#climb a. mountain for you and scream my love for you into the world you don’t understand how far I would for you please please please

[trunklewunjle]

He deserves all the attention please let me marry him

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE ATTENTION ON THIS GUY!! AAUUEUE Sobbing so hard, i'm so glad that you guys enjoy him and all the other shenanigans on my page! if my friends haven't heard enough about how overjoyed i am over several things, my brain has definetly not shut up about it! (very positive <3)

Apologies for not posting as much! i am a creature who is stuck within the depths of responsibilities (as well as roleplaying with my friends sbfhf) (everything is great over there) (the world isn't ending over there). I have made a lot of art of this idiot but I'm not sure if I can post a lot of stuff just yet, partially because i accidentally used colors bright and contrasting enough to temporarily burn magenta into my eyes for 15 minutes

needless to say i've been having a good day so far though! have a great day or night too :) ( And to the one person who was talking about, eating the goo on their face (I hope)? I would not recommend it, but I can understand the appeal, it does glow! It will taste like magic and whatever else was put in his skull that day (: )

Memory belongs to me (Psych, and is apparently several others' meow meow) (I will not be explaining) Marshmallow (background) belongs to @nullandvalid, myself, and not the law

[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 .

[smilesrobotlover]

Ok that’s it. I’m just gonna scream about echoes of wisdom:

First off, this game is amazing. Like I’m so impressed with it and had a blast with it. I’m very impressed with how fun the gameplay was. I was nervous that it wasn’t gonna be fun, but no it was actually tons of fun! It’s not perfect ofc. I wish you didn’t have to sit and scroll through hundreds of echoes, I wish they separated monsters and objects to make each one easier to grab, and the amount of times I pressed the sword button instead of the echo button was insane. Fighting enemies is also a pain since it takes so long, and I wished I could just directly fight them, and it’s super easy to soft lock yourself as well. But all those negatives don’t outweigh the positives, because regardless of those flaws, it was still VERY fun to play through. Once you get powerful monsters, fighting is kinda fun to watch. I loved placing like, 7 fire octos against one ice octo and just watch it get destroyed. I loved setting things on fire, I loved climbing on trees, and overall I just, loved finding ways to solve puzzles. Thinking outside the box was a lot of fun in this game. Now, in some places like the Faron temple, it wasn’t fun BUT, still. I loved it

And the story, omg. This is the first Zelda game that I’ve played since becoming a fan that has a new link and Zelda in a new Hyrule, and it was so refreshing to see! I’ve seen the same ones for years now since joining the fandom and I love seeing new ones! I love how Zelda doesn’t know Link at all, that he’s just some swordsman who saved her. I just love what they did with Link in general. He wasn’t reduced to a damsel in distress, he had his own adventure, we just didn’t see it. He was competent and was fighting In the rift before Null captured him. Fighting along side him was SO fun and the final dungeon was very unique and fun to go through. I also loved fighting as him in the very beginning. They gave him an interesting backstory and I almost wish we got to see his adventure! But oh well, this game is about Zelda anyways :)

And Zelda is fun too, I love all the characters that know her. They were all so competent and didn’t actually sit around like a bunch of idiots. I wish Zelda wasn’t a silent protagonist though, but idk how else they would’ve done it. Oh well.

And I didn’t like Tri in the beginning but they really grew on me towards the end. They were very bland but some personality came out as we progressed further into the story, and I laughed out loud at some of the things they said lol.

But let me talk about my fav part of the game: Null.

I cant tell you how much I love the concept of Null. The idea of some creature that is the embodiment of nothingness that has been there since before the creation of the world is SO FREAKING COOL. It’s nice having a story where Ganon isn’t the big bad, it’s this ancient being that is powerful and very dangerous. Far more dangerous than Demise. And it doesn’t contradict the established lore? Like this makes a lot of sense that Null was imprisoned in the world, but was creating rifts because they wanted to go back to nothingness. It’s spooky to think that they were there the whole time, just trying to escape.

Though it does make me wonder about the timeline. My guess is that this game takes place before or after botw/totk with hebra mountain existing and things generally being in the same spot (except death mountain, but volcanoes move anyways right?). And no one knows what the Triforce actually is, which is also very interesting. It’s an ancient power that’s not well known which is very cool, and I LOVED seeing it again! Having them discover the primal energy being the Triforce was so freaking cool, and the legend of the princess (or priestess) and the hero defeating evil was cool, but it does make me wonder where it is in time.

But yeah, all in all, I loved this game. It was incredible and so much fun with amazing characters and great lore that expanded on the universe. Very very neat.

But I’m giving it a 2/10 cuz Linebeck wasn’t in it

[agentrouka-blog]

Accidentally stumbled into a Sansa anti (well they call themselves an Arya stan but they apparently think those things go hand in hand)blog and am now baffled and a little disgusted at the amount of vitriol these people have for..a little girl, honestly they had reblogged a post about how Arya being believed to be a hostage to Ramsay galvanised so many people in the North, etc and the difference between that and Sansa being the Lannisters hostage/Tyrions bride, and like..so this little girls life being worthless to these men (whether that's true or not) is somehow validation for you? Honestly it's a little disturbing (there's also a pattern of most of them hating Alicent as well which seems..meaningful)

Ah, yes, the fantasy that they have that the North uniquely loves Arya and somehow instinctively rejects Sansa, and that this would be a good thing rather than screaming misogyny. 😊

There's exactly one group in the North agitating for Ned Stark's daughter herself (the one within reach of them, mind) and that's the mountain clans, for two reason:

Distant family loyalty, alongside Stark loyalty. (A Liddle also aids Bran in the mountains.)

A culture that encourages them to seek death, not survival, at this particular time where Stannis comes knocking.

His father's mother's mother had been a Flint of the mountains. Old Nan once said that it was her blood in him that made Bran such a fool for climbing before his fall.  (ASOS, Bran ll)

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Jon told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again." (ADWD, Jon X)

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." (ADWD, The King's Prize)

Let's not overtly romanticize the North. Manderly's money is on Rickon the son. There's a sizable faction actually supporting the Boltons (Dustin/Ryswell and Karstark). No one lifts a single finger for "Arya" until Jon gives Stannis the advice to gather support in the mountains with his army, and those are the ones with comparatively little to do but die and "bathe in Bolton blood".

The main aspect here is opportunity v. cost.

But more to the point, just as you point out, if it was Sansa that Jeyne was pretending to be, it would be the same. It's not the girls (within their actual reach) they specifically care for, it's Ned and House Stark.

