like the most handsome man in school standing in front of you looking at your lips?

“Thank you, Jayce.” You stood on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss, intended for his cheek but your lips fell on the outline of his jaw. “Bye bye.” The electric door opened with the touch of your keycard and you entered.

“Wait! Who do you know my name?” You peaked out the half closed door, smile in your lips.

“Your face is all over the place.” You pointed to your temple. “And I have a mug with you on it.” You closed the door. Leaving Jayce awestruck as his cheeks burned with passion.

Since you guys have the same schedule at night he is the one that walks you home, and you became a couple shortly after. He made sure to have a word with the dean and the two guys who harassed you were kicked out.

When he was first trying to court you he always brought you coffee to your am classes. The first time he did it was the most rememberable one because everyone was so shocked to see him walking up to you and giving you your breakfast! You sitting next to your lab partner and friend Sevika as she told you the gossip she heard in rugby practice. And you ended up confessing to her want happened the other night.

“You should have called me to pick you up!”

“Sev, I’m fine! They got kicked out this morning and are banned even from the arenas.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that. I can’t believe you had to experience that alone. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“I was okay. And I wasn’t alone actually. This guy—” Before you could finish your sentence a shadow crossed over you. And it was none other than the golden boy himself! You stood up from your desk a little too excitedly. Making Sevika scuff at you. You leaned against the corner of the table and propped your hip in your hand.

“Hey, Jayce! Are you going to be TAing or something?” You really regret not doing your hair this morning!

“Na, Heimer just was fussy about some of the numbers we crunched yesterday and want me to come early to do a final run over.” You noticed that he had food in his hands, untouched and unopened. He saw your gaze look at his hands.

“Ahh, this is for you!” He handed you an iced coffee and what looked like a pastry in a brown bag. You knew from the logo that it was from that expensive coffee shop that opened a few months ago on campus. And the heart attack that it gave you when the cashier told you in was 10 bucks for a small matcha.

“Is the coffee poisoned?” You joked, eyeing the color of the coffee. You knew it was going to be delicious.

“No, no, no! Heavens no!” He quickly shook his hands out of anxiety and looked baffled you suggested such things. He had a blush on his cheeks, a boyish look for such a large man.

“I thought it would be nice to bring you something. Y-You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to. I totally understand if you don’t want to take something for a complete stranger—”

“That’s very sweet, Jayce. Thank you.” 

“No problem.”

“Can I give you a kiss on the cheek?”

“Really?!” You nodded your head at his excitement. “Sure!” He leaned down to your level so you didn’t have to grab a chair just to reach his neck. You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble of his skin. Your lips and contact with the fresh smelling skin. He placed a hand on yours as you slowly back away from him.

“I’ll be in the library this afternoon in room 314, at about 3. Would you like to join me?” He gently squeezed your hand.

“Yeah! I’m free and I have that damned electrical current paper I have to finish. I’ll be there around 4.”

“Good!” He seemed like he really didn’t want to let you go. But he slowly walked away from you.

“Bye bye.” Jayce waited as he exited the door.

“Bye, Mr. Talis.” You blew him a kiss, he rose his hand and catch the kiss placing it next to his heart. Watching him stumble out the door as he bumped into other guy trying to walk in.

“You really have him hooked, huh?” Sevika chuckled as she popped open the brown bag to see the contents inside. “I bet 40 that he is going to beat his meat with that hand later.”

“I seriously don’t know what he sees in me. Did you know he broke up with Mel Medarda?” You leaned against the lab desk and crossed your arms. Still looking at the door Jayce entered and left moments ago. “She’s gorgeous! Makes me feel like a peasant each time I she her in her brand new BMW. And those cuffs in her locs have to be 18k gold! And did you see her latest Insta post?! She’s got body for days!”

“Looks like you have a crush on her.”

“Don’t we all?”

“I knew that you would finally start gunning for the other team. My influence is infectious.” You chuckled at her, still deep in thought as some students took their seats as class time started to approach.

“You really have to start getting out of your head, princess. Do you think he would be doing this lovey-dovey shit if he didn’t want a piece of that ass?”

“Mmm, yeah maybe you’re right—”

“And if he doesn’t work out for you I have plenty of butches that have been asking me about you. The good thing is that you can pick out the dick size.”

“Ewww! That’s so crude, Sevika!”

You heard a crunch and turned your head to Sevika. “Are you serious eating my stuff?”

“Checking it for roofies.” She bit the flaky pastry again and took a sip of your latte. Moaning at the taste as she gave it a final swirl. Passing it to you.“You have my green light.” You rolled your eyes at her.

“Oh, shit! He left his number on the pastry bag!”

He is the captain of the baseball team and also the golden boy of the engineering department. His face is plastered all over the school and even in the promotional stuff of the college.

Hispanic / Latino! A Colombian-Brazilian mix.

His sponsor is the Kiramman family, he won a scholarship in middle school for a Juniors Inventors Competition he placed first. They have paid for his education ever since because they loved him so much. And helps Cait with all her homework and tutoring. They also are members of the board of education (cough nepotism cough).

Your first date was at a basketball game. His friend Vi was playing in the national women’s tournament that was taking place at your college’s arena. Imagine you are relaxing and enjoying the game as the Jumbotron is going around focusing on couples for the kiss cam. And it lands on you two!

“I guess we have to give the people what they want.”

“How unfortunate for us.” You leaned into Jayce, grazing your lips against his.

You guys share a passionate kiss as the crowd went wild. Later you saw your picture in the schools newspaper talking about the game and the “New Golden Boy’s Gal”.

His favorite pet names for you are babe, baby, dove, and princess! When he gets spicy uses “muñeca” (doll) and “mi tesoro” (my treasure).

Doesn’t seem like a party person at all! He went to a few in his first year but didn’t like the craziness of them. He does however go to fundraising galas and any event that the school of engineering / baseball does.

And you are his plus one always!

Likes to be in suits and all dolled up, Jayce likes to look good. He knows his handsome, but he doesn’t compete next to you. Having your curves hugged so nicely by the gown you’re wearing, hair and makeup done.

“Are you ready, Jayce? If we are not there by 7 Professor Heimerdinger will have my ass.” You entered his room, heels clicking. He pulled his tie around his neck and he saw you in the reflection of his small mirror.

“You look stunning!” He shifted his attention to you. Watching you struggle to put your necklace on he quickly took the chain from your fingers.

“I don’t feel stunning—” He clipped the necklace. Kissing the nape of your neck.

“Jayce, we will be late!” He unzipped the back of your dress, earning a yelp from you. His cold hands slipping under the fabric and grasping the meat of your hips and stomach.

“They can wait! You are more important than so old farts with money to spare.” Your dress pooled on your feet.

Wouldn’t it be awkward having Mel as his ex like a mentioned previously?! And she being the face of the school of engineering like Jayce?! They only dated because it was pushed on them by the department because having a “power couple” as the face of the college meant big money.

I believe that their relationship never was more than occasional sex and a little toxic. She 100% dated Jayce because Ambessa told her too. Mel only cared about him when it came to the aesthetics of it all. Made him follow a script all the time in public. He couldn’t smile too much, couldn’t giggle because it was uncouth, changed his diet because according to her he was still “flabby” even with the constant work he put in… Mel manipulated the hell out of him, and she was damn good at it. She made him feel trapped and loved at the same time. It wasn’t a very healthy relationship.

Viktor never really liked Mel so when she broke with him he was the happiest man alive! He was like “yeah I hated that bitch” and Jayce was just crying his eyes out because he was dumped before his game.

I think Mel dumped him because he was tired of not being himself anymore. He didn’t find joy in the little things and he stared to tell her “no” when it came to her shifting his whole personality.

She had a wake up call a few more years into college and even broke of her relationship with her mother. Mel eventually apologized to Jayce for all the pain she caused him.

When Jayce introduced you to Viktor you both hit it off right away! He said something in the line of: “I like this one, keep her around.”

I headcanon Jayce as bisexual, but isn’t the type to parade it around or even mention it to people. Doesn’t own any pride stuff. Very closeted, but not at all (if you get way I mean). Jayce is just comfortable with himself and doesn’t need to prove anything to others when it comes to his sexuality. He only tells people when it naturally comes in a conversation.

The only person he flat out said “yeah I’m bi” was when Cait came out to him. He wanted her not to feel alone and that she had a friend she could relay on.

The way you found out he was bi was so mundane. You were talking about a popular actor that was in a lot of action movies back when you were kids.

“Since I was a teenager all the other guys said that he was cool, but I only really liked him because he was hot.”

“Wait! You like boys and girls?”

“Y-Yeah—” He sheepishly placed a hand on the back of his neck, blush on his cheeks. And that quickly turned into a form of panic. What if you were disappointed, or even disgusted by that? Will you break up with him over it? “If you don’t feel comfortable with that I totally understand—”

“I like girls too! And boys!” You both held hands and skipped in a circle out of bi joy.

He always kisses you hello and goodbye! He likes PDA but isn’t the type to be literally fucking you in public. He holds your hand and gives you gentle kisses. Also whenever you go out he makes sure to walk on the side of traffic. And makes you stand close to his chest when you’re in line.

I belive that the college you go to is close to his home, and his mom comes over on the weekends to his dorm. Brings treats over and cooks for Viktor and Jayce to last them the week. Very mama bear

The first time Ximena saw you was in early Saturday morning. You stayed over after finishing a project, it was too late to go back to your dorm and you slept over. You woke up to the smell of coffee. Jayce still sleeping at your side like a rock. You dragged yourself out of bed in one of Jayce’s big t-shirts and some fuzzy socks he bought for you.

“Oh! Who is this pretty girl?!” You heard a kind voice express. You saw a tall and gorgeous woman cooking at the stove. From the pictures Jayce showed you it was Ximena Talis, his mom!

Viktor was sitting in the counter stuffing his face with pancakes. “That’s Jayce’s girlfriend, Mrs. Talis.”

“My Jayce has a girlfriend!”

She made her way to you drying her wet hands on her apron. She gave you the biggest hug and you giggled at her boldness.

“I’m Ximena Talis, Jayce’s mom! But you can call me Ximena.” She cupped your face in her hands and gave your cheeks a squeeze. Looking over your features lovingly then stepping away slightly to look at the rest of you.

“You’re a cutie! ¡Y mira esas curvas que tienes! (And look at your curves!)”

She placed her palms on your wide hips, and felt them over her son’s shirt.

“Wow, okay—” You heard Viktor choke on his coffee.

“Mom! What are you doing? That’s embarrassing!” Jayce was beyond frustrated of his mom’s actions. 

“Jayce Antony Talis! When were you going to tell me you had a girlfriend?!

“We only started dating a few months ago and—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Jayce! Come here my dear! Let’s get you some breakfast before he lets you go hungry.” She dragged you back to the stove and hugged you by the shoulders. And it was the most delicious hug you’ve had in a while.

“Mamá, don’t suffocate her please!” Jayce took a seat next to Viktor that was silently recording this shit show for his private Snapchat stories.

“Oh, shush! So do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in your pancakes?” She petted your cheek lovingly.

“Can I have both?” You asked with puppy eyes.

“You are just like my Jayce!” Her eyes twinkled as she prepared a plethora of pancakes for all of you.

In Arcane, the Talis house is know for their toolmaking. In this Modern AU his family owns a small chain of workshops and supply stores. They specialize in welding and power-tools.

He brings you all the time to his families original workshop and makes steel flowers and trinkets for you.

Has a full skin care routine. One for day time and night time. Does face masks a few times a week for hydration and sun protection because of baseball practice. Always wears sunscreen! And applies multiple times a day.

Also loves smelling good for you. He was a pretty nice selection of perfumes. Jayce seems to be more inclined to sweeter and less overpowering types of smells. Doesn’t like to have the type of cologne that literally envelopes the room in a smoky way. Likes perfumes that blend well and you have to stand close to have a good whiff.

His a big boy! And eats a lot to keep up with his hours of exercise and studying. Totally the kind of guy that downed all his meal points and is left eating leftovers in the final semester months.

Jayce will literally lick the plate clean with whatever you cook. Buys you all the ingredients before hand like a gentleman. Once ate a whole batch of brownies you made and you were utterly disgusted by him.

“Jayce, I may be a fat ass but I will never pull this shit. This is inhumane and worrisome.”

“But they were so good. I couldn’t resist!” He wiped the crumbs off his face and sucks his fingers clean.

“Good enough that you didn’t let me have at least one?!”

You guys also like to try out new recipes together. And by try I mean Jayce burning his share and you ordering food after his disaster in the kitchen.

Since becoming partners you spend a lot of time in their dorm and each one of you takes turns making a fresh batch of cookies for the week. Viktor is a master baker, so when it’s his turn to make cookies they are gone before the end of the week. Jayce is an ass and just buys Oreos, gaslights Viktor and you into thinking they’re “gourmet” or some shit.

Viktor is his keeper. If you want to do anything with Jayce you need to ask Viktor for permission.

“Can I have him for tonight, Vicky?”

“Absolutely not! We have Great British Bake Off tonight. Who is going to help me rank the dishes from worst to best if he is not here?”

“Every time it feels like I’m in the 1800 asking for a hand in marriage even though I just want to go get ice cream with Jayce!” You groaned at Viktor’s response.

