#bueno🤷🏽‍♀️

[ladiosadr]

Usually your love language is something you didn’t receive when you were growing up. So if you were ignored and in the background(quality time), how the fuck you going to complain when you get attention and love. I didn’t get any of them growing up so I need a little bit of each but I also give some of each to my person

[deadtothebones]

NO CHEATING: You’re starring in a movie with the last person saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title. Who/what is it?

Tagged by @notverywise 💕💕

Joseph Quinn and I starring in telepatía ✨

Una lastima que no esté escuchando el bombón asesino 😞😢 (??)

No pressure tags: @infradp @blackthorndryad

[kainamendozasolano]

Marcela Valencia. Sus padres murieron cuando ella estaba muy joven y aunque quedó bajo la "protección" de la familia Mendoza... En ningún momento doña Margarita se muestra como una verdadera madre. (No sé si lo han notado, pero... esa mujer es muy mala)... Don Roberto tampoco muestra ese interés genuino en ella.

Desconozco la razón por la cual muchos dicen que los Mendoza fueron buenos padres para los Valencia. (Llevan una relación formal y respetuosa, pero no más)

Sé que mis pensamientos podrían ser juzgados o criticados por las "Bettylovers". Yo misma soy una de ustedes. 😏 Pero hoy... Viendo el capítulo de la ruptura entre Armando y ella... 🙄 Quise compartir esto con ustedes. Porque somos una comunidad que nos une el amor y devoción por esta obra Hermosa. 😘❤️

Y... Pues... Aquí voy:

Marcela sufría de una clara adicción.

"Adicción". Se ha convertido en una palabra que conlleva cierto temor.

Porque esta sencilla palabra nos evoca imágenes de gente que consume drogas y as��, paulatinamente, acaban con su vida.

Pero muchas veces, y sin darnos cuenta, nos volvemos "adictas a los hombres".

Y, como todo adicto, debemos reconocer el problema antes de solucionarlo.

La raíz de esta adicción no es el amor en sí, si no, el miedo. Quienes "aman" de forma obsesiva están llenas de miedo (a quedarse solas, a no ser dignas de inspirar cariño, de ser ignoradas, abandonadas o destruidas) Esa mujer que se obsesiona, entrega su amor con la desesperada ilusión de que aquel hombre se ocupe de difuminar sus miedos. En cambio, estos se profundizan hasta el punto de brindar (abrumadoramente) amor, como el único objetivo que impulsa su vida. Y como su estrategia no funciona... Termina entregando más de sí misma, sin importar nada más. Incluso se degrada su dignidad con tal de mantener a ese hombre a su lado.

Esta mujer no es más que una niña que necesita sentirse amada e importante.

Que no tiene un madre que la guíe y la enseñe a valorarse, que no tiene un padre que la haga respetar, que no tiene hermanos con quiénes pueda contar sinceramente (Aunque Daniel le hablaba con la verdad, jamás le brindó una ayuda útil)... Ella no tiene una amiga sincera (todos sabemos que Patricia la movía el puro interés).

Marcela Valencia estaba completamente sola. Ella no tenía alguien en quien apoyarse.

A diferencia de Betty, que siempre tuvo a su familia, a su mejor e incondicional amigo, a las del cuartel (aunque eran algo tóxicas) y luego contó con la mano estendida de doña Catalina.

Esta niña (atrapada en el cuerpo de una ejecutiva) no sabía lo que era el amor. Por eso ella jamás supo cómo brindarlo. 🥺🤧 Al igual que Armando, ella tampoco se sintió amada.

Pero Betty era la niña consentida de la casa y vemos que, aunque su padre es muy severo y estricto, la ama con locura. También tenemos en cuenta a doña Julia, una mujer tierna y amorosa que hace todo por su familia.

Marcela desconocía el problema que albergaba muy dentro de sí. (Esa absurda adicción). Por eso jamás salió de ese bucle horrendo de una relación tóxica.

Lo siento. Ella también sufrió.