The specific (small) subset of Sansa Anti/Arya stan that pushes these takes is, indeed, less interested in Arya, the actual books and the political dynamics therein, than they are in a distorted Cinderella fantasy where Arya is uniquely chosen and loved over Sansa. The rejection of Sansa is as central to that fantasy as the elevation of Arya, because the Mean Girl needs to be vanquished and punished in order to destroy the very notion in the world that Their Projection Surface was ever not The Prettiest And Bestest, deprived of the admiration she rightfully deserved by the cruel machinations of a middleschool bully.

You know, that's the complex philosophical, political and literary themes and interpersonal dynamics that GRRM is known for. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[ace-no-isha]

crying cus i remembered luffy was 17 and saw nami ask for help and immediately jumped to save her home. he was 17 and climbing a mountain with two people on his back, freezing halfway to death, to make sure they got the medical treatment they needed. he was 17 and teaching chopper that he can be loved despite being a “monster.” he was 17 and bringing water back to alabasta. he was 17 and screaming at robin that she HAS to live because he knows she wants to. he was 17 and gave years of his life to save ace. young revolutionaries with hearts of gold i love you. he will remind you that you are worth everything. he will claw his way through every pain to save you. he was just 17 and his heart could already accommodate the world. he’s so fucking young and he’s doing so much. i love him. he’s 19 now and he’s doing things twice as big. he is so brilliant he’s almost hard to look at but you just can’t tear your eyes away. my miracle boy. i love him so much y’all

[castellankurze]

One thing I'd like to see from Dawntrail patch content is some kind of "Labors of Bakool Ja Ja" side chain or MSQ subplot where Bakool Ja Ja retraces the steps of the Succession journey and does some community work.

Ok'hanu Where he attempted to steal the Ihih'hana festival float and threatened violence when opposed. Reparation: Gathering reeds and learning to weave new roofs for the hanu hanu buildings, which teaches delicacy and respect for the work put in to maintain their homes. In specific he works with Linuhanu and Wuk Evu to ensure he gets the job done right.

Wachunpelo We didn't see his work here, but I wouldn't put it past Bakool Ja Ja to hear "bring me an alpaca from the valley" and immediately use his bulk and strength to forcibly carry back a screaming, spitting, terrified animal that needs serious pacification. Reparation: Herding a group of Tobli's alpacas from Wachunpelo to Miplu's Mate Garden to pick up a shipment of mate leaves and bringing them back without them spitting on anyone. Contributes to the pelu pelu love of trade and their care for their animals.

Earthenshire Where he failed to bring in any returning or new Potsworn. (He also tried to fight Zoraal Ja and kidnapped Wuk Lamat, but that's part of the game.) Reparation: It's probably too late to recruit new Potsworn by now, so maybe something to do with crafting, I'm fuzzy on this one. Maybe helping the moblins talk to the independent crafters at Cracked Cistern?

Worlar's Echo The big one; not only did he fail to climb Worqor Zormor and fight Gurfurlur, he loosed Valigarmanda on the world putting untold lives in danger. Reparation: I like the idea of Gurfurlur tasking him with taking up a big load of stone and the pair of them climbing the mountain together, martial arts master & student style; once at the top Gurfulur has him use the stone to build a sepulcher and directs him to carve Yok Huy runes into it which turn out to tell the tale of how he freed Valigarmanda, how he changed the course of history for Mamook and defended Tuliyollal. And then they fight, natch.

Iq Br'aax Another big debacle. Failing the cooking challenge for one, but more importantly kidnapping the Elector Hunmu Rruk and threatening his life. Reparation: I like the idea of him redoing the cooking. Dawntrail is enamored of its food and usage of it in storytelling, and giving the blessed siblings a chance to cook real xibruq pibil (with the challenge being to cook enough for everyone in the village) maybe even with Hunmu Rruk stepping in to help, seems a good way to revisit this part of the plot with a healing metaphor.

Mamook My instinct is to say there's nothing for him to do here; after all we had a whole plot about him helping Wuk Lamat pull the Mamool Ja hardliners away from their obsession with blessed siblings. Add to that the way his father the Autarch bullied him and this was already where Bakool Ja Ja really started his face turn. Reparation: A part of me still likes the idea that he asks the Autarch to resummon the shade of Gulool Ja Ja for a fight and although it's close, he's losing until the three mamool ja he was previously traveling with jump into the fight to help him and they win together; and together they all bury the hatchet on how crappy they all were to each other.

Tuliyollal You squashed our tacos. >:( Reparation: Dinner at the Xbalyav Ty'e to conclude the quest chain.

[silas-222]

Having a child in your late twenties seemed normal right? Yeah. Having a baby daddy that sadly missed the birth of his first child? God the guilt he feels for missing a majority of the pregnancy. Give the poor man a break. 

Simon 'Ghost' Riley was a military man with mountains and mountains of trauma on him, the first time he was told he was going to be a father, he felt like he was gonna breakdown. Not wanting to be like that abusive piece of shit, he swore he'd be better, starting a couple of self help exercises, reading a lot of baby books, he probably knew more about the pregnancy than you. 

But it's been a couple years since then. Giving birth to a beautiful baby girl, small complications that are now there for life and a little chunky, but still absolutely beautiful. Leslie Christina Riley was the name gifted to her. Your black hair, Simon's hazel/green eyes, and his small crooked nose. A perfect mix of the two of you.

As for right now, you were waiting for your daughter to exit out of her elementary gate, "mommy!!" "Baby!!" You both squealed before you picked her up and swung her around before kissing her head softly. "How was school hon?" You asked as your hand went to fix her hair as the other held her on your hip. 

"It was sooo good mommy!" She began to talk as your legs made way to the car where Simon was hiding from her, a surprise that he was home for her. "I got invited to a sleep over at Juliana's house, it's for Friday!" She told as she rested her head on your shoulder. 

A sleepover? Of course you've met Juliana's mother before but a sleepover at five and six year old? Not that big of a fan for this idea. "Mm I'll think about if you can go okay love?" You spoke softly. Not wanting to explain that there are bad people in the world, exposing your five year old to it. "Okay mommy." She muttered.

As you opened the back car door, she climbed in the car seat , buckled herself in, then grabbed her invite from Juliana's mother to hand it to you. 

"Rah!" Simon growled as he went to tickle her, immediate giggles leaving her mouth. "Wait... DADDY!" She screamed as she realized that it was her loving father. "Yeah, hi little love." He kissed her head. 

You got in the car and started driving, Simon staying in the backseat, listening to your daughter talk about school and the sleepover. 