“Ice cream? I will allow it if you get me a scoop of strawberry.”

“Thank you great king Viktor! Your prince will be moderately safe in my hands.” You bowed your head like a knight in a castle asking for the princess hand.

Jayce is a total cuddle bug! His favorite spot to snuggle up is the couch. Likes having your back pressed against his chest with your legs tangled with his while playing video games or watching movies. Jayce is the little spoon all the way when you’re in his bed. Likes his hair to be played with while he has his head on your chest.

He wears hoochie daddy shorts! Those super tiny shorts were you can see his boxers peaking out the legs. You love how they make his thick thighs and ass look plump and juicy.

“I told you not to wear these in public.” You disrespectfully grabbed his ass. Enjoying the fullness in your palms. “You know what that ass does to me. Makes me want to hump you!” You proceeded to hump his leg and bark at the same time.

“Babe, stop! We are in public for Gods sake!” Jayce pushed on your shoulders trying to get you off his leg.

“Then you shouldn’t be asking for it!”

He traces your stretch marks when you are alone together in bed! The ones on your belly are so especial to him. His hands are big and warm and they feel so good on the fresh ones you get.

He also has stretch marks! Mainly on his arms and glutes. You call them his tiger stripes.

Grows out his beard and hair after his second year. His work load tripled and doesn’t have much time to trim them. You absolutely love his new look!

“Kissing you feels like eating a carpet! I love it.”

“You’re sure a weirdo, babe!”

You always make time to go to his baseball games. He throws you kisses and winks before each batting section as a form of good luck. Jayce is an amazing hit, and always starts and finishes with a breathtaking home run.

He looks incredible in his white and blue uniform. And that ass of his looks delightfully plump in his dirty white jeans. You always bring binoculars to just stare at him instead of watching the game.

Got badly injured in game because one guy of the opposite team kicked his knee in while touching base. His injury was so severe that he was recommended to quit it all together and has to wear a knee brace for the rest of his life.

Started getting bad scores and even was about to loose his sponsorship because of his mental health after the incident. Started drinking shortly after to quell the pain. He completely spiraled out of control.

“I-I don’t know how I am anymore. I’ve failed. I’ve failed. I’m worthless.” He came to your dorm room late one night. He had been drinking enough that his true emotions started swallowing him up.

“Jayce, don’t say that—” He launched into your arms, shaking in hurt as his tears stained your top “If you were all those things you said then you wouldn’t have all these people backing you up. You are loved Jayce. I love you.”

“Then why do I feel like this? Like I want everything to burn and collapse?”

“Because it’s unfair what you are going through. So cry and breakdown all you want. I’ll be here to dry your tears and help you stand.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“No problem, baby.”

Jayce has always suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts since the passing of his father. So you felt like you would have lost him of it wasn’t for the support you guys gave him. Viktor with his crazy science hypothesis and projects. And you with your emotional support.

“If you ever want to talk I’m right here, Jayce. And if you don’t want to talk, then let me be the shoulder you can cry on.”

“Only if you promise me to help me get my chemistry grade up.”

“I wouldn’t say no even if the world burned down.”

He started becoming his self again, getting amazing grades and taking care of himself. Saving his beared and cutting his hair (noooooo).

Jayce seems like the guy that likes to keep busy, so since he doesn’t have any sports to keep him hands on he takes up more artsy activities. Since he is familiar working with metal, Jayce starts doing woodwork and pottery.

You introduced him to pottery when you surprised him with a couples class to make matching mugs. You have never seen him smile like that since the injury! The mug you molded looked like a kindergartener made it but Jayce liked it so much that it’s his number 1 coffee cup.

The pottery class impacted him so much that he bought all the materials online and started his own little studio. Gives out all his little creations to his friends. Heimer even has a pencil holder in his office that Jayce made him.

Jayce is the only one of your friend group how has a car, it’s an old beat up red Toyota Corola with one of the doors colored blue. That car was where Cait and Vi first had their kiss after Jayce picked them up drunk from a party. The car takes seconds to start and everyone cheers when the engine runs. You and Jayce go every other weekend to the beach that is a few minutes from campus and have a picnic. Is the car where Viktor fell out the window because Jayce was doing donuts in the Burger King parking lot and he was sitting on the window opening.

Your favorite thing to do is going midnight snack runs! Almost 1 in the morning and you hear a knock on your door and there is Jayce in his pajamas. Shaking his keys in his fingers.

“You want some McDonald’s?”

“Let me put my bra on.”

You also go grocery shopping together. And Viktor tags along sitting inside of shopping cart.

Let’s you decorate his knee brace with cute stickers! I mentioned in my Viktor headcanons that Jayce likes Sanrio characters, especially Pompompurin. So if you have any Sanrio stickers he wants them on his brace.

Jayce likes to collect miniature things. And is very into Japanese / Asian culture. He was totally a Pokémon and Gundam kid when growing up. Still has all his old figurines and has some in his dorm room.

Jayce was raised by a single mom almost his whole life, so he was into some very “girly” things at a young age. Likes to bake (even if everything he cooks turns out a little burnt) and garden, going shopping and keeping up with his hygiene. He never had a “boy smelling room”. Imagine him going to another boy’s dorm for a group project and him being utterly disgusted by the man smell.

Since then he keeps to his own, and ever goes to another’s dorm room except yours and Cait’s.

He runs a tight ship and does all in his power to keep everything clean. Viktor is a little on the messier side than Jayce. They get into petty arguments all the time thanks to one of Jayce’s house rules.

“Viktor you aren’t supposed to put wooden kitchens utensils in the washing machine! And what did I tell you about not taking out the potatoes out of the plastic? They will get bad quicker!” He was like a desperate house wife. You and Viktor were playing video games when he just went off ranting.

“Jayce, I want a divorce.” You slapped Viktor’s shoulder and crackled at Jayce’s flustered face.

“I’m not going to let you!”

He doesn’t like the cold at all. He and his mom got into a bad car accident in a snow storm and it took a rescue team almost 4 hours to get them out of the freezing cold. He got bad hypothermia and his mom lost her fingers.

“Jayce if you make me put another sweater on you will have to roll me out to get me to class.”

“Then you shouldn’t have put only one on. You were trying to be sneaky.”

“I have a nice layer a fat on me! If I put too much clothes on I’ll suffocate!”

“I don’t care! I just want my lady to be warm. Now which one do you want? Blue or black?”

“Jesus, help me so I don’t suffer from a heat stroke in December—”

His favorite part of your body is your hips, how plush and soft they fit in his hands. Loves to hold your hips when he hugs you and when you’re walking beside him. Jayce goes crazy for your tummy / muffin top. When you sit down his eyes immediately go to your middle. And if you wear a short body-con skirt that highlights the crest of your belly he will go feral and all gushy.

And if you have wide shoulders consider this man whipped. He finds women with strong shoulders incredibly sexy. Jayce also has big shoulders and it feels like he has something in common with you. Likes to give you hand massages on them. Calls you his “tough lady”.

I like to think that Jayce grew up more on the chubby side and was teased for it. And then he had an amazing glow up. Because Jayce has too much personality for a tall, handsome man! And he would have been such a cutie as a baby too! Really big and chunky, and also super long.

Ximena brought his baby pictures over one time and you saw that he had a massive head. You teased him over it and now he gets embarrassed when you bring it up.

When you get angry or sassy at him Jayce gets very sad! Like a kicked pup. He just stands in front of you with glossy eyes and a quivering lip. You don’t stay mad at him for long.

Even with his knee injury Jayce is very athletic. He likes doing handstands and cartwheels to impress you. He likes to annoy you and do walking handstands. Likes follow you around with his legs in the air and hands on the ground as you do chores.

“Is this your mating dance, Jaybe?”

“Is it working?”

“Ehh, you’re getting there. Get me the extra dish soap from the pantry and maybe I’ll take my pants off.”

“On it!” And you saw him scurry off still in his handstand before you could say anything else. He will have a massive headache later.

Since you started dating Jayce you also got adopted by his friends group. And you have girls night with Cait, Vi, and Sevika. Which means you and Cait sitting on the couch with face masks on drinking margaritas while Sevika and Vi beat the hell out of each other with their boxing gloves. Jayce and Viktor try to bribe the girls with snacks, it always works.

“Boys, get out it’s girls night!”

“But we want to watch Legally Blonde and get our toes painted!” Jayce pushed the door as Cait put all her weight on it.

“We order pizza.” Viktor yelled on the other side.

Vi gasped. “Cupcake, let them in!”

“What the hell! I’m also painting your finger nails as retribution.” You patted the empty space next you on the sofa and Viktor sat down. You pulled out the box of nail polish. “What color, V?”

“I want mine in purple.”

“Blue for me, babe!” Jayce sat on the ground between your legs, resting his back on the sofa cushions.”

Definitely steals your clothes! He will go through your closet in front of you with no shame and pick out want ever he likes. He makes sure to leave some of his fresh laundry so you can wear his stuff too.

If you ever heard of “Walk a Mile in Her Shoes” is a foundation / fundraiser for women who have suffered from various types of abuse. And they have an anual walk where people, mostly men, walk in heels for a mile to show their support for the women in their life. And he participates every year and you cheer him on!

It would be so fun if Sevika and Vi walked with him! And they all are trying to support each others balance but Vi keeps twisting her ankle every so often, so both Sevika and Jayce have one of her arms around their shoulders as they carry and drag her feet off the ground.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” You yelled as you watched them struggle to get to the finish line.

“I think I don’t want my rights anymore!” Sevika ran bow legged as she passed you. Jayce hiding his pain with a forced smile.

They decided to make a run for it to finish first and it ended up with Sevika’s lip busted, Vi with a bruised foot and Jayce with his hands and knees all scraped.

Jayce overall is such an amazing person! Complex and utterly devoted to you. He makes you dream of an endless future with positivity and love.

[igotanidea]

Bound by business: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Jason x information dealer reader. He only came for the info, but one thing led to another, a bit of whiskey and some teasing and - .... And she's a self made gotham.boss bitch falling for no one...

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, dirty talk, p in v, teasing, angst

A/N : Been a while since I wrote smut and a story this long. Let me down gently. XD

***

It was dark and the rain was heavy, doing nothing to hide Jason’s irritation as he speeded on his motorcycle to the bad side of Gotham if there was any good side of Gotham in the first place.

Once having reached his destination, he took his helmet off letting rain wet his ruffled hair and started banging on the door.

His contact in the criminal world had been hard lately and he had no idea why, but the reasons behind the sudden change in the attitude were far from his interest.

HE and Y/N had a long history, went way back to the times when he was Robin and she was a good girl, both memories seeming like a fucking grotesque now.

“Y/N! Open the fuck up!”

“The hell Jason?!”

The door opened but she made no move to invite him inside despite the downpour on the outside. Instead she settled on watching him shake the water off like a dog, deriving some sadistic pleasure from the fact he could barely see with his hair stuck to his forehead and falling into his eyes.  

“The gun shipment. Tonight. I need details. Time, place, figures involved.

“Well hello to you too, Jason. I’ve been fine thanks for asking.” She scoffed and then smirked.

“I don’t have time for this shit-“

“Right, right, of course. I probably should thank you for not putting a gun to my head right away, right?”

“That is to be rectified at any moment now.” He reached towards his holster.

“Don’t be stupid, Jason. You know you only get this far with things because of me. You don’t want to lose an ally, do you?”

“You’re just an information dealer. Plenty of those in Gotham.”

“Mhm. Sure. And how many of them are as skilled as I am?”

He scoffed, pushing right past her, casually shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the couch.

“Yeah by all means, ruin my furniture. Drink?” she asked, heading towards the cabinet

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“Wow, someone finally developed some standards. What gives?”

Jason scoffed again.

“Standards, my ass. It’s at your expense so why would I hold back?”

“I might hold you accountable to that in the future. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

The glasses clinked and for a moment they both sipped their drinks in silence which gave Jason a second to actually look at her. She was a badass, that was what he knew. But every time he came around to her place, which was not really happening that often, she was almost innocent. Ironically. No make up, comfy clothes, just hoodie and yoga pants. He had seen women try harder to look I-woke-up-like-this.

Y/N was just being comfortable. 

“What’s with the look Jace?” she smirked from under the rim of her glass, her eyes piercing into him.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“About why you are suddenly not giving me shit.”

“It’s been a long day if you must know. Long and hard day. My shit giving attitude and my humor might be a little off. ”

“Huh!” he huffed dismissively “hard day? You want to hear about a hard day? The one involving guns and fights? And being stabbed with a knife? Twice?“

“We all have our own definition of a hard day, you fool. You deal with bullets, I deal with people.”

“So you’re basically saying that people are worse than guns? Seriously? Damn, girl you got some audacity there.” He half-laughed, taking another sip of the whiskey and swirling the beverage “so, spill. Which one of your usual charming assholes got under your skin?”

“Luckily someone I do not have any respect for.”

“You have respect for no one, sunshine. But please, do tell. Did you kick him in the groin or punched him in the face?”

“Something like that.” She smirked, clearly so full of herself.

“Please tell me you at least broke his nose.”

“I did no permanent damage, that's all I can say.”