Y no me digan que se lo merecía. 🙄

Sé que ella fue muy dura con nuestra Betty desde el principio. 🤷🏽‍♀️

Pero creo que ella también merecía una oportunidad para reflexionar y aprender a quererse, a descubrirse.

Era una mujer joven, inteligente, elegante, hermosa. Solamente necesitaba aprender a amarse (como pasó con nuestra Betty linda)

[pedriscroquettes]

escribí en español amiga toque somos todos de latam para q nos hacemos boludos

oh!

bueno amiguis es que yo soy bilingüe (soy yankee sawry) y siento que si escribo en español no me va salir bien la escritura 🤷🏽‍♀️. pero lo puedo intentar

[romanticvampiric]

Me siento mal por ti por atraer a gente tan irritante. Ayato, por supuesto, tiene un montón de traumas, y no tengo ni idea de cómo la gente puede ser tan estúpida. Además, no veo qué tiene de malo jugar sólo las rutas de los personajes que te gustan. Yo también hago lo mismo y me da igual lo que pase en otras rutas. No odio públicamente a los personajes que no me gustan, por lo tanto no hago daño a nadie.🤷🏽‍♀️

Perdona por ser stalker pero he leído tu post sobre Yui y estoy totalmente de acuerdo contigo. Fuiste respetuoso y simplemente expusiste buenas razones por las que Yui no es realmente tu favorita pero al parecer un anon se enfadó contigo sin motivo¿? Todos los personajes tienen sus defectos y es bueno reconocerlos en vez de esconderlos. Negarlos significa que en realidad no te gusta ese personaje tal y como es. ☝️

ME ENCANTA LO ÚLTIMO QUE DIJISTE PORQUE SON LAS MISMITAS PALABRAS QUE DIJE UNA VEZ❕ La verdad, tampoco sé de dónde saco gente así, pero no tengo nada contra ellas. /gen

Después de todo, todos somos diferentes y tenemos nuestras debidas opiniones. Mientras tengamos como sustentarse, por mí fantástico, siempre soy fanático de leer lo que hay en la cabeza de otras personas ( sea bueno o malo, erróneo o correcto ) para mirar mi propio comportamiento. Soy sólo una cuenta corriente sobre un jueguito otome que le gusta mucho un vampiro pelirrojo. (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)🩷

Y no te disculpes, me alegra de que lo que haya dicho haya captado tanto tu atención como para haber deseado ver más, no me siento stalkeado‼️ Muchísimas gracias por tu comentario.

[ishikawayukis]

no pienso volver a ver el anime con dub pero cuando veo un clip recomendado que parece ser del dub mi curiosidad me gana porque yo sé que va a ser algo que me va a hacer reír JAJAJAJAJAJAJA

I was very close to not reading the manga bc of that ngl JAJAJAJA pero aja ya cuando me di cuenta que solo eran babosadas me decidí a empezar a leerlo desde cero en tranquilidad 😌✌🏽AND VERY VALID THO- like there are some jokes that never get old in a fandom but there are others that are no longer funny and simply become annoying 🤷🏽‍♀️ like, let’s move on everybody, let’s move on

los astros alineándose hasta en lo ficticio para nosotras JAJAJAJAJAA no but fr no soy de las personas que basan su vida en la astrología, pero hay cosas que aciertan bastante y es como “okay, entonces cómo me explican esto?” JAJAJAJAJA

I LOVED THAT DAMMIT!!! Tendo is lowkey a threat and a menace to society but he was a really good blocker and really good at pissing people off, básicamente controlando parte del juego al descontrolar a otros pero Tsukishima dijo no mi ciela, aquí él que saca de quicio a otros soy yo JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA I love these moments sooo much, all the little and big rivalry dynamics are amazing tbh

y si, incluso me quedé pensando por qué no vuelven temporada el partido y los eventos que le siguen al partido contra nekoma en vez de hacer la segunda película?? like I haven’t gotten to that part of the manga yet but I think that after such a positive response from the movie they could afford to animate a season that would be received with even more enthusiasm, pero bueno, cómo le voy a convencer a un studio que claramente no está interesado en animar nada más que una película:’)

even if he doesn’t have it, the beauty of being the creator of your story is that you can literally make anything happen, nada te detiene Furudate JAJAJAJAJAJAJJA y gracias por decirme esto, ya tengo una razón por lo cuál sobrevivir hasta octubre JAJAJAJAJA such an incredible moment truly, también las escenas de Kenma atrapando a Hinata en una jaula: 10 de 10 yo dije perdimos Kozume hoy si se nos descontroló JAJAJAJAJAJ