20 minutes later

Having made it safely home, all three of you, including Riley were outside. Riley and Leslie were playing around in the backyard as you and Simon sat on the patio. "Soo her sleepover.. are you gonna let her go?" Simon asked as your eyes were trained on Leslie. "I don't know.. because I want her to go but what if something bad happens to her? She's five Si.. she doesn't know how to defend herself and she can't defend herself if she wanted to..!" You stressed.

When Leslie was born—she was a very weak baby, you were in the hospital for a month before you were finally let back home with your small baby. Fearing SIDS would take into place, you and Simon lost sleep over her. Thank whatever lord is above that it never happened.

"Hey.." Simon grabbed your hands and rubbed the back of your knuckles, "calm down... you can talk to her about it.." he pulled you into a hug as Leslie and Riley came running over. "Daddy! Mommy! Look at Riley! She so silly!" She giggled as she pointed at the German shepherd, mud covering her face along with—

"Riley! Did you get into my roses!?" You scolded the dog, looking at Simon, "that is your dog." You teased. 

"Yeah yeah, Riley no getting into the roses, mama's told you that." He scolded as Leslie sat infront of you. "Love, explain to her on what we were talking about okay?" He kissed your shoulder and Leslie's head as he picked up Riley with ease so he could go give her a bath. 

"Babydoll come here..." you said softly, grabbing Leslie's hand as she stood infront of you then climbed in your lap so you two were face to face. "You know how you got invited to Juliana's sleepover?" 

She nodded and hummed softly, "I know you wanna go but it's scary for mommy.." 

"Why?"

"Because mommy can't protect you there, you know how I always protect you and daddy protects all of us, even Riley protects and helps daddy when you and I can't be there with him."

"But mommy I'll be okay.. Juliana's mommy will protect me at there." She tried to convince you. 

"But baby what if someone comes in and takes you? You can go baby but it scares me, it scares daddy too. I know Juliana's mommy can help you but for us it's scary. We trust you so much mama but it's other people in the world." I tried to explain to her, frowning as I noticed her eyes tearing up. “Please don’t cry hon.. you can still go but I want you to know that sometimes you can’t go okay?” I wiped her chubby cheeks. 

Leslie nodded before she turned to Simon, “daddy are you gonna cry?” She asked him with a small tease. “Nah, too strong for that..” he teased her back, “just like you’re too small to have a boyfriend!” He playfully scolded her about the little boy who had a crush on her. 

[weekend-whip]

Ninjago Fic Rec Week: Day 4

Prompts: Fluff / Cole Recs! (i'm sure I'll be seeing a lot of my favorite fics today aaaa)

Fluff Recs-

Good Hair Day: Kai helps Skylor do her hair, based entirely on a headcanon of Kai being good at doing hair (hey, his own style is a choice)

Little Brother: Lloyd realizes the perks of having five older siblings. Lots of sweet family fluff and young!Lloyd shenanigans <3

Nya, Kai, and That One Drink: Including this one specifically because it's probably the most lighthearted thing I've written yet that doesn't involve Jesse snknksnskn, the group goes for takeout in the X-1 Ninja Charger, only for one thing to lead to another and Kai winds up forgetting Nya's drink. What's a brother to do now?

Socks: Wu wearily but delightfully is forced to watch the ninja get way too much merriment out of a ridiculous pair of socks (I, personally, am of the belief that they belong to Lloyd, but—)

Five Times Jay Cheered Someone Up: And the one time he was cheered up in return (i am DISTRESSED that i didn't include this on my Jay list aaaaAAAA)

Five Times Lloyd Was a Pain: And the one time he wasn't. Child!Lloyd for the soul in this one!!!!

There's Insurance For That: In which Skylor gets a taste of the life of a ninja (and learning just how many places they've been banned from in Ninjago) Quite possibly my favorite lighthearted Skylor fic!!!

Cole Recs-

Sick Days: Sickfic, featuring Cole and having to contend with "Being useless", and the doting care

Passing On the Hammer: Cole has a meeting with his grandfather, while Jay tries his hand at being a fisherman and Kai thinks he can do the Triple Tiger Sashay. (Really a fic about Cole and his family's legacy, but Kai and Jay's antics are too hilarious not to mention snksnknksnk)

You're An Excellent Chef, Really *screams loudly* UGNH one of my very favorite fics exploring Cole and Zane's dynamic, will recommend every single time!!!! But, it's basically the duo bonding over cooking over the years. Makes my heart very happy <3

Quiet Weirdo: Cole and Nya friendship fic that the world definitely needs more of!!!!

Adjusting: PILOT BONDING, this time Cole flavored!! Cole's thoughts on his new budding team consisting of a chatty blue guy and the guy that won't stop staring at things. But a guy like Cole has never needed friends anyway, so he's got nothing to worry about, right?

Again and Again: MORE PILOTS BONDING but this time with Glacier! People keep asking me how Cole fell in love with Zane in Legacyverse and my mind always drifts back to a thing similar to this story! My personal investment aside, a nice fluffy fic about how Cole met Zane and they became friends with a touch of pining <3

You Worry Too Much: By the author of Chips and Salsa (another fandom Cole/Glacier classic), here we have a another tale centered around Cole's parents while he was growing up, and though it's a little more about Lou than anyone else, Cole ofc has a huge stake in the story and uwaah I love reading about Cole's family dynamics (both the fluff and the tragedy)

Some Climb Mountains: A retelling of how Cole met Master Wu, always gets me misty eyed because i am a soft soul ;v;

Cole and the Tastiest Broken Glass: S2 Pre-Child's Play, Cole and Lloyd bond over broken things, life philosophy, and candy. Cole and Lloyd sibling duo that the world also needs much more og!!

I'm Sure He Knows: More Cole + Wu bonding that speaks to me specifically, involving a conversation about a certain ghostly wind master who is no more.

Four Times Cole Helped The Guys With a Nightmare: And the one time they helped him. Cole's character at his purest in this one!!!

[adamworu]

Have you seen Codex Entry's video titled "The End of Evangelion Is (Not) A Happy Ending - An Analysis & Critique"? She makes a lot of interesting points in that.

First things first, it keeps hitting me how numerous the death threats were that GAINAX got. The contempt of man, followed by a disgusting lack of consequence has always been a central theme in Evangelion. Seeing just how painful the imitation of art to life is feels like opening old wounds. They were instrumental in EoE's conception among other things (Anno putting his feelings into film being another). The quick flashes of ire in written form really helps give EoE that unshakable bitter, pessimistic feel.