“Meaning you did something painful, but not crippling.” He nodded. He was actually learning to use the same method. Putting a gun to people's heads and shooting them dead was not very useful while searching for info. But then again, he had Y/N for that latter purpose. “Black eye? Twisted arm?”

“I thought you came here about the gun shipment info?” she finally sat on the couch and turned to face him with a hint of tease in her eyes.

“I did. But should it stop me from having a little polite conversation with my favorite partner in crime?” Jason leaned back on the coach with a sly smile

“Mh! I call bullshit.”

“How’s your hand doing?”

The question took her by surprise. Right, the hand, of course he knew about it. She got injured during one of her quests last week and has been dealing with the consequences ever since.

“I’m handling.”

“Uh!” Jason raised his hand stopping her in the middle of the sentence “Let me translate: it hurts like hell but you won’t admit it.” Y/N would never confront her pain – neither physical nor emotional. And yes, he was doing the same but it was easier to notice it in someone else than in himself. “So, given the state of that limb you must have got to that asshole pretty hard. Good job, I’ll give you that. It’s not every day I get to hear about your violent tendencies….” He chuckled and sipped the last of his drink, putting the glass back on the table, his eyes fixed on hers with a mischief in them.

“Oh you know damn well about my violent tendencies…”

“Damn right I do. And don’t I just love every fucking one of them…” his voice dropped an octave as he leaned forward, never dropping the gaze.  “Nothing sexier than a woman who can handle herself…”

“Oh yeah?” she allowed him the sudden closeness, clearly enjoying the blooming game “never took you for a guy who loved being manhandled..”

“Oh I am not. But I’m a sucker for watching someone deserving of it experiencing that treatment.” Jason's gaze moved down her body appreciatively, lingering on the swell of her breast under the hoodie and the curve of her hips accentuated by that stupid leggings. He knew she had curves under all those clothes. “It’s a fucking turn on.” He added in a husky tone. 

“Is it now…?” she hummed moving a little closer on the couch, her own drink landing on the table as well as she placed palms on his thighs, using it to lean even more forwards, leaving less than an inch between their faces.

“Fuck yeah it is…” his breath caught in his throat a little at the unexpected but not unwelcomed touch. “Seeing you lay someone down with those gorgeous hands of yours….” He licked his lips.

“Mhm… keep talking…” Y/N switched positions, now sitting on his lap, straddling him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and he instinctively grabbed onto her hips.  Gods, he was a man and suddenly realized how long it’s been since he had a one night stand, too busy with work.

But this?

This was getting dangerous and deep down he knew that once started, wouldn’t end up easily.

This was not going to be just scratching an itch like it usually was. This would hurt a lot and mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea.

But he couldn’t stop, the primal part of his brain already awakened by the closeness of her body, her almost gentle caresses and the soft, sweet yet seductive tone he had never heard before but she had mastered to perfection.

“I said…” she leaned to his ear “keep talking…”

“Fucks…” he groaned staring at her with undisguised lust “the though of you getting dirty… rough….”

“Uh-huh…” she hummed and started grinding on him. Slowly, almost torturously, causing Jason to take a sharp inhale of breath, but quickly composing himself.

“You always fight like that, princess?” his hands wandered from her hips to her ass, squeezing the ample flesh, pulling her closer to the bulge in his pants.

“Only for the special ones.”

 “Special ones, huh?” he held her hips tighter guiding her movements “Like when you want to prove a point? Or-“

“Or. Definitely or.”

She threw her head back, exposing her neck, giving him not-so-subtle hints.

“Or when you want to send a message?” he willingly moved his lips down her skin, sucking on the pulse points, earning a little, delicious moan and hand tangling in his hair. “A message that you’re taken?”

“Am I taken? Can’t remember…” she pulled back, taking off her hoodie and discarding her bra.

“Fuck yeah, you’re taken.” His lips moved lower, kissing her collarbone and cleavage.

“Good to know…” she made a quick movement to pull and toss his shirt somewhere in the room intensifying her movements on his ever growing tent “I think the gun shipment changed the location…”

“You fucking tease.” Jason hissed, changing the positions so she was trapped beneath his body. “Eight inches. Semi-automatic. Brand new and ready for action.”

“Well don’t I love being at a gunpoint…” her hand found a way to his groin, starting to palm the bulge, enjoying the way she seemed to still be in control, even with him on top.

“Oh yeah? A gun to your head?” he groaned, barely controlling himself.

“Maybe not to my head…”

Y/N wriggled on the bed, rolling on her belly for a moment to reach for the condom in the nightstand and that moment was enough for Jason to get hypnotized by that bounding piece of ass.

“I really hope the biggest size will fit you—”

“Fuck, I’ll stuff you so full you won’t walk for a week.”

He pushed her legs open with his knee, doing a quick job of rolling the latex on his length, teasing her clit with a few featherlight touches, loving how she seemed to beg for more with every squirm and entered her in one deep thrust.

“Big enough for you?” he bit her earlobe licking the shell right after, his voice low.  

“I – mmm… shit…”

“Have you ever had this big?” The thrusts were long and hard and deliciously painful at first before turning into a series of perfectly aimed and ideally paced movements that made her gasp from pleasure. “Answer the question, princess.”

“I – ah! Ah, shit!” nails of the right hand dug into the mattress hard enough to make holes, the other hand reaching for the pillow, quickly pressing it between her head and the headboard to prevent the potential concussion. He was not a semi-automatic gun machine. More like a rifle, never shooting blanks. Thank fucks, she was prepared in many ways and started taking pills a few weeks prior. Not that it was her plan or anything. 

“What was that?” he rocked faster and harder, pulling all the way back only to slam right back inside. “Too much for you, slut?”

“Make me come! Make me fucking come to give me incentive to answer that stupid question!”

“Seems to me like I’m fucking your brains out. Is that right, pretty? Am I fucking you stupid?”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah… you’re so fucked, baby.” He was now hitting her cervix with such a speed and strength as if his life was depending on it. “Fucked by no. One. Else. But. The. Red. Hood.“ Each word was punctuated by a deep movement and if someone asked she would swear it was reaching her stomach. Or maybe she just ate something bad.

“It’s an – ohhh! – oh shit!” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence for a moment. “It’s an honor for you to have me like this….” There was no way she was going to let him win and really fuck her stupid.

“Oh I know… But no one else is big and strong enough for you” he circled her clit, bending head to suck her nipple, leaving a wet trail from one breast to another “now, come for me… come baby…”

She bit her lips so hard that a blood appeared on the bottom one, quickly licking it off, turning Jason wild. He was a sucker for blood. Not only the shooting kind, clearly.

“Yeah…. Yeah…oh! Oh!”

She could feel his pace faltering a little as he was so close to his own climax.

And used it against him, hitting right into the momentum, somehow managing to end up on top of him again, hands on his chest, breasts bouncing, ass slapping on his cock as she rocked up and down, still in control.

“Fuck! Y/n!”

“Yeah, yeah that’s right, moan my name as you come Jason Todd. Red Hood. Whatever. Scream my name.”

“You- where did you learn how to take cock like that—”

“You wouldn’t like the answer. Now come on!” It was immensely hard to keep herself from diving into the sea of release but she knew how to get what she wanted. Years of effing experience in this fucked up place.  

His hands were on her ass, squeezing mercilessly, almost to the point of pain as he finally reached the stars.

Only then she allowed herself to let go as well. Winning, yet again, falling on top of him like a marathon runner who scored a gold medal even if there were truly no losers in this game of love. At least not in terms of the body.

“Damn… you’re heavy…” he hissed, wrapping arms around her, trapping her on top of him, nuzzling nose into her hair. She was right with him, next to him, so warm and soft and tender, making him feel so good, so nice, so liberated.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my fat ass bouncing on you.”

“Too tired to even try to pretend.” He whispered, trying to kiss her softly, but much to his surprise, she rolled off him, swiftly avoiding his grip, grabbed the hoodie from the floor and stood up fixing her hair, letting it fall down her back like a h/c waterfall.

“Well this was nice.” Her tone was flat, unamused and the warmth in his chest turned into icy cold right away.

“Wait… what? But-“

“I’m gonna go piss now. Can’t risk any STIs. Those hurt like hell, not to mention it’s kind of embarrassing explaining to my Ob-gyn why I wasn’t careful again. I swear one more time and she’ll drop me as a patient.”

Was this a joke to her!?

“But-“ he stuttered looking at her with wide eyes. This was not what he expected at all and there were like a million questions in his head.  “Y/n-“

“I’ll be right back, but hey – hygiene right? You should get yourself cleaned too” she grabbed the towel from the rack and threw it on him, effectively flattening his still semi-hard cock and his appetite and energy for another round.

“But –“

“This is serious shit Jason! Gotta stay healthy if we’re to repeat it.”

She winked suggestively, rushing to the bathroom, leaving a little crack in the door, so he could faintly hear her peeing.

What was wrong with this girl!?

This must have been just some stupid nightmare, a product of his tired, messed up, beaten brain--

“So. You wanted to talk about something?” she was back about a minute later. “hey, you still didn’t clean up?”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” she touched her right buttock and hissed at the contact with a scratch his hands left on the skin.

“This no-nonsense attitude!”

“What else do you want me to do?” she tilted her head, looking at him quizzically

 “Oh I don’t know!” he finally lost his patience, feeling too vulnerable and too emotional for his own liking, feeling the compelling need to cover himself. Both physically and emotionally. “Normally people like to – oh, I don’t know – talk after sex? Maybe cuddle a little? But you’re just like oh, hey, it was a nice fuck, thanks for letting me use you, dressing and washing up like a freaking germophobe!” he got tangled in his pants, hardly preventing himself from tripping which would be even more condescending.

“Jason-“

“I’m being serious here Y/N!”

‘You called me slut.” She deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

‘I called you – ok, fine! Fine I called you slut. Is that why you’re suddenly icing me out?”

“No.”

“No!? That’s it? That’s all you got? I can’t fucking believe it!” he punched the wall leaving a little dent, but the broken pride clearly did not affect Y/N.

“Could you please calm down and stop depriving me of my deposit on this place? I’d appreciate it.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable!”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so emotional about it Jason.” It might have been a mirage but from Jason’s perspective it looked like Y/N literally rolled her eyes!

“We had sex!”

“Yes? and?” She hesitated giving him a chance to explain further but he was just standing there with eyes wide and mouth open. “Oh come on, this was just an itch, right? We’re bound by business, not pleasure. You don’t mix two explosives like us. It’s just unwise. We’re both adults, sex is not always about deeper feelings-”

She was still talking but he could hardly hear anything with the way blood was humming in his ears, successfully blocking any other bullshit coming out of her mouth (thankfully for Jason though).

Bound by business.

Mixing explosives.

Unwise.

Unwise!

Fucking unwise!?

“Jason?” she smiled softly, as if nothing happened, bending down and searching his eyes. “That gun shipment of yours? It happens in an hour at the docks and everything is orchestrated by Black Mask. I would take some backup if I were you, it might get ugly.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Without any further words he walked outside, feeling defeated like never before and the nail to the coffin was the sound of the door being locked right after him.

He should have known better that a girl who climbed this high in the criminal underworld would be fucked up in some way.

But how can one prepare for the reality of the broken heart?

Back up his ass. He was about to turn his newly found pain into rage and kill each and every one of Sionis’ men himself.

The moon was about to turn bloody that night….

And the worst part?

She was still his information dealer. The best in Gotham, regardless of what he might have said before.

And he was still going to work with her.

Do you know that warning : don’t drink and drive or better : don’t drink and text?

Yep.

Another one should be the warning of developing feelings for your literal partner in crime. 

@lettucel0ver @oohyasumi @apple---cider---vinegar

[gothcsz]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s about vengeance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re supposed to be dead right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss you. I’ll be back soon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tú primero.” (You first)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There isn’t anything left to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming back tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you still be thankful then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he’s leaving?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten… nine…

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

Eight… seven…

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

Six… five…

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

Four… three…

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

Two… one…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him is so damn addictive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His flight boards in a little over three hours.

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

Fuck.

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

He hesitates, watching as your breathing deepens again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you getting dressed?”

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

“I’m leaving.”

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

“To the airport.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you known?”

“Found out this afternoon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I killed him.”

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

“Mateo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a start—”

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

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

“Stop saying that!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Months later, you receive a letter.

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

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

You read it over and over until the words blur.

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

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

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

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

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @thundermartini . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @biapascal .

[schlatt-love-bot]

I NEED more Schlatt smut😫 you write it so good. Ive seen hc's that Schlatt would call reader Momma or Ma, both in a sexual and non sexual way. Think we can do somthing with that?👀

Absolutely I think we can do something with that! Just thinking about Schlatt grumbling out “momma” in bed….PHEW! I apologize, anon, for how long this took me to get out there, I honestly wanted it perfect before posting…here goes nothing! 

IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! NSFW CONTENT!