ES QUE VA A PASAR JAJAJAJAJAJAJA al menos una vez en tu experiencia jugando cualquier deporte con pelota puede pasar que te pega en la cara o el estómago y que ya te toca visitar enfermería 💀 Y YO TAMBIÉN FUI ARQUERA JAJAJAJAJAJA nosotras con gran miedo y el riesgo de perder nuestros lentes metiéndonos justo en la posición dónde se podía cumplir nuestro temor JAJAJAJAJAJAJ pero gracias:’) quizás pruebe solo por hobby cuando vuelva a visitar a mi familia para no ponerme presión y disfrutarlo y ver qué tal me va:’) porque por muy “solo es un anime/manga” que sea, la verdad es que si me cambió mi perspectiva hacia el volley y ahora le tengo más admiración y curiosidad🫶🏽

para bien y para mal no ando en mis tierras latinas ����✌🏽JAJAJAJAJA pero qkkejeif no sé si es que está bloqueado pero no me aparece ningún video en el canal, solo el en vivo pero tal como otros sitios no siempre pasaban los partidos de volley:’) al final si me tocó ver solo los highlights de los partidos😔 que igual geniales!!! pero yo quería al menos ver un partido en vivo:’) vamos a ver si logro ver las finales en algún canal🫡 y que triste madrugar en esos casos JAJAJAJA pero aunque hayan perdido y lo tengan a uno todo ansioso viendo el partido, se disfruta de ver un buen juego entre buenos equipos la verdad🤝🏽

thanks Belle!! I also love coming here to talk with you<3 I always end up having a very fun and honest convo about things that currently make me happy so I appreciate that!! also kinda unrelated? but I decided “fuck it and let’s just try to enjoy life” y decidí hacerme una cuenta en tumblr para compartir fanart JAJAJAJAJA you don’t have to follow me or anything!! just wanted to tell you since I was pretty scared of deciding to do whatever brings me serotonin no matter how silly it is and now I’m still mildly scared but suuuuuper happy and proud of myself!! :D espero que te esté yendo bien en estos días!!

when i catch all those people i swear to god, they will Pay for the lame jokes oooooooooooooh they will play LMAO

si la astrología no es real entonces explíquenme pq todos los geminis son Así AJJAJA

haikyuu is so good when it comes to the rivalries tbh :') because you can tell how serious it is for them but at the same time how unserious they are? like the mainly exist the moment they step into the court

por lo q han dicho el estudio está pero terco y lo único q van a hacer es otra película, y yo no entiendo cómo van a meter literal todo lo q pasa en el resto del manga en una sola película 😔 there's 2 very specific moments that i will riot if they get taken away from me LMAO

FURUDATEEEEEEEEEEE GIVE US 30 YOS KURODAI AND MY LIFE IS YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUURS (sé q acabo de decir lo mismo en el otro ask pero esq mangakas por favor les doy mi vida AJAJJA) noooo pero esq cuando lo atrapó en la jaula uno podía sentir la impotencia de hinata al pensar q no podía hacer nada, y después cuando se lograr liberar?? ay haikyuu te amo tanto JAJAJ

q pasa con nuestros cerebros q deciden "mejor posición pa jugar? la con más riesgos pa las caras <3" AJAJAJ dude i truly hope you can pick it up even as a hobby! and well furudate's whole point with haikyuu was to get more people interested in it, whichever way that might be so if you do end up playing everything they wrote was soooo so worth it. al final del día no importa cómo nos empezó a interesar algo, importa q nos interesa y q nos da un poquito de felicidad :')

tal vez con un vpn se puedan ver? pq tienen aún todos los videos en vivos anteriores subidos, pero no sé q tan lento sería ajajaj si puedes ver uno recomiendo el de japón vs italia de los cuartos de final (por mucho q duela) pq de verdad fue uno de los mejores partidos q he visto durante estos juegos olímpicos, final trágico pero ooooooh tan buen partido ishikawa te debo mi vida JAJAJ