(warning for strong personal talks of suicide under the cut)

Anno's mental health worsened at the main series' end. People weren't satisfied with how it ended. They drove him to the point of contemplating suicide. If Anno's reflection of himself manifest through some of the characters, this makes Shinji's state before the infamous sequence even more haunting.

The interviewer asked 'What stopped you?' to which Anno replies 'The prospect of pain. I didn't mind dying I didn't want it to hurt.'

I didn't want it to hurt.

As someone with fluctuating highs and lows of mental health, this struck me more than I'd like to admit. During my periods of contemplating ending it all, one of my greatest fears was the pain. That death isn't the peaceful embrace from it all. That your lasting regrets die with you as your loved ones would eventually find you and become horrified at the fleshy shell that once had a name. You hear their faint screams, your strength is all but gone, and that flickering light within you is snuffed forever.

'Faced with the reality, I stopped.'

I think there's something even more painful about the end. There is no pain, but was lies on the other side...if anything?

EoE asks what if self-loathing becomes our being? Who you are affects your very being. And Shinji's self-hatred seeps into the cast, then the whole world. Considering Shinji's status as an audience surrogate, this sort of thing is very much aimed at the audience, especially those targeting Anno and GAINAX.

I personally don't think, however that EoE is an inverse to EoTV (series end). I do agree with her (Codex Entry), however that EoE is the horrifying reality of if the wrong person turns their back on humanity. EoE is more the explicit version on how humanity came to be in Instrumentality. I still wouldn't call it pessimistic even after all these years. EoTV sees the characters with more self-fulfilled arcs in the very end. There's a sense of catharsis from cast and viewer alike from having climbed a mountain of epiphany and acceptance. EoTV feels more convenient, albeit not unnaturally so.

EoE is more explicit with Shinji's flaws. They stare him in the face with no hesitation. These fears are far uglier and portray him less favorably. Less sympathetically. He views the girls and women around him as how they'd be of benefit. His ire isn't just about the realization that they're people with feelings and complexities deserving of empathy. It's also that those girls and women can as well as do hold the right to exist without him. He sentences the whole world to metaphorical death by way of relinquishment of the AT Field due to his own insecurities. His locus of control is viewed externally. His deterministic point of view harms everyone around him. The train scene is shown here and it parallels his talk with Leliel in episode 16. He blames his reality rather than hold himself accountable.

This is the importance of 'What is your hand for?' It's a gentle nudge into the prospect of free will. It's not just a doctrine of freedom, but one that argues that you are culpable.

My one and only pet peeve with the essay is the confusion of happiness and positivity multiple times throughout. EoE isn't happy, but it is positive. If we were to look at EoE as its own universe rather than a metatext, it is intensely depressing. It tells you that with your hands you can better the world around you. With the fact that it's self-aware considered, it acts as a cautionary tale, that intense self-loathing and disdain serves not just to poison you, but others. We don't all have the ability to damn the human race to metaphorical death until to bring them back because we don't exist. Shinji is understood in Codex' video to be an audience surrogate to great detail. EoE is the existence that did not want to be. Rather than being nihilistic and ireful, it grabs the audience with trembling fingers, saying 'For the love of God, be empathetic. It won't kill you! You are ruining everyone around you with your contempt for outside agency and your arrogance. Please...!'

End of Evangelion is Nyquil. It tastes strong and it tastes bad. Everyone needs bad tasting medicine if they want to get well. So drink the damn medicine.

[acourtofthought]

Love - SJM Style

Obviously the actual falling in love part is amazing but before her characters get to that point, we have a lot of this:

Rowaelin -

You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And,” he said, those green eyes holding nothing but distaste, “you are a coward.”

And then she said one of the foulest things she’d ever uttered in her life, bathing in the pure hate of it. “Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan’s actions a bit more, I think.”

“First thing,” he breathed, “we’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

Chaol / Yrene -

You didn’t seem to mind the privileges that came when you snapped your fingers and Kashin ran here. Perhaps he’ll grow tired of you stringing him along.”

“You’d be surprised the people that opiate makes you consider. Who you’ll find yourself willing to sully yourself with.”

“Did she pick Dorian, then? The queen. I’m surprised she could stomach either of you, given your history. What your kingdom did to hers.”

“Yet you were assigned to me because your Healer on High saw otherwise. Saw that no matter how high you climbed in that tower, you’re still that girl in Fenharrow.” A laugh came out of him, icy and bitter. “I knew another woman who lost as much as you. And do you know what she did with it—that loss?” He could barely stop the words from pouring out, could barely think over the roar in his head. “She hunted down the people responsible for it and obliterated them. What the hell have you bothered to do these years?”

Aedion / Lysandra -

She knew Aedion would agree to the plan, even if he still hated her.

“You can go to hell,” Aedion snapped. “You can go to hell, you lying bitch!”

Lorcan / Elide -

Aelin had been brutalized, their very location betrayed by Lorcan to Maeve, and still he tried to follow. Right through the sand still wet with Aelin’s blood.

Elide let out a soft, vicious laugh. “Of course you didn’t. Why would you have intended for your wondrous queen to sever the blood oath?”

Lorcan blinked at the words, the hatred in them, stunned enough that he let her walk past this time. Elide didn’t so much as look back.

“The only thing that I am jealous of, Lorcan, is that she is rid of you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. But Elide’s face did not warm. “I don’t care,” she said, turning on her heel. “And I don’t care if you walk off that battlefield tomorrow.”

“I have never heard Lorcan apologize for anything. Even when Maeve whipped him for a mistake, he did not apologize to her.” “And that means he earns my forgiveness?”

Quinlar -

“She’s a spoiled party girl. What did you expect?” “She’s not stupid, Hunt,” Isaiah countered. “Everything I’ve seen and heard suggests otherwise.”

His teeth flashed. “I don’t care what you call me, Quinlan, so long as you do what you’re told.” Fucking alphahole. “Immortality is a long time to have a giant stick up your ass.”

Feysand -

Rhysand ran an eye over me. “I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned.

Even as he said my most private thoughts, even as I burned with outrage and shame, I trembled at the grip still on my mind.

I stared at him, sending as much hate as I could into my gaze. He’d been the one who’d caused all this. He’d told Amarantha about Clare; he’d made Tamlin beg.

I bared my teeth. “Go. To. Hell.” Swift as lightning, he lashed out, grabbing the shard of bone in my arm and twisting. A scream shattered out of me, ravaging my aching throat. The world flashed black and white and red. I thrashed and writhed, but he kept his grip, twisting the bone a final time before releasing my arm. Panting, half sobbing as the pain reverberated through my body, I found him smirking at me again. I spat in his face.