“Old black water, keep on shinin’..” You hummed to yourself, dancing around the kitchen as you cleaned. The holidays had just passed, and you needed to do a deep clean of your and your boyfriend, Schlatt’s, shared kitchen, as it had seen so much action in the past few days—hosting dinners, cookie baking, pie making..the list goes on. That, plus, you were tired of seeing your holiday decorations up, it was almost February and all they were to you was a solemn reminder that the holidays had come and gone, and now you had to wait a whole year to enjoy the warm, fuzzy feelings they brought you once more. Schlatt had asked you to wait for him, knowing you would climb up on countertops you definitely shouldn’t in order to get things off the tops of the cabinets, but you didn’t listen to him. You wanted to surprise him with a nice, clean kitchen when he was done work for the day, and so there you stood on one of the countertops, winding up string lights and taking down pine garlands off the top of the cabinets, singing along to Black Water at a quiet level, as to not disturb Schlatt at work.

Little did you know, Schlatt had stood in the doorway to the kitchen for a good 5 or so minutes now, just watching you. Watching as you stood on the countertop, completely entranced by the music you were playing, dancing in your little pajama shorts and sleep shirt. He knew he should be pissed off at you for both not listening to him when he asked you to wait for him, as well as for not listening to him when he specifically asked you not to go climbing on countertops, but he couldn’t help himself from standing and enjoying the show you were putting on. Every so often, you would scoot-shuffle yourself in a way that made your shorts peek just enough that he began to develop a taste for what was now on view for him. 

“I’d like to hear some funky Dixieland, pretty mama come and take me by the hand!” You sang ever so slightly louder, standing on your tiptoes to reach a very tucked-back deer ornament you needed to grab to properly dust the tops of the cabinets before hoping off. As you reached, your socks betrayed you, causing you to slip, losing your balance and falling off the counter, heading to the tile below. You braced yourself for the impact…that never came. 

“Alright, pretty momma, you gotta start watchin’ yourself…what did I tell ya earlier?” Your cheeks flushed as you opened your eyes, realizing that you were not on the ground, but in fact in Schlatt’s arms, as he called you “momma.” A chill went down your spine, as Schlatt raised an eyebrow at your flushed expression. 

“What’s wrong, toots? Cat got your tongue?” He teased, shaking his head at your flustered state before he gently lowered your feet to the ground, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. 

“Nothin’, baby…my bad.” You managed to say, shaking your head as you tried to clear your mind once your feet were firmly planted on the ground below. He let out a laugh, rubbing his thumbs against your hips before retorting. 

“Nothin’, really? I can tell something’s brewin’ in that pretty little head of yours. Spill…”

“Nothing, really, baby…just like the new nickname is all.” You admitted, cheeks burning a brighter shade of pink as his eyebrow cockily peaked on his face. 

“Liked bein’ called, momma, huh? I think I can use it more often for ya if ya’d like…” He said, teasingly, as he pulled your body closer to his. “Can’t believe you…not listenin’ to me, wagging your little ass up there on the counters…specifically what I told you not to, huh?” 

“Someone had to get it done around here…you’ve been too busy working to help me take down all the Christmas decorations, y’know.” You groaned, taking a step back to put the ornament still in your hands into the box, turning to face him again. “Too busy working to help with other needs too.” 

He hummed, cocking his head slightly before looking you up and down. 

“What typa needs are we talkin’, baby?” 

“Oh, pretty boy…you know exactly what type of needs.” You purred, slowly stepping closer to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, so you’d be at the perfect spot to whisper in his ear. 

“I’ve been so needy for you, Jay…and you’ve been nowhere to be seen…doesn’t sound fun, does it?” Your warm breath on his ears sent a chill up and down his spine. Unable to speak, he shook his head, knowing exactly where you were going with all this. 

“Think it’s about time pretty boy gets punished, don’t you?” Your fingers lightly traced his jaw, before gently bringing his face to look at yours. 

“Yes, ma…” He said, his voice no louder than a whisper, as you smiled. 

“Good boy…now…take us to the bedroom, hmm?” Almost immediately, Schlatt stood tall, wrapping your legs swiftly around his waist, not wasting any time by practically sprinting to the bedroom while keeping your legs locked around him. You let out a giggle, clearly you weren’t the only one who was feeling a bit hungry and eager.

Once inside your bedroom, he instinctively plopped you down on the bed, hungrily connecting your lips, needing to feel your tongue against his with a groan. You laughed, slowly disconnecting his head from yours with a tug of his hair, looking at how swollen and desperate his lips looked from not even a full minute of making out. 

“Pretty boy…I think you’ve forgotten who’s in control tonight, huh?” His eyes widened, a blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Sorry, (Y/N)…not used to all this…” You chuckled, ruffling his hair slightly before guiding him to sit down on the bed, hands slowly traveling down his chest to the hem of his shirt, playing with it in your fingertips slightly before returning your gaze to his hungry eyes. 

“It’s okay, baby..I know. Not used to seeing this side of me…but you’ve gotta pay for just how neglected you’ve left me lately..” You slowly began to peel his shirt off, admiring the body you loved oh so much before beginning to plant a trail of kisses against his collarbones. He hummed at the sensation, not used to being on the receiving end of all this affection…but he couldn’t deny that it definitely felt good. He brought his hands down to his pants, beginning to unbutton them as you grabbed them, forcing him to stop with a groan. 

“Nope…at my pace, baby. Not yours… keep your hands to yourself, and this will be a better experience for both of us.” You said, returning to his collarbones, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses and a mixture of scattered hickeys, some in not so noticeable areas, others…were definitely going to be seen. He groaned watching you, knowing you were really going to drag this one out. You giggled against his skin, your hands trailing up and down his sides as your mouth left his collarbones, trailing down his chest, meeting the start of his happy trail. His breath hitched, as you lifted your face up, looking up at him. 

“What do you say, pretty boy?” 

“Fuck…please…” 

“Please, what, baby? Use your words…” 

“Fuck…momma please…need your mouth on my cock, like…now.” He said, the words sheepishly leaving his mouth…he wasn’t so used to being wrapped around your fingertips like this. You hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to the top of his happy trail once more, looking back up at him. 

“Say it like you mean it, big guy. What do you want me to do?” He hissed, watching your mouth reconnect with the sensitive skin of his lower belly, nipping at it to leave a little mark of love for only he and you to remember later. 

“Momma, please…need you to suck me off, bad!” His head went back into the pillows, eliciting a giggle from you as you swiftly licked your tongue from the top of his happy trail down to where his jeans sat, already unbuttoned due to his prior impatience. He squirmed under your touch, a string of profanities leaving his lips. 

“Good boy…sounds like you really need me, hmm?” You purred, pulling his jeans down to see his member already rock hard, tucked in a way that the head of his member was practically sticking out of the leg hole of his boxers, glistening already with precum. 

“Mmm…looks like somebody was excited…just as needy as I am, aren’t you, pretty boy?” You said, making a quick lick at his tip before palming him through his boxers, earning yourself a throaty moan from the man lying under you. 

“Fuck, please…need you..” His voice weakly trailed off, his senses becoming easily overwhelmed by just how badly he needed to feel your warm mouth engulfing his length. You laughed at how much he was squirming under your light touch, nodding your head in understanding as you finally peeled his boxers off his body, his cock quick to spring up, slapping him in the tummy as he left a bit of his leaking precum there. You hummed, standing on the edge of the bed as you licked your lips, watching as his cock twitched, waiting for any sort of sensation to come from you. 

“Such a pretty sight…my pretty, handsome boy. Don’t get to see you like this under me that often, huh?” He groaned, picking his head up slightly to look at you. 

“Please…need to feel you…” You hummed, crossing your arms slightly as you gave him a knowing look. 

“Please, please, ma…need your pretty lips around my cock…” You smiled, hearing those words sent a chill up your own spine as you slowly went to action, leaning yourself above him, lightly breathing on his hardened member, watching it twitch under your breath as he groaned above you. 

“Such a fuckin’ tease…” he whispered, praying you hadn’t heard. You smirked, rubbing your finger against his red tip, looking up towards him. 

“What did you say, pretty boy?” His eyes widened, feeling as your fingers stopped rubbing and began just holding steady pressure against his throbbing member, causing him to groan. 

“Nothing…nothing, please..!” He squirmed, needing to feel more than the steady pressure you were teasing him with, causing you to giggle. You shook your head, applying more pressure down on his throbbing tip, causing him to hiss. 

“Don’t be a brat, pretty boy…won’t take care of you if you keep actin’ up…” You muttered, staring him in his half-hooded eyes, to see whether or not he understood what you were asking of him. 

“Sorry…sorry, momma…won’t do it again, promise.” He whispered, his eyes pleading for you to do something, anything to give him some pleasure. You hummed, satisfied by his begging, nodding your head as you brought your hand back down to his hardened member, slowly beginning to stroke him from the base of his cock all the way to his tip. He hissed at the touch, lightly bucking his hips up, causing you to laugh at his needy state. 

“Pretty boy…watch yourself…I’ll stop right now if you don’t stop fuckin’ my hand…” He groaned, rolling his eyes as his head went back to the pillows under him, needless to say, he wasn’t used to the dominance currently dripping from you. A blush began to spread from his ears to his cheeks, making you bite your lip, quickening your strokes. 

“Look at you…such a mess in my hand…only my mess, yeah? You look so hot when you’re this submissive, baby…” You hummed, your eyes hooding over with your own lust…you began to feel your own needs growing bigger and bigger. He moaned at the combination of the dirty words leaving your lips and your quickened movements, his mind going numb. You smiled down at him, by how much his cock was twitching in your hand, you could tell he was close. Swiftly, you took your hand off his member, leaving him unsatisfied. 

“What…? What the fuck!” He whined, picking his head up off the pillows slightly, looking straight at you. You giggled, slowly climbing back up his body, your face hovering a few inches above his, a smirk adorning your face.

“What, thought I’d let you cum that quickly, baby boy? You need a taste of your own medicine…how long do you think I’ve been waiting for this myself?” You whispered into his ear, nibbling at his earlobe when you were finished. He groaned, rolling his eyes at you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ma….please..! I promise I’ll…I’ll do better…fulfill your needs…I…I..just..” He droned on, panting slightly as his mind couldn’t work hard enough to complete a single sentence. 

“You just, what?” 

“Fuck…need to cum, momma…please!” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips, deepening it slightly to taste him, gauge just how badly he needed you. He eagerly deepened the kiss with his tongue…giving you just a slight idea of how badly he needed you, your touch, your taste…you groaned into his mouth. Pulling away from him, you continued your trail of teasing kisses and nips all the way down his neck, across his collarbones, down his chest, back down to his happy trail, making eye contact with him once again. He groaned, knowing exactly what you were going to do, his cock twitching in anticipation. 

You licked from the bottom of his belly button down to the base of his cock, breathing heavily on it. He groaned at you once more, resisting his inner urge to lace his fingers in your hair and pull you down onto his cock. 

“Hmmm…I don’t know if you need me…what do you think, Jay?” 

“Fuck…I need your…your mouth on my cock..so bad, so bad ma…” He muttered out, eyes watching you full of a mix of anticipation and lust that drove you wild. You smiled, pleased with his answer.

“Good boy…now you’re gettin’ it.” You praised, quickly and swiftly taking his cock into your mouth, hearing his moans like music to your ears as you continued to take as much of his length in your mouth as you could. Slowly, you were reaching your choking point, causing you to wrap your hand around the rest of his length that wouldn’t fit. 

Keeping your eyes on him, you began to slowly bob your head up and down, using your tongue to add friction to the underside of his cock. He let out a low growl, instinctively bucking his hips up slightly.

“Fuck…s-sorry, momma…can’t help it. You…you feel so good..!” He grumbled, his eyes unable to open from the pleasure he was experiencing. You were enjoying just how much of a mess he was becoming underneath your touch, quickening your pace as you hummed against his hardened member. After bobbing for only a few moments, you felt him begin to twitch in your mouth…all the pent up frustration from your early ended handjob were shining through, he was close to release. You gave him a look, patting his thigh, a signal that whenever he was ready, he could cum. He damn near lost his mind at that moment, a string of profanities mixed with moans. 

“Fuck, momma! Gonna…gonna…!” He couldn’t get his last warning out before he began to paint the inside of your mouth and cheeks white with his seed, cursing out in a moan as he felt his release. Your cheeks were pleasantly full as you felt some of his seed slowly trickle down your throat, continuing your motions on his cock to make sure you got every last drop of his juices out from him. Overstimulated, he muttered nonsense to himself as his head dropped to his pillow one last time, panting hard at how intense his orgasm truly was. 

You popped your mouth off his cock with an audible “pop,” looking him in the eye as you swallowed every last drop of his seed in your cheeks. He smiled, eyes glazed over as he watched you join him on the pillows, still caught up in the high feeling he had gotten from his release. 

“Damn…maybe I need to call you ma more often…that was so fuckin’ hot, babe.” He panted, lazily looking over at you as you laid with a smirk on your face. 

“It was pretty damn hot, but…momma has some needs that need to be fulfilled, hmm?” 

With that sentence alone, his hunger was reignited in his eyes, as he sprung back to life, eager and more than willing to show his momma just how badly he appreciated her, and just how badly he needed to taste her, care for her.