OOOOOOOH tell me your url!! if you feel comfortable of course, that way maybe it'll be easier for us to talk too! unless again you prefer this way which is completely valid and i get it LMAO pero yo feliz te sigo <3333 y sii!!! al final cuál es el punto de vivir si no vamos a disfrutar las pequeñas cosas q nos traen felicidad

[gothcsz]

i’m always reading fic at work, capitalism won’t take all of my small joys 🙂‍↔️

the way we all wanna jump mateo makes me smile. don’t worry, i intend on having javi make him pay for hurting his girl 🤷🏽‍♀️

javi is such a fucking angsty, convoluted mess but i love it 😩 his love for her is so…. gahhh i don’t even know how to describe it i just know it’s a type of toxic that you don’t even realize is until it’s too late 😩

bueno nena muchísimas gracias por tus palabras dulces 🖤 un honor de mi parte being able to make you feel all these emotions hehe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello? Are you still there?”

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

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

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

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

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

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

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

“I know that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

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

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

He looks like he’s been through hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s here?”

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

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

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

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Mateo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have listened to him. 

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

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

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

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

His calmness is almost off putting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all happened so fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s Javier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

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

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

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, that’s enough.

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

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @almostfoxglove . @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 . @pigeonmama . @lunatiquess . @piercethevic03 . @theestorm . @myownwholewildworld . @pepsicolacoochie . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @pasc4lfuzz . @larascorneroftheworld . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler .

[purpleforeversblog]

Poss no morí hoy jajaja si me está doliendo bastante el tobillo pero bueno actitud positiva jajaja 😅🤷🏽‍♀️

[ladiosadr]

Mtfrs don’t appreciate when you trying to have good communication in the relationship. This is crazy to me!! Besides financial issues, bad/no communication is another of the highest rating causes for divorce.

[almadesconocida1]

Holaa 🤗 Muy bueno días.

En verdad ni una pista de quien soy¿? ⚡️

Hola buenas tardes, cómo estás? Tengo duda en realidad, no se si sos la persona que le deja "me gusta" a los ask porque a veces me pasa que le ponen "me gusta" a los ask pero no es esa persona 🤷🏽‍♀️ Lo siento ☹️

Que tengas una linda semana ✨

[lovelyfuturisticglitter]

Lo gracioso es que la re estamos viviendo y re que somos campeones de todo.... Pero bueno, quiero ser campeón de nuevo 🤷🏽‍♀️

por dios desde el mundial no teniamos un partido tan agónico

[gangrenados]

Hola Al! Me estaba acordando de la vez que mi sobrina (tendría unos 4/5 años) le agarró la mano a un desconocido en una tienda porque pensó que era su papá y cuando se dió cuenta se quedó como 👁️👄👁️ y se fue corriendo al lado de mi hermana. Te imaginas si eso le pasara a Bruce?? 🤣 Él que es tan serio e imponente 🤣

Ay que cuchi tu sobrina <3

Bueno, creo que todos sabemos que Bruce tiene debilidad por los niños, incluso cuando es Batman. Si bien estará confundido de porque un niño desconocido le agarró la mano, no será odioso ni mucho menos.

Más bien se preocupará y le preguntará dónde están sus papás, esto en un tono más amigable para que el niño no se asuste.

Batfleck es la definición de dadbruce para mi, por lo que yo me lo imagino haciendo justo lo que dije.

Sin embargo, también está la opción de que se proponga adoptar a este niño desconocido y entrenarlo hasta convertirle en el siguiente Robin.