“Don’t get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“I think we can agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing.”

“I’m not your enemy, Feyre.” “Tamlin says you are.” I curled the fingers of my tattooed hand into a fist. “Everyone else says you are.” “And what do you think?” He leaned back in his chair again, but his face was grave. “You’re doing a damned good job of making me agree with them.”

“No, because it’s so much easier to pretend it never happened and let them coddle you.”

“Luck? Yes, how lucky for you,” I said quietly, but not weakly, “that the rest of Prythian was ravaged while your people, your city, remained safe.”

His laugh was bitter, soft. “I thought so. Perhaps you should take some time to figure that out one of these days.”

“At least I let them see who I am, broken bits and all. Yes—it’s to save your people. But what about the other masks, Rhys? What about letting your friends see your real face? But maybe it’s easier not to. Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them—who would want to bother with that sort of mess?”

Nessian -

“What are you looking at?” Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

“If that’s what a bastard-born Fae warrior can do, no wonder my sister has become so entangled with the High Lords.” Bitch. Bitch for the insult to him and to Feyre. “Did it bother you more that you wanted it, or that it was a bastard-born nobody who made you feel such things, Nesta?” “It’s been a long winter. Beggars can’t be picky, I suppose.”

What did he care? What did he care? He had enough shit to deal with.

“And what do you deserve?” A slow smile, indeed a plains-cat readying for the kill. Then, “Certainly more than a bastard-born nobody.” Bitch. “What a fne partner you are, Nesta. Remind me to bring a book on military strategy the next time. Maybe you’ll stand a chance then.” A cold, fat look. “It’s easier, isn’t it,” Cassian breathed, crossing the distance again, not caring who saw them standing in the bay window “To wield the words and the coldness as armor to keep everyone from seeing where and who you failed and how you did not care until it was too late.”

Only hatred gleamed in her eyes.

“Well, I see it, Nesta Archeron. And all I see is a bored and spoiled girl—”

“Is it Nesta?” “Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him.

“I’ve made my thoughts clear enough on what I want from you.”

He didn’t know why the hell he cared. Why he’d bothered.

She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him.

“I was dragged into this world of yours, this court.” “Then go somewhere else.”

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

“Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.”

“You think I can’t hear that male in your bedroom, trying to quietly put on his clothes and sneak out the window?”

Elucien are coming along quite nicely -

“You betrayed us.”

Her eyes went frank and cold. “I was to be married in a few days.”

“She wants nothing to do with me.” / And as for here …” He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes.

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?”

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“Where’s Elain?” “I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

[doorrobloxstuff]

POLY AU PART 2 ELECTRIC BOGALOO.

Eehhehehe tumblr likes harems. --

This was officially the worst week on Y/N's life.

First they fractured their hip after slipping on gasoline and soon after their boss quickly let them go soon after without much of even a warning. But wait, It gets worse!

They went to the hospital, who kept them there for an entire week before returning (against medical advice mind you..) to a trio of screaming children, a gaggle of shocked and concerned partners and a hotel that had looked like it had been through an earthquake because they had started to suspect that one of them had killed them and had covered it up.

All of this this in a span of a week.

Well, at least the pain meds the hospital gave them worked well enough.

They sat there. In their Alaskan-king sized reinforced steel framed bed staring at their iPhone and scrolling through tik toks and just trying to keep their mind off the future. Them and El-goblino at least. The Goblin hadn’t really left their side since the whole “Calm the fuck down, I’m not dead!” incident and joined them in bed on top of a mountain of pillows and was currently watching them scroll mindlessly through video after video. Occasionally pointing and saying "Me!" or "That looks delicious man.." trying his best to make them laugh to some modicum of success. “El Goblino, can you come here?" They murmured, reaching over towards him and offering to pull him close. El Goblino nodded and soon found himself closely nestled on their chest. "Oye, how's the medicine treating you Cariño?~" "Baby, I'm not going to lie to you. I feel like..I feel like..like that nasty red stuff that Figure vomits out on the floor when it's eaten too much is sloshing around in goddamn brain..and fuck.. My thighs have stopped hurting but my head..ugh.. my head..It feels like the world's worst hangover.." "Ahh, understood. I'm going to have to go out and forage for some morel anyways so I'll grab you some of that mint I've been drying while I’m out.” His yellow eyes seemed to soften up in concern. " ..Maybe some oregano..I don’t want to risk you catching a fever..” He sighed and butted his head into Y/N’s. “Just..” He briefly hesitated before he spoke. “-..be safe, tu escuchas? Don’t disappear me on me like that again and give me another heart attack..!” " He slid quickly down their arms and off the bed. "It's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon.." They said, pulling off the blanket and gesturing widely to their bruised legs. "Driving here was hell already so.. Love you.." ".. Love you too.. Adios.." ...

Y/N stayed on the bed in silence once he left. Their eyes once more drifting back to their phone. They stayed for a full hour. Maybe even longer.

That’s when they saw a saw an azure-purplelish glow gently illuminating a corner of the room.

A hazy image of Eyes slowly emerged from the ground. At the sight of Y/N awake, their eyes widened and the whispering around they chattered in excitement. The air around them seemed to fizz and occasionally beep like a geiger counter.

“Y/N..?”

Y/N weakly smiled and opened their arms. “Come here, cutie~”

Eyes carefully climbed up the bed and into their arms. Y/N planted a small kiss on top of them. They smiled with their eyes and wiggled with excitement. They held something behind their back.

“Watcha got back there?”

“Someone!! Wants to see you!!” It chittered and pulled out a Tupperware container. Thick black ooze bubbled and sloshed around in excitement and an eye opened. "Seek!"

“Y/N!” Seek leapt from it's container and spilled all over Y/N's chest, raced up their torso before halting right up against their face. A hand emerged from the non-newtonian mass and ever so lovingly brush up against their face. "We've missed you.."

"I've missed you guys too..I hated being in that hospital so much. I just..The whole time I was there all I thought about was the hotel..I wanted to come back..” They wrapped an arm around Seek. “No, I neede-"

"Hey! Hey!" Eyes squawked frantically. "Share them please! ₛₕₐᵣₑ! Their mine ₘᵢₙₑ! ₘᵢₙₑ ₜₒₒ! too!" Eyes stood indignantly at the edge of the bed having been accidentally pushed away by Seek.

Seek rolled its eye bashfully and scooted aside for Eyes to nuzzle right into their shoulder with a little vibrant 'tweet.' "Where’s everyone else?”