[rivetgoth]

Not sure what it’ll take to fix the massive misconception that testosterone HRT is something you take for a series of superficial / external changes and then stop. I mean it’s obviously fine to do that if you’re doing so with intentionality but all the time I see guys casually say stuff about “having gotten all the changes” or “the changes have plateaued” or “it’s not doing anything anymore” and citing that as reason to stop taking it. That just objectively isn’t how HRT works.

The external changes are great but hormones are doing way more behind the scenes than just giving you facial hair and a deeper voice, especially when it comes to aging. Individuals with T-dominant endocrine systems and individuals with E-dominant endocrine systems age differently. Fat distribution isn’t a one and done thing; those patterns continue to change and evolve over the course of your life. You as an old man on T for decades will look different than someone who has had an E-dominant endocrine system for that same amount of time. Tbh I think a lot of it is the fact that guys are accessing T at younger ages now and it’s just par for the course that young people don’t take aging into consideration lol. At 18-19 and younger you aren’t even really comprehending that you’re going to age, and for a group statistically more likely to be suicidal that’s tenfold. Lack of substantial research on the longterm effects of both HRT and stopping HRT play into this too.

That said though I think detransition fearmongering and even sort of misdirected transmisogyny kinda comes into play here as well. Testosterone as a substance that causes “permanent damage” is largely weaponized against trans women but it is also used to threaten us not to transition in the first place. The word “permanent” carries with it a lot of weight and you see all these people talk about the “permanent” effects of T but what’s lost in these conversations is what cisgender society is threateningly calling a “permanent” change is like… different than what these changes in an estrogen-dominant body do actually look like. We talk a lot about facial and body hair being a “permanent” change on T, but transmascs who stop T and trans women on E alike can report that estrogen causes these hairs to grow in softer and lighter; they won’t look how they did on T. Bottom growth is another “permanent” change that can shrink as erections soften. Your voice (another often-described-as-permanent effect) can change as E changes the body’s ability to grow and retain muscle. I think beyond splash damage from societal transmisogyny I’d even say some of the lack of understanding here comes from intracommunity transmisogyny & trans men not fully comprehending the level of change possible on estrogen, internalizing the sentiment that trans women’s changes are less meaningful than ours and not talking to trans women about what estrogen-based transition really looks like.

And again I’m not saying this to berate the people who intentionally go on T, know what to expect by stopping it, and do so with intentionality because they have a vision for what they want. That’s awesome, 100% valid. Do you. It’s more the wider misconception I see of HRT as something that “plateaus” and leaves a series of permanent unchanging effects while no longer doing anything else. And to overstep just a little I honestly think there are some men who would be happier if they continued to take T and are falling victim to larger transphobic institutions that have convinced them it’s unnecessary. As itskobold said on my post about HRT timelines you will keep changing forever. So it’s best to really consider what you want the layout of your endocrine system to be as those changes continue to occur.

[uncle-fruity]

I appreciate everything OP said here, and so much of it rings true. And while we're on this topic, I wanna bring up something I've been mulling over that I think is related.

We have got to stop thinking of marginalized people as a monolith -- even when that homogenized version in our heads is mostly positive. What I mean is that not every trans person is a good person. Just like not every cis person is a bad person. There will be trans people who are uninformed, willfully ignorant, rude, mean, abusive, manipulative, misogynistic, hypocritical, and honestly pretty bad allies to anyone who they don't understand or don't like or who challenges their worldview. There will be cis people who are extremely well-read on the issues, understanding, supportive, encouraging, open-minded, willing to listen & learn, kind, respectful, dedicated transfeminists, and honestly some of the best allies you'll ever have.

There is this sort of underlying assumption that trans people will always understand each other better than anyone else, that we are safer with our own, but that's not always the case. It is fair to assume that trans people are more likely to connect with and understand each other, but it is (clearly, as demonstrated) not guaranteed.

That's because we are humans! Humans are messy, complex, often hypocritical, nuanced beings. We all have different experiences, surroundings, relationships, beliefs, and priorities that make us who we are. Gender is just one facet of the many many things that come together to make us wholly human. Being trans doesn't make you a good person; it makes you trans. And while being trans may give you valuable insight on gender dynamics and trans oppression via direct exposure, it does not automatically make you a scholar or expert on all trans experiences or the historical context that feminism & transfeminism is built on. That kind of information must be actively pursued if you want a fuller picture.

This is why I've been going off about critical thinking so much -- because if you aren't being critical about this, it gets very very easy to fall into a reactive and/or bigoted and/or narrow mindset, and that can be genuinely harmful to yourself and others if you're not careful. Especially on Tumblr, where someone could very easily misrepresent their identity to stir up shit and push transphobic rhetoric behind the mask of an assumed ally. Thinking critically is a vital tool to help us avoid being manipulated by a false or disingenuous narrative.

When we say, "Listen to trans people," we mean that you need to pay attention to a wide variety of trans people and what we're talking about -- because we will and do agree AND disagree with each other on a number of issues all the time. But the more of us you listen to and consider, the more likely you are to see patterns of oppression and common trans experiences that will broaden your worldview and help you make a better informed decision about what to believe or what to look further into or how to spot common anti-trans sentiments/dogwhistles. "Listen to trans people" is not followed by the secret phrase, "and thoughtlessly accept everything they say about trans issues." Anyone who demands that you agree with them without room for question or comment or criticism is trying to control the narrative. Even if there is good reason to believe someone knows their shit, it never hurts to dig deeper into the worldview someone is trying to get you to internalize before you do so.

So, with that in mind, I encourage everyone to really take stock of their priorities & values within activism and judge people on their actual behaviors & impact & quality of information they present, NOT just their stated identities. If something a fellow activist said feels uncomfortable or rubs up against your values, it's okay to examine that feeling and ask questions to figure out what's at the root of it. The trans women who act the way OP described are not representative of all trans women, nor are they necessarily our allies. The same goes for misogynistic & transmisogynistic trans men. Or trans people of any sort who subscribe to any flavor of gender/bioessentalist ideology. That isn't to say that we don't fight for their rights or support them when they fall victim to systemic violence or ignore their issues or give up on trying to educate & elevate where we can -- we are still fighting the patriarchy for everyone's benefit. But, critically, we also don't have to accept hateful rhetoric into our communities and theories just because the fuckos spouting it off are trans.

honestly, as a trans woman who's running a fairly 'popular' or whatever queer blog, i've noticed so much shit in the past 2 years and i'm just gonna lay it out for y'all. it's a new year. it's 2025. i do NOT wanna carry any more of this bullshit forward. i'm calling everything for what it is. if this pisses you off, unfollow or block and move on.

as someone else put it in the tags on one of my other posts:

i am sick and tired of not talking about extremely important queer conversation topics for the sake of "keeping the peace".

this is not giving trans women and transfemmes a better quality of life to attack literally every every and all trans men for being trans men. it's making people fucking scared shitless of us. i hope people realize this isn't helping improve the opinion other people have on trans women and transfemmes. it's making people absolutely fucking terrified to even exist around us, because we've gotten to the point where we're attacking literally everyone and anyone who says something we don't like. people are fucking terrified of talking around transfemmes and trans women and it's time we broke the silence on that.

other transfemmes and trans women: do you seriously, really want other trans people to be scared to death of you? do you really want other trans people to be absolutely fucking terrified to speak around you because they're scared of getting fucking yelled at? do you really want other trans people to be utterly terrified to speak up about their own trans issues for fear of being told they hate you? do you really want other people around you to feel utterly terrified to talk about anything queer related at all for fear of being corrected, looked down upon, or verbally harassed?

i am just completely done with this environment we've fostered where basically everyone is on pins and goddamn needles holding themselves back from having real, genuine, impactful, substantial conversations about gender because they're absolutely scared shitless of being called transmisogynistic and publicly cancelled and harassed at all times for saying something as simple as "trans men don't have it easy" or talking about how AFAB people can also be trans. it really does not take much at all to set people off on this website and start accusing people of being transmisogynists left right and center.

i'm not participating in this weird mind game anymore. i do not like how this is being used to control the narrative on transness and trans experiences.

i am done with having to walk on eggshells in every. single. conversation. we have about gender.

i am done with acting like talking about transmasculinity and transmanhood is somehow magically attacking and silencing trans women and transfemmes.

i am done with people having to tack on massive disclaimers saying that they're not attacking trans women and transfemmes just for talking about their experiences on just about every post people write about gender.

i feel like every conversation about gender on here has to be so fucking sterile and calculated and meticulously planned out and stripped of most of its contents in order to not immediately get slammed with a "oh so you hate trans women" or a "oh so you're transmisogynstic." it's fine to point out genuine transmisogyny, i'm not gonna say you have to put up with it when it's real, but can we acknowledge that people are leveraging the fear other people have of being called transmisogynistic to shut people up?

at this point it's being used as a scare tactic and i'm so over it. i loathe how accusing people of being transmisogynistic is a default insult. trans men can't make a post about transmasculinity without someone getting pissed off and calling them transmisogynistic. trans men can't talk about a goddamn thing without being told to shut up, for some reason? why is this happening? like literally why are you doing this? trans men can't talk about ANYTHING at this point. like they needed to be able to coin words for the specific types of oppression they face so they could talk about it, and instead they just get fucking yelled at and told they're being copycats and that the violence they faced wasn't real? what the actual hell is this accomplishing?

why are we acting like we own oppression and no one else can even come close to understanding what its like? come on now, we don't own the goddamn concept of oppression. we also don't own transness. i am sick to death of this idea that transfemininity and trans womanhood are the only "real" ways to be trans. we do not own the concept of transness. it's not just about us. "trans rights" applies to more than just us. it can't be about us all the time. WE are the ones being self centered right now. WE are the ones who are forcing the conversation to be about us in situations where it's completely and totally inappropriate.

we need to say it for what it is: we're fostering an environment where, at this point, only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk about anything queer related at this point. like can we call it for what it is? for some reason, trans men and transmascs aren't allowed to talk about trans manhood or transmasculinity at all. ever. they're not allowed to say a fucking peep. they have to shut up and listen to a trans woman explain it to them, because for some reason, the trans woman knows trans manhood better than the trans man. this is out of fucking control, we should not have trans women explaining trans manhood to other people unless they are also a trans man. this is just unacceptable. transfems attack transmascs who speak for transfems, and yet this is seen as good and the norm?

you are not cool if you hate trans men and misgender them on purpose. this isn't feminist. this isn't progressive. you're not getting back at the patriarchy- most trans men do not benefit from patriarchy and never will- you would understand this if you listened to them. instead of talking over and for trans men, and listening to people who talk over and for trans men, if you listened to trans men, the source, you'd understand that no, transmasculine lives are NOT easy and no, trans men do not instantly benefit from patriarchal society if at all, ever. if you listened you'd understand that T doesn't make people aggressive and hostile and evil. if you listened you'd understand that there are a lot of wonderful, loving trans men out there are who are not transmisogynistic just by virtue of existing.

nobody is saying that we want to you prioritize men over trans women when we talk about trans men's rights. we're not saying that we need to talk about men all the time and never talk about women, and that men are the only ones allowed to talk, now. we really have to let multiple people participate in conversations. we can't keep doing this thing where One Gender Has To Be Superior Over another. that's gender essentialism. why must you keep yourself trapped inside the binary like that? why are you so desperate to stay stuck inside of the machine that's trying to destroy you?

challenging someone else's transphobia is not being transphobic. challenging someone else's behavior is not hating them or their gender. criticism is not an attack on trans womanhood and transfemininity. transfemmes are trans women are not immune to criticism and we need to stop acting like we are. we're not. we've created an echo chamber where only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk right now and it's not transmisogynistic to point that out, because it's literally happening before our eyes.

if we're demanding that other people treat us better, why are we treating other people like shit in the process to get it?

stop silencing other people talking about other trans experiences. transfemininity and trans womanhood are not the only ways to be trans. stop forcing yourself into conversations you don't belong in. if you don't want trans men do that, don't do it as a trans woman. don't barge into conversations you have literally 0 stock in just to be rude and mean and make the conversation about trans women instead. let other people talk. this has gone on for way too long.

let. other. trans. people. talk. we shouldn't have let it get this bad. but i'm not letting it stay this bad. if you want to accuse people having genuine conversations about transness of being transmisogynistic just because they're not a trans woman, then feel free, i'm not gonna stop you, but i'm not listening to you. i don't care anymore. i'm sick to death of not being able to have REAL conversations on here because some people don't like being reminded that they are not the only people who suffer under cisheteronormative patriarchy. if you can't accept that you are not the only one who suffers under patriarchy and that men need to be liberated from patriarchy as well, then i'm not interested in having a conversation with you to begin with.

seriously, if any of this bothers you, please just block me. i'm not participating in these dumb ass little mind games anymore. i do not give a singular shit about offending people who think this behavior is okay. i spent way too long being afraid to speak up about real world issues because of shitty internet trolls. i don't give a fuck if someone you don't like speaking about their experiences hurts your feelings- you are the problem here.

this is affecting real people in real time and i care about that. i care about people, not stupid ideologies and fighting over who is or isn't "really trans". i care about people, not fighting over labels. open your mind and understand that is is about real ass people, and not just ideologies. trans men and mascs are real ass people. they're not antagonists made specifically to attack and piss off transfemmes and trans women. enough of this.