Uno nunca sabe 🤷🏽‍♀️

[sheisbeautyweareworldass]

What were your top 3 outfits for the latam leg?

bold of you to assume i was able to pick only three...

i was okay with n.1 and n.2. i don't think they're the prettiest, but i already knew they would make up the top 2 so 🤷🏽‍♀️ (i think the monterrey one was prettier than the burberry, but she didn't give us loubies content, so it was kind of obvious which one was going to be top 1. also, only one of them was perforated)

but here are options that would be better than buenos aires night 2:

são paulo n2

montevideo

santiago n3

rio de janeiro

san jose

san juan

BOGOTA

[heavensenthearty]

Can’t get over the irony in that post about oppression you rb’d. First they have a great message about trying to have empathy about other people’s situations and not making assumptions about them just because they’re different... then “oh but you can’t have an opinion if you’re white lol”... that person really just invalidated their entire post huh. So much for “empathy” lmao, what a hypocrite. Respect goes both ways

TW // Death, racism, communism, allusions to suicide

I think that in this modern times the word "white" has become a synonym of "from a first-world country" because the majority of the population in the main first-world countries is white, (I didn't design the phenotype 🤷🏽‍♀️). So it's not completely accurate, but it's the second-best and shorter option, I suppose.

Then again, it is very rare to find a kind of oppression specifically inflicted over white people. That's not saying bigotry and disdain for interracial couples doesn't exist and doesn't invalidates that issue, but the OG post you're mentioning indeed had oppression as its main focus.

It's no secret the U.S. is going through some tough times, and I do try to be as sympathetic as possible considering their issues are taking place in a country that is not my own. Nevertheless, my U.S. friends are being affected by these problems, and if they are as emotionally shook as they are, then I can't claim my problems are worse than theirs, because each of us lives through the difficulties in a different way.

But... I am human. I can get angry. Especially when I feel even the people I consider my friends are throwing a fit over a problem that I see rather mild compared to mine.

I've already said that I hate the "minimum wage" discourse because at least in your country you can get your wage increased without the prices of the food and first need products being increased as well. In my country, our minimum wage is increased fairly often, the problem is that every time it does our currency devalues itself for the reason that we don't count with the emergency funds to give that much money without retribution, so the price of everything else also has to increase to continue the cycle. It's a constant chase and a permanent reminder that it doesn't even matter how hard you try, you will never be able to afford food for more than a week.

Yes, it must be difficult to not count with affordable healthcare, but at least your country has doctors. Mine doesn't. Or rather, my city and most of the other states don't. Most of the doctors left the country faster than the rats left the Titanic when Venezuela started becoming... what it is today. (Smart guys, huh? 😏 They earned that diploma.)

Yes, it must be annoying to have two-hours-long internet outages every now and then, but at least your country doesn't have 6-days-long complete blackouts with the communications, the water, and the domestic gas being totally cut off.

And it's not that I appreciate my friends any less, but every time I talk about these stuff their answers are either "I'm sorry", "No bueno", "Mad respect for you" and we just proceed to talk about something "happier".

Thanks, but you think any of that is going to keep me from fucking dying if the rest of the desperate people in here decide to loot my house in search of somewhere to sleep themselves?

This is what happened during the other blackouts:

People looted all stores and malls looking for something to eat and abandoned houses for somewhere to sleep. I sleep every night knowing that if the situation presents itself, there'll be a pretty good chance someone comes through my window and kill me and my mom in our sleep to take our house as if it was theirs. I have to be ready to sleep with a knife next to my bed like I did the first times.

First-world countries can't relate, right?

And no offense to anyone but they don't make the effort to relate, they don't ask people the background of everything that's happening in their suffering countries, they just make assumptions and repeat propaganda and when we do tell them how things really are, they tell us to shut up because they know more about these stuff.

Behold the comments I've received from, yes, white people after I talked about the situation in my country:

"Well, if you guys were better at (insert random socio-econimic system) then you so many bad things wouldn't happen to you."

"Geez, why can't you all Latin American countries be unproblematic like Uruguay."