“Figure’s with the light beloved. But the rest are in the kitchen. I hope erm, I hope you like soup..?”

Seek chuckled nervously and it melted further into Y/N while Eyes twirled their hair. Ignoring the sight of burning turnips and spilt orange juice from the eye it had posted in the kitchen.

Y/N sat there, completely unsure how to respond or even if they should. Just a few minutes later, the smell of something gingery-tangy scented filled the air. A frowning Jack came in, muttering something obscene under its breath but still made an effort to smile in Y/N's prescence.

“Hi Y/N. How..are you?”

“Couldn’t be better.. You good there Jack?”

”No. Ambush ate an entire pile of wood.”

“Oh dear god is it okay..? Did they-“ Y/N lowered their voice. “ᵖᵘᵗ ʷᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒᵘᵖ..﹖”

Jack made a chuckle and set the soup on the table. "Nein, it's edible....I think anyways." It climbed into bed with them and settled close to Seek who shuffled a little and just stretched its mass to meet it. It let out a loud yawn surprised it's goopy partner. "Tired..?" It murmured as it ran a hand through its fluffy collar. "Very." Jack whispered "I just want to lie down.." Seek made a sympathetic ripple before sliding some more of itself into Jack’s arms.

Y/N decided to bite the bullet. With a small sear of pain they scooted close to the three and wrapped their arm around the pair and pressed their face into Jack’s shoulder.

..Everything would be fine..

——-

Had to end it here, originally would’ve gone on longer but this things been sitting in my drafts since February. I also didn’t really know how to end it. So instead, Have Seek X yn x Gobby x Jack

[mahoganydoodles]

Diasterisms Anthology (Book 2/12): variations on a theme of you by diasterisms

"Who knows?" Luke darted a faint smile at Ben and Rey as they stewed in silence and disbelief. "The two of you might even learn to get along. Right, Leia?" "Like a house on fire," the General deadpanned. "Complete with screams, flames, and people running for safety." "Indeed." Luke's blue eyes twinkled. "There may be no survivors."

variations on a theme of you. This fic has everything: forced proximity, buttered muffins, Matt the Radar Technician. It’s the goofy, cracky, undercover-fake-relationship fic we all love. 

Which is why I always find it so funny that the collection has these serious, grayscale covers when half these fics are hilarious. But anyway!!

From left to right, top to bottom, the covers are: 

Because You’re There—Mountain climbing

the surface of last scattering—Outer space/galaxy

into the great laugh of mankind—Archaeological site

place the moon at my eyes (and her whiteness shall devour)—Full moon at night behind tree

Mirrorbright—Lake house at Naboo

World Without End—Asphodel fields

variations on a theme of you—Inner hallway of spaceship

The Short Story Collection—Bookstore

Shatterpoint—X-wing

made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter—Great Temple on Yavin 4

oh autumn, oh teakettle, oh grace—Aspen trees

ghostwalks (gin and fog)—Old-school movie set

variations on a theme of you is a light-hearted romcom between oops-maybe-not-so-sworn-enemies. Read it on AO3.

[holdmytesseract]

Loki & “I’m gonna show you love all of the time / Gonna be your breath when you’re out of life” (New Love Cassette, Angel Olsen)

a/n: Thank you for requesting @cheekyscamp ! 🥰 I absolutely loved that line. It's so beautiful. 🥰 I really hope you like what I wrote! ☺️

Warnings: mentions of injuries, swear words, fluff, Loki being the savior he is ;)

Word Count: 1141

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @acefeather2002 @jennyggggrrr @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @theaudacitytowrite @lady-rose-moon @fictive-sl0th @aagn360 @mostclevermiss @linaax @peaches1958 @simping-for-marvel @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @loki-laufeyson-1054 @multifandom-worlds @coldnique

Lyric-Drabble-Mania Masterlist

Based on this song:

Guardian Angel

Just as you were unpacking your gear at the bottom of the mountain you were about to climb; your smart watch told you that Loki - your boyfriend was calling you. With a smile, you adjusted the AirPod in your ear and accepted the call. "Hi baby." "Hello, darling. I am not disturbing you, am I?" You giggled, shaking your head to yourself, as you checked the ropes and karabiner for security. Climbing was your big passion. You loved the adrenaline rush of climbing up a mountain and the feeling of happiness and freedom, whenever you reached the top. Sure, it was a dangerous hobby as well. Every step had to be the right one. But this never ever frightened you or held you back, oh no... You were an expert; having learned this back when you were a child. Your father was a climber as well, so... He taught you, of course, sharing your passion.

"Nah, you never disturb, Lokes. Though, I'm about to climb now, so... But we can just continue to talk." You couldn't see Loki's frowning, but you were certain he was. "Are you sure, my love? You have to concentrate. I don't want to distract you." "You won't," you said with a small huff, climbing the first foot. "I wouldn't say I'm used to this, since we never talked before while climbing, but I'm an expert. I can handle this." That's what you thought. Well, you were going to eat your words a few minutes later…

Everything seemed to work just fine - until exactly that happened, what Loki had been 'afraid' of. Distraction, causing you to lose quite a bit of your focus and concentration - and that in return, caused you to make a fatal mistake...

"Aww, I miss you, too, baby. Feels like we haven't seen each other in years." Loki chuckled. "Decades, my love, decades. My heart is aching for you and my body is aflame with passionate fire. Only a thirst you are able to quench." Your heart skipped a beat at his words; heat began to crawl up in your veins. "Is that so?" "Mhm," Loki hummed, sounding way too sexual and seductive for your own good. "Tonight, when you're finally back in my arms, I'm going to show you thoroughly how much I am yearning for you." You giggled again, like as schoolgirl, "I beg you to- Oh shit." and took the wrong step. You felt your foot slipping. You lost your grip - and fell. Usually, that wasn't such a big problem, because the rope was keeping you from hitting the ground. Today, though, it wasn't. Being lost in the conversation you had with your boyfriend, you missed to check if the most important rope, in order to keep you from falling. It wasn't where it should be. But in the moment, you realised, it was too late, of course. With a scream and a thud, your body hit the hard ground, causing immediately everything to fade into darkness around you.

"Y/N? Darling? Can you hear me? Is everything alright?" Loki had the very bad feeling that actually nothing was alright. He heard your cursing, your scream and the thud, which shot anxiety through his heart and body. "Y/N?!" No answer. Without even hesitating, Loki hung up and stormed towards the door of his apartment in the Avengers compound.