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

seventeen as words you can't translate🖋️ :

playlist: aurora album by toneejay

✦ Scoups: Ya'aburnee (Arabic)

▻ Meaning: A way to declare your hope that your loved one will outlive you, as it would be unbearable to live without them.

➔ Ya'aburnee literally means "you bury me" but the depth of its meaning goes beyond literal. When you don't, can't, won't think of a future without the other person, you use this word. And who else is the embodiment of Ya'aburnee if not choi seungcheol? He breathes seventeen, lives seventeen, and it's as if he will die without seventeen. There's no one as devoted as scoups.

✦ Jeonghan: Toska (Russian)

Meaning: A sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause; a longing with nothing to long for

➔ For me, personally, ever since Jeonghan went to the military, it's as if something is missing in my life (dramatic I know). But it's not just me! Jeonghan is the emotional pillar of svt and we all know it. How many times do you think the members turn around to talk with him and have to remind themselves that he is not here with them? He is also the first one to enlist so everyone feels his absence deeply. It's as if he is in another universe that we can't to go even if we wanted to. Jeonghan, when I catch you, jeonghan.

✦ Joshua: Kilig (Tagalog)

▻ Meaning: The feeling of butterflies in your stomach specifically associated with romance

➔ One of my favourite words in tagalog and one of my favourite persons in svt. The closest literal meaning is 'to shudder' but I think the most accurate english translation is 'the fluttery feeling you get due to love-related things'. And Joshua is so first love coded that I am convinced that everyone looks at him feels their heartbeat speed up me. He, as a person, is made up of all the things I associate love with: softness, gentleness, thoughtfulness, consideration, kindness, and pure loveliness. He is the ultimate kilig feeling: falling in love

✦ Jun: Goya (Urdu)

▻ Meaning: A momentary suspension of disbelief that occurs when fantasy is so realistic that it temporarily becomes reality, usually associated with a story very well told.

➔ Goya has different meaning depending on the context, but, here, I am referring to the word as it is used in literature. It's not so much as a word but rather it is a concept. When you can almost 'taste' a piece of art because it's so vivid, then it's 'as if' (goya) it were real. And I think Jun fits this word quite well cause it's 'as if' he was real. Most of the time he doesn't feel like a real person to me. He is someone who is so ambitious and yet so kind. Someone who will keep mum about their sufferings but do everything they can to distract you from yours. Someone who works like an ox day and night yet takes the time to appreciate every little thing. We don't deserve jun. Not even a little.

✦ Hoshi: Ré Nao (Chinese)

▻ Meaning: A place or situation that is 热闹 (ré nao) is not only fun and lively. It also has a special vibe that makes everyone want to be there.

➔ The literal meaning of ré nao is “lively” or “bustling.” But it's more so about a vibe. Imagine that moment with your friends or family when you guys are out in public, in a crowded scene, like a flower market or the night stalls, and everyone around you is having fun and you are at peace yet full of joy. Contentment at the liveliness and the feeling that everyone is joining in to make it fun is approximately the closest meaning of ré nao and that's so hoshi. He is what makes bss and svt so fun. Once he steps in a practice room, it gets brighter in that instant. Hoshi makes everything full of life and everyone feels a little more alive, a little more in love with life. He is unlike any other idol. You can't mimic that jest for life even if you try.

✦ Wonwoo: Prozvonit (Czech)

▻ Meaning: Ringing somebody’s phone once so that they call you back.

➔ I think wonwoo's charm is that at first he seems unassuming (even, stoic) but the more you know about seventeen the more he reels you in. In that sense, he is 'prozvonit'. Like ringing someone's phone so that they will call back, a glance or look at wonwoo will have you double back and fall into the rabbit hole of falling for him. His playfulness, cheekiness, and emotional sensitivity is the best thing about him.

✦ Woozi: Commuovere (Italian)

▻ Meaning: A heartwarming story that moved you to tears.

➔ To me, Jihoon is a story that never ends. Every song of his is a story straight out of "one thousand and one nights" and each of them leave me brawling. Whether it's the concept or the melody or the lyrics, each song has a tiny bit of his soul. Jihoon touches not only my heart but the very essence of what makes me, me. And I am convinced that is true for most carats. He is both the art and the artist and deserves all the nice things the multiverse has to offer.

✦ Dokyeom: Retrouvailles (French) 

▻ Meaning: The happiness of meeting again after a long time.

➔ Our sunshine, dokyeom! His ability to put a smile on anyone's face needs to be researched in a case study format. He is so humble, down to earth, and funny that even if it's your first time seeing him on a screen, you will feel that you have known him forever. Dokyeom is always a sunshine, both in his personality and also as the light in everyone's life. Even if you go wayyy back to svt's debut time, you will see the same bright grin which can brighten up your day, night, and universe.

✦ Mingyu: Wabi-Sabi (Japanese)

▻ Meaning: Finding beauty in imperfections

➔ Mingyu is someone who finds beauty in everything, be it an object or experience. His optimistic and hopeful nature helps him see life through rose-coloured glasses and it's one of my favourite things about him. I even bring evidence! Only mingyu could find love in shoelaces *_*. Another evidence is him being an outfit repeater. He clearly loves his clothes and cherishes them. If someone in this world could find beauty in imperfect things, it's him. He always tries to make any and all situations better. The loveliest human.

✦ Minghao: Merak (Serbian)

▻ Meaning: The feeling you get from simple pleasures that adds up to a sense of happiness and fulfilment

➔ Whenever I hear minghao speak in interviews or in livestreams, I think to myself, "Wow, he really got life figured out." Not because of how self-assured he always is but more so why he is that self-assured. He understands what is important in his life and acts accordingly. And that makes him such a simple and unassuming person who appreciates life's small pockets of happiness. He also creates this happiness for himself and his loved ones. Xu minghao is my favourite role model.

✦ Seungkwan: Hyggelig (Danish)

Meaning: A delightfully cozy, intimate moment or thing

➔ The synonym of Hyggelig is 'gemütlichkeit' in german and 'gemytlig' in swedish but it is 'seungkwan' in korean hehe. And it's because whenever seungkwan talks its as if he and the listener are the only person in the room. The same feeling as when you are gossiping with your best friend and giggling into smithereens. The reason behind me calling him 'Hyggelig' is cause seungkwan is a person who treats every person honestly and earnestly. He is genuine in his desire for connection and companionship. It's one of his many good qualities. Someone like him is unique even in the midst of billions of people.

✦ Vernon: Fernweh (German)

▻ Meaning: The feeling of homesickness for a place that you’ve never been to

➔ Vernon always felt like home to me. He is comfort manifested as a person. The understanding and quiet support he always offers to everyone is filled with so much kindness and grace. I just know that everyone who talks with him feels as if they were in their home, in pajamas, sipping on their comfort drink on a sleepy, rainy day. Vernon is always himself and he makes the other people feel okay to be themselves too. He is a home that a lot of people me miss when he is not there.

✦ Chan: Duende (Spanish)

▻ Meaning: A work of art’s mysterious power to deeply move a person

➔ Chan is a person with too much power over svt and carats. His earnestness and dedication to put his best foot forward and to help svt be the best it can be is unbelievable. He is that work of art that will move a person to tears if they take just a glimpse. His sense of rhythm and the art of dancing make him a living masterpiece. The diNOW of kpop indeed.

[thequeenofcurses]

Where You Left Me

summary: based off this post by @yeagersss Zombie AU. Sukuna x f!Reader (part 1??) wk: 850 tw: uh zombie stuff and people dying/violence ig. smut later maybe? sry I'm not good a tws

Sukuna’s heavy black boots hit the ground with a crunch, as he stomped on a skin bag. It’s brains sticking to his heel. The smell of the flesh rotting filled his nose. He wiped his feet and searched the corpse for anything useful. Nothing. Damn it. 

The air was thick with decay, and flies buzzed around the corpses littering the ground. The faint rustle of leaves in the wind kept him on edge—it could be nothing or something far worse

CLICK! CLACK!

Another zombie appeared behind him. And then another. And another. “Tch,” he shook his head. Where the hell do these things keep coming from? His group cleared this area days ago. “Let’s dance dead fucker,” he said with a cocky smile. 

He pulls out his machete from his side pocket, turns, and immediately lobotomizes the closest zombie. The next two take an off angle, walking at him from both his front and back. Making a quick decision, Sukuna kicks the front walker with powerful force, causing it to fall backward.

He raised his machete just in time as a shadow darted to his left. A decayed hand shot out, fingers clawing at his boot. With a growl, he stomped hard, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the air.

Now, a one v one, Sukuna takes on the zombie at his back. The rotten skin bag throws its arms forward, desperately trying to get a grip to bite him. Effortlessly dodging, Sukuna ducks, left, right, then uppercuts the zombie with his machete. One left. It was still on the ground, barely managing to crawl forward at him. Its decaying teeth rattled as they chomped and clicked up and down, wanting a bite of his flesh. “Die you ugly thing,” Sukuna commanded as he stepped on its neck. Just to be safe, he sliced at its head, destroying its brain.

"Y/n," he growled under his breath, scanning the area. His chest tightened as he glanced over his shoulder, his grip on the machete tightening. Where the hell are you?

You were supposed to be watching his exit, yet somehow three lamebrains managed to get in behind him.

Sukuna lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he sees you.

He didn’t understand why his chest felt lighter when he saw you running toward him, dirt and blood covering your hands. Relief wasn’t something he allowed himself to often feel, but here it was, twisting inside him. It infuriated him how easily you could be taken from him, how little control he had in this godforsaken world.

“Sorry,” you panted heavily, running up to his side. Your hands were covered in dirt and dry blood. “I was dealing with some walkers outside and a few managed to get by me. I’m sorry.”

He nods and shrugs off your apology. “I’m fine,” he affirms. He wipes off the blood on the walker's clothes and holsters his machete back at his side. “You alright?” You don’t notice it, but Sukuna’s eyes scan your whole body, checking for injuries.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I didn’t think there’d be so many stragglers here so soon.”

“Where’s Sora?” he questioned. It was his damn idea for us to come out here again. “I don’t know how much longer we should—”

“Foun' 'em!” Sora chirped, his accent grating on Sukuna’s nerves. “Cheers for havin’ me back!” He stuffed the books into his bag, and Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Too quick, too suspicious. “With these books, we'll surely boost our farm at the camp, so we might even whip up a bit o' medicine!” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waved him off. “I still want those extra food rations for this.”

“Got it, lad,” Sora confirmed. “Ye two 'ave been a grand help in our group, so ye have.” With that, Sora finished gathering all his items and zipped up his bag. “Let’s head on back?” Taking point, Sora leads the long walk back to camp, with you and Sukuna following a few feet behind together. 

In actuality, Sukuna walked a half-step behind you, scanning the trees for movement. His machete stayed within reach, even though the area seemed quiet. Just in case.

You walk side by side with the tall tattooed man who once intimidated you. Now, you can’t imagine ever leaving his side.  “What were you trying to tell me earlier?” You remember his early statement which got cut off. 

“Tell ya later,” he gruffly responds. You see his eyes staring at Sora’s back.

“Okay,” you acknowledged. We don’t have secrets, he pondered. She’ll get the hint. The rest of the walk back, Sukuna made sure you stayed hydrated. It was only a two-hour-and-a-half journey, but anything can happen or go to shit immediately in this cursed world.

You were the only thing he had left in his life, and he’ll be damned if he lets you get taken from him. As annoying as Sora’s accent was, he preferred hearing him yap over the new quietude. 

The quiet unsettled him. In this world, silence was never a gift; it was a warning.

[smoothie03]

Analysing the "Plagues Animatic"

Okay, so, it's been almost a week since I've posted the animatic about the Templar Trials and only now I get to write my analysis to the animatic. When imagining and drawing everything I tried to make as many historical easter eggs as possible. But lets start with the beginning.

At the beginning we see that it is morning and King Philipp IV. and a young Francis watch the city from above. Afterwards, the soldiers are wandering through the city.

This is a reference to the 13th October 1307 when the Templars got arrested in the morning hours. This action was planned beforehand as seen afterwards in the animatic:

We get a short flashback of a scene inside the king's castle and someone writing on a piece of paper.

The two people kneeling before king Philipp IV. are Guillaume de Nogaret and Enguerrand de Marigny, two of his ministers who were quite active during the Templar trials. Especially Nogaret was known for creating propaganda for him and he already played a crucial role within the conflicts of France with the papacy (which was also a reason that led to the Templar trials!) Therefore I drew him writing and preparing propaganda. This can also be interpreted as writing the letters that were sent to Philipp's bailiffs and seneschals. They were sent on September 14th 1307 and contained the royal order of arresting all Knights Templar within France which means that this "police operation" was planned thoroughly. Even the date when these letters were created had a meaning to them. It was the day of the  Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.

Now we have a scene where the money of the order got confiscated and the knights got arrested. We can see people watching the arrest unfold and whispering to one another. Then, the Knights Templar get sent to prison where they're getting inerrogated which often resulted in the usage of torture methods or the threat of torture.