"I don't have time for your little girl definitions of racism."

"I can't take you seriously, you think Venezuela is communist."

"I don't care about your anti-communist things."

But sure, how could I forget the time an Asian person but living in the U.S. retweeted my story of how my mom lost her company with laughing emojis and saying "Can you believe someone would share this and have such little sense of privacy?"

Or the time a person with supposed depression sent me GIFs of Chavez laughing.

... I don't want to talk... about what I... thought about doing after that.

You're right, Anon, respect goes both ways. And these people didn't respect me and my country, so I'm not obliged to respect theirs.

I just do so because I have empathy.

[ishikawayukis]

ME MUERO ME HAS HECHO EL DIA JAJAJAHJAJAKSJAJAJA Y EL QUE NADIE TE LO QUITE DE NAMI AJAJAJAJAJQ es que no puedo creer lo bien que queda todo JAJAJAJAJA ahora cada vez que escuche propuesta indecente se me va a venir la parte de zoro a la mente JAJAJAJA (no eres ridícula, el ridículo es tumblr que no te dejó insertar el link 😤) ay de verdad que esto me ha hecho el día gracias<3 JAJAJAJA

Pero volviendo JAJAJ no yeah like I don’t mind at all for the straw hats or people super involved with them, but the rest…do we really have to know everything?? Tbh, wouldn’t be surprised if luffy’s related to more crazy people but I would still have a 😧 moment JAJAJA ALSO vi un reel que decía algo como “Luffy’s mom most be incredibly pretty bc there’s no way he got any genetics from Dragon’s ugly ass face” Y SI ME REI JAJAJJ

I would get it if they said they don’t like it bc of nolan’s flashback episodes, but I felt that it was a pretty entertaining, fun, and cool arc🤷🏽‍♀️ ALSO WHAT??? I JUST STARTED THRILLER BARK AND ITS SO FUN??? It feels like a Halloween special segment but for a whole arc and it’s funny too?? No es por nada pero nuevamente no confío en la opinión popular JAJAJAJA

I try to not be a hater but lowkey I kinda am LMAO y si, it is a trained ability that you develop and it’s not that easy bUT suelen ser precisamente los gringos quiénes se quejan porque el contenido popular/mainstream suele ser el que ellos producen y por lo tanto no experimentar el tener que aprender otro idioma o tener subs como la principal (o única) opción para disfrutar de contenido ://

JAJAJAJAJA GOTTA BE HONEST but fr if only he was on the right side, he even kept doing his fake job right 😔

Also do you mind if I call you Belle beCAUSE BELLE WTF TWO THINGS: 1) zoro rocking a crop top and caring for triplets, I get it now, yo también quisiera ir a darle las gracias a Oda si me lo encontrara JAJAJAJA 2) WTF TAMBIEN QUISIERA RECLAMARLE WHY DID ACE HAVE TO FACE BLACKBEARD AND WHY DO YOU MAKE IT JUST ONE EPISODE??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Esto es solo para hacerme llorar, yo creo que solo lo pusieron en Alabasta para luego venir a hacerme llorar istg if everyone from past arcs revives and he dies bc of that fight I’m going to riot😭😭😭

Somos JAJAJAJA I won’t lie, I did both of my second piercings with uh, pistola?? (rip el inglés JAJAJ) la forma menos segura y más 🥴✌🏽 but I knew I wanted to do the third with a needle bc I had my dose of risk already and boy is it taking some time to heal :’) no me ha ido mal solo es más lento y por ahora creo que será el último que me haga but yeah, could turn to be a lie in the future for all I know JAJAJA

I saw you got sick :ccc espero que pronto te recuperes o que al menos no sufras muchos síntomas incómodos 🫶🏽✨ wishing you all the best!!