He stayed with you the whole time, of course, until the ambulance rolled in. He told the paramedics as much as he knew and witnessed, how they loaded you up into the vehicle, driving you to the hospital.

To his sheer luck and relief, the god knew exactly where you were and could get to you as fast as possible... Teleportation.

The moment his eyes saw the beautiful landscape of the Breakneck Ridge mountain and Hudson River, he began to look around frantically. "Y/N?!" Loki found you, at the bottom of the mountain, unconscious. "Y/N!" He couldn't see any blood, but that didn't mean you were less hurt... The god stormed over to you and fell to his knees beside you; "Y/N!" heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. "Darling, wake up, please?!" He tried to get to you, but it was no use. You were out like a light. His eyes roamed your body, checking you for injuries. He wasn't a doctor and didn't see how you fell or landed, so it was hard to tell. Afraid of hurting you even more when he'd pick you up, he decided to just call an ambulance. He had to; having no other choice. How could he heal you, when he didn't even know where you were injured?

You woke up to a bright light, shining down on you and the constant sound of a consistently beep sound. You blinked, trying to adjust your eyes to the light. Wanting to turn your head in order to look around, a stinging pain shoot through your entire skull, causing you to groan softly. What had happened? The soft groan caught Loki's attention, who sat beside your bed, holding your hand in his bigger ones. His eyes snapped up to your face. "Darling?" The god spoke softly. "Are you awake?" You wetted your lips, swallowing. "Loki?" "Yes, it's me, my love, I'm here." Slowly, you turned your head (despite the stinging, throbbing pain) and gazed directly into the handsome, softly smiling face of your boyfriend. "Hey." He breathed out, raising a hand to gently cup your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "What... What happened? I... I remember speaking with you on the phone a-and... Then everything went black." Loki looked at you compassionate. "You had an accident, love. Apparently, one of your ropes wasn't tied strong enough and when you slipped and fell, it didn't catch you. I was there within minutes, when you didn't answer me on the phone anymore. I found you and immediately called an ambulance." You nodded, swallowing hard. "My head hurts." "Reasonable, darling. You have a mild concussion - without your helmet it would've been much worse, and a very bruised back. Luckily, nothing is broken. You didn't seem to fall that far, luckily." "Shit..." You cursed, grimacing. "Thank you for, uh, 'rescuing' me, baby." Loki smiled, causing your heart to skip a beat. "No need to thank me, Y/N. I love you. It goes without saying. Besides, do you remember what I told you in the beginning of our relationship? I'm gonna show you love all of the time; gonna be your breath when you're out of life - which definitely includes saving you after an accident." You couldn't help but smile as well. "Yeah, of course I remember. I love you, too - and who knows... Perhaps it was destiny, that you called me exactly in that moment..." "Oh, I'm certain it was, my love."

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 17

Heading down the home stretch now! Thanks for the tag @theeccentricraven

Today’s prompts: a mountain, “Let this fight be our last. Make it so.”

“Come on! Is that the best you’ve got?” Magnus shouted defiantly as he swung his pick into the hard unyielding rock. He was halfway up a jagged peak that had defied all who tried to summit it.

It was said to be the place where all the winds of the world came to rest at night before departing for the furthest lands and seas when day came. Many had dared to climb it. No one lived to try a second time. No one save Magnus. He had been repelled countless times; rockfalls, blizzards, lightning all pummeled him. He had broken every bone in his body, and yet he refused to be bowed.

“We have played this game for over a decade now, friend. And every time you’ve gotten the better of me. I’ve had a lot of time to learn from my failures. Each one is a lesson, and with every lesson I’ve gotten better.”

The wind howled with fury. It seemed to take on a voice of its own.

Let this fight be our last.

Magnus laughed like only a madman who was facing certain death could.

“Make it so.” He declared.

It seemed that the mountain was now throwing everything it got at him. Snow flew horizontally as the wind waged war upon the defiant interloper. Yet Magnus perused. He hugged the cliff face where he could, sinking anchor points for ropes so he would not be blown off. Inch by inch, he ascended the face of the mountain. Soon he found himself in the clouds, and the heart of the tempest. It was a twilight of slate grey that reduced visibility to just beyond one’s hand. Here came gusts from every which way, shouting and screaming like a million beasts throwing into the same pit. Every now and then a flash of lightning broke through the darkness. And still Magnus persisted.

At last he broke through the clouds. In front of him was the peak. It stood like an island floating on a sea of storm clouds. Beyond, the grey and white broke to reveal a world so small it could be blotted out by a hand. Above were the stars. Below was the curve of the earth. And all around were the gales.

Magnus took the last stretch slowly. Buffeted by the winds, he inched forward until he could go no higher.

“I could almost see the whole world from here.” He said, a weary smile crept onto his face. He bent over and swung his pack forward. From inside he produced a small metal urn. He held it gently in his hands for a moment. With one hand, he removed the lid before tilting the urn. The ashes within were caught by the wind and were scattered in every direction.

“Well love, you wanted to see the world. Now a little of you will be everywhere. I’m sorry it took so long, but now I hope you are smiling, your lifelong dream now fulfilled.”

Passing the torch onto @inkednotebook @kaylinalexanderbooks @somethingclevermahogony @autism-purgatory @cowboybrunch

@kelpie-writes @indecentpause @phoenixradiant @theink-stainedfolk @diabolical-blue and all who want to join in

[paz-45]

EE Lyrics Study: teeth/bones/nails

Hello! This is my first "lyric study" for the band Everything Everything and the topic is: BONES/TEETH/NAILS.

Basically, when listening to their music, I kept noticing words related to this topic and I was curious if the topic actually existed across their discography. I marked every lyric that included key words:

bone, skull, teeth, vertebrae, fossil, etc.

I did a little research to see the cultural significance or any other meaning/symbolism of these words. I didn't want to dive too much into the actual meaning of the lyrics*** or the greater context of the song, but instead looked at the overall patterns of the key words.

I notice that in EE's lyrics, bones/teeth are mostly used to evoke images of graphic things being done to a body or to liken humans to other animals/creatures. There's mentions of bones both inside a living human and in someone/something that's dead.

Personally, I interpret these uses as a more shocking or uncomfortable way to refer to those parts of the body (e.g. teeth instead of smile, clavicle instead of collar, skull instead of head), which is pretty on-brand for EE's provocative lyrics/themes.