The whispering of the people is also supposed to be a reference to the rumours about the Knights Templar that were told by people even years before the trials. Ever since the fall of the Holy Land people got more and more dissatisfied with the Templars and all the other knight orders, however, the Templars had the problem that they primarily saw themselves as a military order while the other orders like the Hospitallers and Teutonics also had hospitals to care for and started to focus on their presence in certain places within Europe (Teutonic Knights at the Baltic sea/Old Prussia and the Hospitallers on Rhodos and later on Malta). The Knights Templar didn't do that. (That whole thing sounds like an existential crisis)

Before we had on to the main part of the animatic we see a shot of king Philipp and pope Clement V.

Apart from their conflict because of the Knights Templar and Philipp shitting on the fact that he should've consulted with the pope first before ordering such a police operation (the pope was the Templar's boss and they were under his protection) Philipp had a conflict with the papacy overall, even with Clement's predecessor which is why Clement was under pressure a lot since the papacy lost its "good image". In general there was lots of Othering and preserving a good image within this mess-

The next part of the animatic when Gabriel and Francis start talking, they're looking older.

That's because this whole sequence doesn't happen in 1307 but in 1310 when the Templars had one chance to revolt and tried to save and defend themselves and the order. This is also the reason Gabriel is directly confronting Francis. Their whole fight within the animatic is - apart from their own personal history I'll explain in another post - low key a reference to the Templars' attempt to prove their innocence. (failed)

Francis: "And even now I wished that God had chose another. Serving as your foe on his behalf is the last thing that I wanted."

A direct reference to the Capetian attempt of pontification. (popes of Avignon, power imbalance between the church and the worldly rulers) In the propaganda of Philipp he even stylizes himself to be the angel of god with a sword in his hands to protect Christianity. In this narrative he made himself look like the good guy protecting Christians from the foul, heretic knights/sinners.

Afterwards we see a glimpse of Gabriel with a dark red neck.

This wound is another reference to the torture the knights of the order had to endure.

Gabriel: "This was my home..."

Referring to the district of Paris that belonged to the Templars. Especially after the Fall of Acre, they were there a lot.

Gabriel: "All this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside. All the innocent who suffer from your stubbornness and pride."

Another reference to the imprisonment of his people and the torture and the pontification of the Capetian Court within that conflict.

Then there is a flashback of a younger Francis where he actually tried to speak with his boss to help Gabriel only to be handed the confessions of the Templars from their time in prison and the list of charges against the Templars (papal bull: faciens misericordiam 1308)

Francis becomes a victim of propagada and the pics in the animatic showcasing some of the charges are: stinginess/wrong approach with the order's wealth, idolatry (yes the sheep demon in the animatic is a reference to Helluva Boss' Belphegor because her design is similar to Baphomet the demon that was associated with the Templars later on), spitting on the cross/denying Christ (portrayed with a broken cross here as a "broken bond" to Christ) and sodomy (homosexuality)

After this we go on with the scenes of Gabriel, Francis and the king and Gabriel realises that Francis was influenced by the king etc. In the end the soldiers bring Gabriel away from Francis and the king.

Reference to the outcome of the Templar defense of 1310. The Templars that were trying to defend themselves were burnt at the stake.

Epilogue: The stake and Gabriel's remains.

Can be interpreted as the outcome of 1310 but I personally like to link it to 1312 (dissolution of the order) /1314 (death of the last grandmaster Jacques de Molay) when the order was officially gone. Since Molay was burnt in the evening I also made Gabriel's death happen in the evening.

Last side note:

I picked backgrounds from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame not only because they're pretty and fit the scenery, time and place but also because of it's historical narrative. The last grandmaster - and in my hc Gabriel as well - died on the same 'island' (Île de la Cité) on the river Seine where Notre Dame is also located. Molay died at the other end of the island though, pont neuf. The last judgement for the grandmaster was also apparently announced at the square of Notre Dame.

The plagues | Historical Hetalia: Templar Trials

6 months of work, 106+ frames, my hyperfocus made me draw the entire second half in about a month with barely any breaks in between (thank god because I need the motivation kick to get such long projects done)

But I finally did it and I'm proud of me for pulling through 😭❤️

Anyways here we have a Historical Hetalia animatic about the Templar Trials and the conflict between Gabriel and Francis (who fell victim to the king's propaganda).

I might make an analysis post later on.

But I hope you like it 👉🏻👈🏻

[theus-what-are-you-doing]

Final Scene Analysis and Key Sender Theory

A theory below? It might be obvious, but I'm being a dumbass and connecting dots that might not be there. That and I'm trying to wrap my head around the plot of season one while making predictions for season two too.

Words: 768

Okay, I'm not sure if anyone has pointed this out already, but this has been playing on my mind like a catchy song, and I genuinely need to vent it.

Something is telling me that Chase is being used by Buddy, indicated through the interaction shared by him and Violet at the end of season one.

Nox "can't do this" anymore because he's slowly falling for Chase. He's coming to love and care for him, like during the finale arc e.g. shielding him from water, comforting him during his breakdown, kissing him to be his hero.

He doesn't want to hurt the ones he loves, especially knowing how much Chase is trying to help others around him, specifically his own mum. See below:

Now, I think Nox is intelligent enough to put things together. So, I think these lines spoken towards him during Chase's breakdown could have made things click for him: Why Chase was sooooo determined in the beginning of the series to go into the book's for example, despite how irritating and upsetting Nox tried to be.

Given Nox is more familiar with Chase's personality now, it would only make sense for him to use the wish for someone else he cares about, hence Nox's hesitation to continue stealing the naratonin. As Nox cares more for Chase, he may come to want what Chase wants too, like a couple would.

But what's to says he's stealing it?

Well, we know Nox is a key now, and by all means, I don't think he can gather Naratonin by himself as it's established other keys can't. Though he was priorly human, I think he lost the ability to gather Naratonin when he became a key.

Considering we've been shown no other key holders, I don't believe any of them are left too, that there are any humans to help collect this naratonin. I really think it's just the keys.

Yet we've been shown that keys can use naratonin and that Buddy plans to use it to get a wish. But instead of wishing like a birthday wish where you whisper your secrets to the naratonine, I think you need to consume or absorb it, much like Silver did earlier in the series.

Here, it's shown that Silver fixes herself using the Naratonin Chase collected, so who's to say that Buddy isn't either. He just needs more because the thing he is trying to fix is his human self, to regain it.

Now i think that staying close to Chase is just a way to transfer his production of Naratonin to him and Violet, as they're also keys, or that Chase's production of Naratonin also goes over to them. It would explain why Chase gets so little every time and why Buddy wants to be close to him so often.

Keysender Theory

And so here's where my theory comes in. Let's focus on that second panel again!

"After all you've done for this"

I can't help but get a feeling that Nox was the one who sent the other keys out, or at least orchestrated getting them out with someone else acting as a proxy. It would explain why he's done so much work for this, to become human.

If my theory is correct and Libris holds no current key holders, the only way for Buddy to get Naratonin would be to get the keys into the hands of other humans, follow them into the books, and retrieve naratonin from being near them, so he can heal himself much like Silver did but to a larger scale. This is what we see happening with Chase after all.

Yhe keys have been scattered too, perhaps to not only heighten the chances of getting more people into the books but to also prevent them from gathering all the keys to make that wish (Like Silver admitted to Chase, you need all her family to make the wish)

Future predictions

With this in mind and my rambling over, I'd like to throw my hat in the ring for things I'd love to see from this analysis and theory, if they ever became true.

I'd love to see Buddy be confronted for this, perhaps out of guilt he would tell Chase he's been stealing narratonin and thus Chase obviously gets upset, as he's trying to collect if for his mum. I feel like this can be a way for them to share their wants for each other and even help each other with getting their way.

Anyway, that's all my rambles done. I hope they made at least a semblance of sense!!

[musings-of-a-rose]

A vampire Benny and werewolf Benny! Can you make more or more stories spiraled off what you have? Those left me thirsty for more. Especially, werewolf Benny! 🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️

Hunter's Moon

Pairing: Werewolf Benny x f!reader (established in Closer, linked in notes)

Word Count: 2100+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Anon, I had some vampire Benny ideas too but since you loved werewolf Benny in Closer, I decided to do a little one shot of those 2!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Masterlist

Fic this one is set in: Closer

“You seem restless tonight baby, are you ok?” I place my hand on his thigh as it continues to bounce. 

“Hhmm? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine.”

I shift my head up from where I had been laying against his chest to look up at him. “You know I know when you’re lying, right?”

“That’s not a bond thing.”

“No, that’s an I know you thing. What’s up?”

He sighs and looks down at me, kissing my forehead. “Just a hunter’s moon tomorrow night. Has me all jittery.”

“What’s a hunter’s moon mean to wolves?”

He’s quiet for a few moments. “It’s uh…well we sort of change and um…look for a…mate.”

Ah. “Oh. Like on a hunt?”

He nods. “Yeah I guess. But I already have you. It’s just…hard not to feel the pull.”

I sit up and shift to face him on the couch. “What pull? What’s it feel like?”

Benny takes a deep breath, his eyes unfocused as he thinks. “You know how I always feel more compelled to shift on a full moon?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Well…it’s like that but a lot more intense. The desire to…do you really want to hear all this?”

I smile at him and take his hand, squeezing it. “It’s you. And I want to know all of you.”

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “Like I said it’s like a regular full moon but more intense. The desire to…chase and find a mate to…”

“Make pups with?”

Benny can’t help but chuckle. “Exactly, yeah. It doesn’t always end in pups though. Often it’s just about a bond. Finding a mate. Even if it’s for that one night. But I have you. I’ll be fine. Just gotta shake it off.”

Shake it off. When has that ever worked for werewolf things?

“Can I help?”

Benny shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But thanks, sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips and I don’t know if it’s our bond amplifying it, but I can feel him practically vibrating off the couch. 

“I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow. Gotta stop by Bill’s to make sure that tractor of his is still working. And then I’ll just…lock myself in the basement or something.”

“You sure you don’t want to join your pack?”

Benny shakes his head. “Nah. I want to be with you.” He pushes my head gently back towards his chest as we resume watching whatever is on the tv, my brain rapidly working on a plan to help him.

—----

My heart pounds in my chest as I run through the woods, grateful for the many acres that came with my homestead when I took the vet position. I had stowed the atv a bit back, opting to go on foot the rest of the way. Any moment now, Benny should be getting home and finding my note I’ve left him on the table.

Come and get me.

I know he’ll find me and probably fairly quickly, considering our bond and his heightened senses. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun. I press my back to a tree trunk, my chest rising and falling rapidly while I try to catch my breath. In the distance, I hear a howl, making my bond marks feel warm. 

He’s coming. 

I give myself a few more breaths before I shove off the tree, heading towards the top of this hill that’s slowly trying to kill me. This will be nothing for Benny, however, his large, padded paws will scale this like it’s nothing. Still, I manage to struggle to the top, my hands on my knees as I look around. The moon is bright and full, casting a faint glow around the small clearing ahead. I head through the trees and just make it into the clearing when I hear him, large and heavy paws thudding the ground up the side of the hill. Shit, that’s a lot faster than I anticipated. But then…silence. As I stand in the clearing, looking towards where I came from, I see nothing. I know he’s around, I can feel it. I can feel the tether between us. The wind stills, the night animals growing silent, making my beating heart sound extra loud. If I wasn’t bonded and completely in love with Benny, I would be terrified out of my mind right now. 

A flash of movement from the corner of my eye and I’m running in the opposite direction, pushing my way past the trees on the other side of the clearing, further into the woods. I can hear him behind me, shoving past trees, panting hard, a howl emanating from him. He’s making all of this sound so I hear him on purpose. I know because I’ve seen him move nearly silent. I see another clearing up ahead and I push myself a little harder, a stitch in my side nearly taking me out. But then I’m through the trees, running towards the other side. A sudden, soft nip at my ankle sends me flying, my hands slamming into the ground just inside the clearing. I turn as quick as I can, still on my ass, hands behind me as I crab walk backwards, my eyes scanning the trees.

When I’m a quarter of the way into the clearing, I see him. Benny’s wolf form is large and formidable, nearly 9ft tall when he’s not hunching over, the moonlight shining brightly against his golden fur. He slowly slinks into the clearing, his eyes deadset on me. His massive form somehow squeezes past the last tree when the air around him starts to shimmer and move, like too many things happening at once. Benny, in his gloriously naked human form, doesn’t miss a step, his eyes dark with lust as he stalks towards me. I’m momentarily stunned by how gorgeous he is. Then I remember I’m supposed to be running from him. I scramble up and turn, running as fast as I can for the trees. I only make it halfway across the clearing when his fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me back against him, his other hand snaking around my front as he exposes my neck to him.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” His voice is low, his breath fanning down across my exposed neck. 

I try to struggle against him, halfheartedly because fuck I am so turned on. “Trying to get away from y-you,” I’m still trying to catch my breath, but it’s difficult to focus with him pressed against my back, hard and wanting. 

“Well now, we can’t have that sweetheart.” Benny grips my dress and in one swift yank, rips it in half from my body, my bra quickly following. I try to move but his grip in my hair tightens and I go nowhere. His hand slides in the front of my panties, a low growl coming from his throat when he feels how wet I am. My panties are quickly tossed aside, joining my dress somewhere in the night. 