me puse a escuchar una playlist q es pop latino de los 90 00 y 10's y cada q vez q sale esa canción simplemente pienso en ace AJJAJA mi cerebro va a hacer esa conexión por el resto de mi vida

there's a wild ass theory actually about luffy's mom and every time i see it i'm like??? are you guys smoking crack is it crack, because wheeeeeeeere did you guys get it. once you get to impel down i'm gonna share it LMAO

thriller bark is just such a goofy funny time!! peak campiness for one piece! and people don't like it because if you compare it to the arcs before and after it it's, well, a lot more silly, BUT SO MANY IMPORTANT THINGS HAPPEN IN IT. la gente no cacha nada de lo bueno de la vida y sólo quieren peleas cuáticas

nooo exacto, o sea entiendo q hay mucha gente q por razones de uuuuuh cómo le digo AJAJAJ concentración, q no pueden o cosas por el estilo, pero la mayoría de la gente q conozco q sólo mira dubs suelen ser gringos y weno 😶

but of couuuuuurse you can!!! zoro niñera es lo mejor de los rellenos de one piece AJAJAJA oda was like ooh you guys like ace? i see you guys like this one guy how would you feel i was was completely evil about him huh fuck blackbeard too i hate that guy sooooo much literally the worst

AJAJAJ la primera vez q me hice mi arito de la nariz me lo hice con pistola y literal jamás sanó bien y de ahí dije weno, creo q la pistola no es pa mi. y me acabo de hacer el tercer arito también 😳 deditos cruzados pa q nos sanen bien. and yeah never say never after my last two i was like noooo no way i'm getting another one and well, here i am LMAO

toy con fiebre y un rico resfriado en el verano pero weno es lo q hay 😔 he ido empeorando pero espero q hoy sea el peor día y q no continúe peor AJAJAJ

[mcarolinah1230]

No se por donde empezar….. quiero que sepas que desde que ya no estoy contigo he ido con la spicologa para llevar x primera vez en mi vida un duelo sano, correcto y que pueda sanar áreas de mi vida que ni yo sabia que me lastimaban… Un día…. O mejor dicho por situaciones de la vida he estado en conversaciones/oído en tv y lo más curioso en un corto lapso de días en donde he oído lo mismo de que dicen: es importante hacerle ver a esa persona que lo queres en tu vida…. Hasta suspiré cuando coloqué estas palabras… 🤷🏽‍♀️ bueno… pues lo aborde con mi spicologa y entramos a un rollo bien profundo y para ser breve yo no he sido clara en dar un mensaje, en decir lo q quiero y verdaderamente siento y aclaro que no solo es en el tema de pareja… 🤷🏽‍♀️ Quiero que sepas muuuuy bien que se te quede grabado que tu para mi eras alguien mega importante en mi vida!!! Fuiste alguien a quien ame muchoooooooo!!! Y la verdad así honestamente te quería para toda la vida…. Yo se que es tarde en decir estas palabras pero sábelo que yo te quería para mi, quería seguir “construyendo ese algo con vos” quería que fuera duradero, construyendo con bases sólidas porque lo que yo sentí creo que ha sido la relación en donde fui verdaderamente yo… y donde siento que nada era forzado 🤷🏽‍♀️ no se… no se cómo describirlo pero era natural… espero logres entender lo que te quiero decir….Sin embargo entiendo que la vida me demostró que no era así… y yo debo de seguir mi camino sin ti…. Aún formándome para ser mejor persona, mujer, amiga, pareja, etc… Me doliste muchooooo pero ya voy sanando, bien dicen que el tiempo lo cura todo…. Y sabes que… escribo esto porque no quiero vivir con lamentos y saber que nunca lo dije…. Y si…. Hay algo que sumó a que hiciera esta carta…. Para amanecer hoy 24.7.22 te soñé….. desde que no estás conmigo han sido contadas con los dedos que te he soñado Talvez esta es la tercera vez que sueño…. Sin embargo no me gusto…. Te soñé muuuuuy triste…… Soñé que estabas muy borracho, llorando y te hablaba por tel y cuando oía tu voz… era una voz de dolor y de tristeza…. Estabas en una cevicheria… fue lo único que le dijiste en el sueño…. Y en eso desperté…Para finalizar…. Oro de vez en cuando por ti… y hoy elevó una oración para que estés bien.Fin