And half the street was under my nails -MY KZ, UR BF

Cos even now, there's a bone snapping -Leave the Engine Room

My teeth dazzle like an igloo wall, I inhabit, I inhibit ya'll -Photoshop Handsome

But right above my clavicle, the world becomes so laughably old -Wizard Talk

Teeth and nails your little anatomy -Luddites and Lambs

Past-tense -- what's a trilobite to anyone? -Kemosabe (marked because it only exists in fossil form)

Coiled heart, eye-tooth, feral child -Torso of the Week

And cloudy with potential, muscle mass and vertebrae begin... -Choice Mountain

While Princes fly drones that can see through your bones - Undrowned

The street is a boneyard she glances -Armourland

And now who's the fossil who gets the girl? -The House is Dust

Bic your head and show your teeth to them honey -Don't Try

And sweat runs up his neck and spine -Awe/Arc

You take the poleaxe out of your spine, push your shoulder back in its place -A.D.

Canine, fangs up out my throat -Distant Past

Teeth on a wire -Get to Heaven

Swing the hammer, the fragments, a skull exploding -Spring/Sun/Winter/Dread

Bone, to the blade -The Wheel is Turning Now

Bones in a bowl like a toad-in-the-hole, take the shape out of the mould -No Reptiles

And your spine is a glass spire -President Heartbeat

I can feel my bones screaming out -Yuppie Supper

Yet the concrete burns at the back of your skull -Night of the Long Knives

I'm just a knuckle dragger with a knuckle dragger grin -Desire

If my bones just fall away -Good Shot, Good Soldier

Skeleton boy with the skeleton girl souvenir -Big Climb

As fresh as my bouncing bones -Arch Enemy

The bones snap into place -Black Hyena

Stretching my lips over my teeth -SUPERNORMAL

I want the teeth of the enchanter - I Want A Love Like This

Drinking from a hollow skull -Cut UP!

But the seed inside your skull is now a watermelon -HEX

You can sing you can play my ribcage like piano -My Computer

***I feel like we'll never know exactly what Jonathan means when he writes (lol seems like he doesn't know sometimes either) so I didn't want to get caught up in guessing what he meant. I find it tiring to try to figure out 'why did he say that?' and instead just enjoy and find my own meaning :)

[anthrofreshtodeath]

— one being shorter and it being a source of great enjoyment for the other

Their height difference is DELICIOUS

Ok, I went less romantic and more fun, but... I do love the Rizzoli siblings. Maura included.

Several people requested this one, so I am answering here, in just one spot. But know that I saw all your requests! Here we go!

___

Boiling. Once simmering, now raging. It’s how Maura would describe both the weather and her mood on this late July mid-morning. Crowds deplete her social battery, and Walt Disney World has no shortage of those - screaming children, oblivious adults, families overstimulated on sugar and at wits end. The smell of sunscreen, and human sweat, and confections on every corner turn her stomach when her anxiety reaches a crescendo.

She… she just… ugh. 

She can’t believe she wants to stamp her foot like a child.

She can’t believe she wants to pout.

She can’t believe she agreed to go on this vacation with three overgrown children.

“I don’t know, we’re still pretty far away from the front,” Tommy Rizzoli climbs up on the railing they all leaned against and it puts him head and shoulders above the tallest person in their vicinity. “But I don’t know Maura, they got height requirements,” he says seriously, “you may have to turn back when it’s time to get on.”

Frankie and Jane Rizzoli bubble up into a gutsy, giggly fit of laughter, until Frankie’s chuckles become a raspberry and then they’re dissolving into real, hearty bellows. People around them stare, some smiling just because their humor is so infectious. 

Maura is quickly becoming resistant to the strain, however, especially since the past half hour’s jokes have been entirely at the expense of her height. “I’ll have you know that five-seven is three inches over the US average for women!” she retorts lamely, crossing her arms.

Apparently that doesn’t matter to three people all just about six-feet tall. “Just remember, kid, stand on your tippy toes and they’ll let ya through,” Frankie teases, patting the top of her head while he uses his other hand to wipe tears from his eyes. 

Jane hops up from her reclining stance, walking as the crowd slowly moves closer to the entrance of Space Mountain, clearly excited to get on. “Ok, I’m guessin’ thirty more minutes,” she said, eyes scanning the front of the line.

“Oh! I see it!” Tommy shouts, “forty-four inches. Damn, Maura, you may just be shit outta luck,” he says with childish glee. He looks at Jane, who laughs, too, but then smacks the back of his head.

“So you can read,” she jokes, standing between him and Maura and he frowns. 

Frankie howls. 

And, ok, Maura cracks a little bit of a smirk. Just a small one, because Tommy does have dyslexia. He’s an avid reader, audiobooks being a big help with that, but still. 

“Real mature, Janie,” he barks, but when he looks at Maura, sends a wink her way, Maura returns his smile more fully. “Comin’ from someone who can’t remember to pack underwear to save her life. On any trip.”

“A’right, a’right,” Jane says loudly, wrapping her arm around her youngest brother’s shoulders. “Let’s call a truce until at least after this ride. I don’t need everyone hearing about my emergency underwear shopping trips.”

“Oh yeah, now she wants to play nice, when it’s all about her,” Frankie calls from over Maura’s head. 

Jane shoots him a dagger of a look, and Maura can hardly take it seriously because of the matching shirts Frankie forced them to wear, with their surnames and a very apt I’m Sorry You Have to Wait in Line behind Us on the back. 

The boil returns to a simmer. 

It could be the shade, or it could be Frankie’s strong hands on her shoulders. It could have been Tommy’s wink, it could be the way Jane holds her own free hand out behind her back, her signal for Maura to put a snack in the palm of it. Maura sighs, pulls the trail mix out of her bag and pours some just as Frankie leans close to her ear. 

“We love you, ya know,” he says, squeezing her muscles into loosening. “That’s why we roast ya.”

She lifts up her head, not jazzed about having to do so to catch his eyes after all their teasing, but his smile eases her. “I… I think I’m just not used to…”

“Well, see that name on the front of your shirt? Time to start gettin’ used to it,” he says with a little chuckle. “But you can always tell us when enough is enough. Trust me, we know we’re knuckleheads.”

“You’re assholes,” Maura corrects when she looks forward again, Jane having consumed her handful of trail mix and now bouncing on the balls of her feet with anticipation. They’d all been so animated when she said she’d never been here, elated as they planned every moment of the itinerary to ensure the perfect first Disney experience for her.

And now, Maura realizes, the ribbing is part of it. Because, as they told her countless times, Disney is only fun when you do it with family.

“Atta girl,” Frankie tells her after he gasps at her candor. He slaps his hands against her shoulders hard enough to jostle her, clearly pleased. “Ya learn quick.”