“Run,” he whispers in my ear, releasing his hold on me. I do as he says, running as fast as I can towards the trees again. But then I feel him behind me and I trip, putting my arms out to stop myself from slamming into the ground. But I don’t hit the ground, Benny’s arm winding around me to soften my blow. The second my knees hit the ground he’s on me, pressing his body over mine. He leans over me, engulfing me with his entire presence, nipping at my ear. 

“Mine,” he growls, sitting back up, digging his nails into my hips as he pushes himself inside me, pulling my hips back at the same time. I cry out, my fingers gripping at the grass and dirt as he fucks me from behind, fast and hard, my bond markings feeling like they’re on fire, but the kind of fire that goes straight between my legs. His grunts and skin on my skin are the only sounds echoing across the clearing.

He pushes me flat into the dirt, my hips angled just enough for him to continue fucking into me. His hands trace down my body, gripping my wrists and putting them above my head. But then he laces his fingers with mine, checking in with me and I squeeze his hand back, letting him know I’m ok. 

“Fuck!” He grunts in my ear, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he cums, warmth filling me up as his hips sputter. He drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing heavily for several moments. He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder before sliding out of me, pulling away from me and allowing me to breathe. 

I just stay in that position, breathing heavy. But then he touches me, a long finger sliding up me until it expertly locates my clit, gently massaging it. I moan into the ground as the fire quickly builds. When he bites my asscheek I come, gasping and panting as he works me through it. I come down, breathing heavy and manage to sit up, turning to look at him and notice him getting hard again. He looks at me looking at him and the air around him starts to shift again, his wolf form seemingly popping out of nowhere. He takes a massive step towards me, using his nose to push me on my back. He shifts my legs open with his nose, baring me to him and the night. He lowers his head and licks me gently, and it’s only after the third pass of his tongue that I remember it has healing powers. A few licks later and he’s done, the soreness I felt a moment before completely gone. The air changes and there he stands again, in all his naked beauty. He offers me a hand and pulls me up, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips before pulling back, his eyes dark and lustful again. 

“Run.”

—----

I don’t remember how many times we fucked that night, or how we got back to my house, only that I slept until late afternoon the next day. Benny, with his superhuman hearing, comes in the room with a tray of food, a tentative smile on his face. We hadn’t really exchanged words last night, letting both of our primal sides come out instead. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” He stands next to the bed awkwardly, like he’s unsure of himself. 

I gesture to set the tray down on the nightstand and he does. I beckon him to me and his eyes light up, immediately sliding into the blankets. He lays his head on my bare chest, his hand coming up to idly play with my nipple. Which does nothing to quell the heat between my thighs. 

“I’m great, Benny. Really. Did…how are you?”

He turns his head to look up at me, his eyes bright blue and wide. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I tried not to. I healed you after. But that moon just does things, and fuck you’re so hot, and I just couldn’t stop. It was like…”

“Like a pull you’ve never felt?” I finish for him.

He nods. “Yeah. Like I couldn’t not be inside you.”

“I felt the same way. I needed you to be with me, inside me, whatever. I just needed you to touch me.”

“It was probably the moon. It makes us all feel like putting babies in our mates. You probably felt it because of our bond.”

“Or maybe I felt it because I have a fucking hot ass husband who loves to turn me on.”

“Hhmm…” he says, his hand sliding down between my legs as they part for him, a gasp coming from me as he starts to slide his finger up and down me. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm, y-yeah,” I whisper, my breathing getting more rapid as he swirls his finger around my clit.

“Well if that’s the case, sweetheart…” Benny removes his hand and starts to slide himself between my legs, winking at me before he disappears under the sheet. 

“Today is all about you, sweetheart.” His voice is slightly muffled by the sheet.

“Benny, you don’t have to-”

“I was talking to this pretty pussy here. Now, let me make up for all the thrusting I did last night.”

—---- 

General Taglist:

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@gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox 

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@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk 

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

Ok there seems to be some people still unconvinced with having a reverse crush with Sonic and Amy so Im going to give my input about it, in my opinion it's even logical at this point:

The Sonic from the videogames and the Sonic from the live action movies are obviously different, Videogame Sonic is often portrayed as someone very confident, someone who is already a hero, too cool for school, someone so free that even though he has a lot of friends he seems to like and treasure his time alone, also it's been confirmed that SEGA doesn't like Sonic having strong emotions, also he has already knowledge of his homeworld and was never surprised to see other people of his kind and the first portrayals of Amy were too pushy, stalky and obsessed with him, he was annoyed by her and it was doom to be a one sided crush until the recent changes in her behavior that as simple as she is still openly in love with him but she isn't forcing it on him and as a result he is more comfortable with her and he doesn't reject her as much as before or at all so we don't have a relationship confirmed but we got a ambiguous relationship like: "yes there is something cooking but you only get to smell the food, you'll never eat it"

Then we have the Sonic of the movies, this Sonic barely knows nothing about his homeworld aside the parts his caretaker who was an owl and not his biological mom allowed him to be and is also aware of the echidnas because he was attacked by them before coming to earth. Then on earth he was heartbreakingly lonely for years and that made him be socially awkward and clumsy even though he is an extrovert even pretending he was familiar with Tom and Maddie before he actually became their "son" , this Sonic had to learn to fight on the way through the movies while dangerous things just suddenly kept happening to him, he wasn't a match for knuckles at the beginning because knuckles was already an expert fighter and Sonic wasn't, he wasn't immediately accepting with Tails because he was not confident enough to trust someone he just met even though Tails was helping him and he almost killed Shadow on a fit of vengeful rage, this is not how videogame Sonic behaves, he isn't this much awkward and emotional teenager, movie Sonic is more energetic than Sonic Boom's Sonic and just as chatty as Sonic prime's Sonic and almost nothing like SonicX's Sonic (I don't know the other series he has), also Shadow is literally the first other Hedgehog he ever saw in his life. Also movie Amy is already a badass fighter, that comes from his homeworld, she probably already saw other hedgehogs, also I'm sure she has also the Tarot cards skills she has in the games (and that's why she is there), THIS is the Amy that presents herself to Sonic: a badass female hedgehog that saved him under the moonlight, the second Hedgehog he meets but specifically the FIRST FEMALE hedgehog he ever sees! So given the clumsy wannabe cool dork teenager personality he has, being the first time he sees a female of his species, saving him with such a badass move, an encounter alone in the night... Do you really think is realistic to expect him to be cool and collected about it? This is a huge deal 😂😂, there's no way logically speaking this Sonic isn't going to be nervous and awkward, is impossible to think he is not going to be into Amy 🤣🤣 after that.

But I don't think this is a "reverse crush" I totally think that obviously Amy is going to have a crush on him too, just not as outrageously obvious and obsessive, I think is going to be: "he acts clumsy, she thinks he is cute" and then she'll fall harder once she sees his heroic side, something like: "he fell first, she fell harder" what do you think?

Also, I just noticed that Shadow is kinda in the same situation as Sonic... I mean this time he isn't a creation but a finding inside a meteorite... He has never seen a girl hedgehog either right? Anyway giving his personality I doubt he would be a clumsy dork with her like Sonic would be... I mean it's Shadow 🤷🤷 but maybe she is a bit into him and Sonic gets jealous... Who knows 😏 a bit of Shadamy doesn't hurt.

But again, don't expect anything canon canon, it's probably going to be as I said before: "something is cooking but we only get to smell the food and never eat it"

[hms-no-fun]

i'll barge in on this post as someone whose youtube career was at least partially made by being on that stream. i'd been watching for a couple days i think when May Leitz DM'd me to see if i wanted to be on. they needed lots of people to fill in at all hours of the day, and there was no plan for how to do that ahead of time because 24 hour streams were still a relatively new thing whose rules were being made in real time. so i got brought into the "tooth gang," a term whose origin i don't remember beyond us chanting "tooth gang rise up." this crowd of usually transfem commentators was a who's-who of 2019-era video essayists, most of whom are still in obscurity but got a huge boost at the time. it was, without doubt, a gargantuan clusterfuck, owing in part to the fact that there was no real process for vetting guests and several people had free invite permissions who really should not have-- and yet, it was precisely these we-haven't-figured-out-livestream-marathons-yet blunders which allowed the DK64 nightmare stream to become such a subcultural flashpoint. you didn't have to be a Name Brand Breadtuber (apologies to all the name brands who resent falling under this umbrella, i know you didn't ask for it) to get on the stream, you didn't even have to be friends with one of the Name Brands-- some in the tooth gang were actively seeking out obscure/niche youtubers and other trans figures to fill in dead air, to give more people a shot at exposure, because it was SUCH a big stream and they needed lots of bodies. i have no doubt this was incredibly annoying for the organizers of the stream, and something they all learned a lot of valuable lessons from-- but for that week, in that moment, the chaos enabled a community to self-recognize on an immense platform, eventually rubbing reputational shoulders with the likes of AOC.

i think what was so exciting about it was being suddenly inundated with the amount of trans people that existed in this community. every one of us that got on the stream was celebrated in some form, because the whole thing was just this swell of FUCK YOU WE'RE ALIVE energy. what was also amazing was the voracious crowdfund support. obviously the stream itself was raising money for the mermaids fund, but every guest was invited to plug any crowdfunding stuff they had. i remember one disabled trans person was suddenly able to afford a really good electric wheelchair after months of getting no donations. i had a gofundme for laser hair removal that met its goal in just a few minutes when i was invited to share it-- and after that, may was like "raise the goal, you need the money and people are giving it." so i did and they did, and on top of laser that kept the bills paid for a couple extra months. there was just this overwhelming sense that everyone was here because they loved trans people and wanted to support us against the growing tide of anti-trans sentiment, and the generosity on display was just amazing.

and then the way the guest list cascaded near the end, as it just got more and more high profile. suddenly you had people from the original DK64 dev team, you had Geralt's voice actor, you had AOC, and definitely a bunch of others i don't remember. it felt like being caught in a hurricane, like we were a bunch of nerdy enthusiasts who got swept up in this fun little thing we liked only to watch as the storm wall expanded around us until suddenly dozens of weird socially awkward often traumatized trans people who'd never really been recognized before were just barely off-stage for an event that made national news. obviously nobody talking about AOC's involvement was talking about any of the rest of us in specific, but it didn't matter. we were part of something that really felt like it mattered at the time. it felt like a substantial victory against popular transphobia, which was perhaps an over-estimation of that stream's material importance but whatever. it meant something, and that matters.

it was on that stream i pitched my politics of the mcelroy brothers video, and everyone who heard the pitch was like "oh that's a great idea, i'd watch that video." so when the stream was over i put all my energy into making it, and it is still the highest-viewed essay on my entire channel. that stream and the environment that emerged because of it changed the trajectory of a lot of people's lives, including my own. the base of support i built at that moment in 2019 remains the bulk of my income today, six years later. i met people on that stream who are still good friends. i've got a lot of fun memories; i'll never forget jumping into a chat one night (the call channels weren't limited until waaaay late in the week) between hbomb, stef sterling and others because someone had mentioned homestuck, and me being the relentless pill i am i jumped in to be like OKAY BUT HOMESTUCK IS GOOD ACTUALLY and sterling immediately was like "and that's my cue to leave!" i think it's safe to say i did not convince anyone on that call that homestuck is good actually, and i doubt that the intervening years have done much to move the needle on that front, but i got a kick out of it nevertheless. once it was over i got a bunch of folks to record their thoughts on what the stream meant for them, and put it all together in an episode of my podcast Trans Questioning. that's a good listen if you want some more contemporary accounts of the event.

so yeah. at the time of the stream i'd been on HRT for less than a year and i'd been out only slightly longer than that. i'd freshly graduated college and released a sort of art film essay about transitioning that i was really proud of but didn't exactly know how to continue on from. the DK64 nightmare stream hit my life at a perfectly miraculous moment. the sudden increased audience for my youtube and podcast meant i didn't have to get a day job straight out of college. being annoying about homestuck at hbomb got me on my first episode of the perfectly generic podcast, a show i'd eventually go on to be a recurring host of. jump forward a year and change to June 2020, when i decided to get the absolute fuck out of Oklahoma and move to Seattle. to do that, i had to raise something like $4000 through streams and begposts. even taking into account the more generous donation atmosphere of the time, i don't think i would have been able to do that if not for the exposure i got from being part of the tooth gang. on the backend, that stream was a catastrophe whose mistakes were rightly aggressively corrected in future iterations. there will never be another stream like it, and probably shouldn't be, at least not quite so purely unmoderated. attempts were made by some to replicate that environment, but without the "big" names anchoring it they just weren't the same and came with diminishing returns. its importance was the result of, in essence, a humorously tolerated hijacking by the trans community. it was a brilliant, strange, stressful moment, one that i hope someday another generation of trans creators will have their own version of.

hi what was it like to be a part of hbomberguy's mermaid donkey kong 64 stream?

for myself, just watching the stream was a milestone in how i view my own relation to gender and im curious how did it feel like to see so many amazing voices speak of their stories and experiences in your position at the time.

I don't want to speculate but ever since you came out i was wandering if you knew at the time

my abiding memory of it was that it precipitated me and my then partner saying "I love you" to each other for the first time, which is a happy memory. Other than that I don't honestly recall much.