#clinical monitoring jobs

[mod2amaryllis]

im just gonna be petty ignore me

are you ever training someone and eventually it gets to a point where you just like

give up on them lol

[ccrpsorg]

Clinical Research Monitoring: A Guide to Clinical Monitoring

Clinical research monitoring is a vital part of clinical trials and it involves various activities to ensure the safety and accuracy of the data collected. It is important that the clinical trial is conducted in a way that meets regulatory standards, protects human studies participants, and minimizes potential risks to their health and well-being. Clinical trial monitoring can include activities such as auditing study sites, evaluating data for accuracy and completeness, review of protocols and amendments, reviewing case report forms (CRFs), identifying any deviations from the standard operating procedures (SOPs) or protocols, managing corrective action plans (CAPs), following up on safety reports, tracking progress against enrollment goals and much more. Apart from evaluating data quality, clinical research monitoring also ensures compliance with all regulatory standards like GCP (Good Clinical Practices) ICH (International Conference on Harmonization), FDA regulations and local laws. In addition to this ongoing monitoring throughout a study's duration, there may be audits conducted by sponsors or regulatory authorities at any time during or after completion of a clinical trial. All these efforts are dedicated towards ensuring that the results obtained from a clinical trial are accurate, reliable and applicable for use in making medical decisions.

Steps to Clinical Monitoring

1. Establish an Effective Monitoring Plan: Ensure that the plan is comprehensive and contains all applicable elements, such as the types of monitoring activities to be conducted, frequency of monitoring visits, data collection methods, and specific criteria for acceptable performance.

2. Develop Appropriate Documentation: Design protocol-specific monitoring tools and forms to document information from site visits including source documents, data collection instruments, case report forms (CRF). In addition, develop a Monitoring Log or Tracking System which will enable better accountability for study activities.

3. Execute Monitors’ Visits: Depending on the complexity of the trial and regulatory requirements, conduct pre-study qualification visits (PSQV), pre-initiation visits (PIV), initiation visits (IVs), periodic monitoring visits (PMV) and close out visits (COV). During each visit, ensure that good clinical practice is followed at all times by reviewing source documents and data collection instruments. Review patient enrollment logs to ensure accuracy and record any discrepancies in the visit report.

4. Report Findings: Generate detailed yet concise reports per each monitor's visit with clear recommendations for corrective actions if required; provide professional feedback to investigators regarding their performance; identify any areas of noncompliance with protocol requirements or applicable regulations; recommend training or educational sessions when appropriate; track all follow up activities related to corrective actions taken in response to findings from monitors' visits; ensure that essential documentation is complete before closing out a particular study site.

5. Quality Assurance: Validate accuracy of tracking systems used by monitors during their visits; assess risk associated with various deficiencies identified during monitoring process; carry out periodic internal audits/assessments to ensure compliance with established SOPs/guidelines related to clinical research monitoring activities; take preventive measures based on audit/assessment results in order to strengthen internal quality system processes.

Types of Clinical Trial Monitoring

1. Types of Clinical Research Monitoring: Clinical research monitoring is the process to assess the quality and integrity of clinical trial data and ensure compliance with applicable regulatory requirements. It can be done through three primary methods: onsite monitoring, centralized or remote monitoring, and risk-based approaches.

2. Onsite Monitoring: Onsite monitoring is considered the "gold standard" for clinical research monitoring, as it requires the presence of a monitor at a study site during the entire duration of a trial. The monitor will typically review source documentation such as patient records, lab results, and investigational product dispensing logs to assess accuracy and conformance with study protocols and good clinical practices (GCP). The monitor also interviews staff members responsible for conducting the trial to verify that procedures are being followed properly.

3. Centralized or Remote Monitoring in Clinical Trials: Centralized or remote monitoring enables sponsors to conduct clinical research monitoring without needing to send someone onsite to each study location. This is accomplished by using technology such as web portals, video conferencing, and virtual meetings that allow monitors to remotely review data from various sites simultaneously and quickly flag any issues that arise. Additionally, centralized/remote monitoring allows sponsors to be more proactive in identifying potential risks associated with a trial prior to sending monitors onsite for an assessment.

4. Risk-Based Approaches: Risk-based approaches use data analytics tools such as descriptive statistics and predictive algorithms to identify potential trends or outliers in clinical trial data that may represent heightened risk of noncompliance with GCPs or other regulations. By leveraging technology, these approaches can help sponsors identify issues earlier in the course of a trial so they can take corrective action before something goes wrong.

5. Benefits of Clinical Research Monitoring: Utilizing effective clinical research monitoring strategies helps ensure that trials are conducted ethically, safely, correctly according to protocol standards, within timelines agreed upon with regulatory authorities, and within budget constraints set out by sponsors/CROs/investigators/other stakeholders involved in a study’s execution.. Clinical research monitors act as an independent third party who are able to provide objective insight into how studies are being conducted across multiple sites which helps minimize errors due to bias from investigators or other personnel who may have vested interests in outcomes associated with their studies.. In addition, effective clinical research monitoring helps ensure patient safety by providing oversight about how drugs or medical devices used in trials are administered as well as ensuring patient confidentiality is maintained throughout the course of a study.. Lastly, robust clinical research monitoring protocols help reduce costs associated with delays caused by errors made during trials which can add up significantly over time if not avoided through proper oversight methods both pre-study start up until closeout occurs after all enrolled patients have completed their participation in a given trial

Clinical Research Monitoring Guide

1. Understand the Basics of Clinical Research Monitoring: Clinical research monitoring is a key part of the clinical research process, ensuring the safety and accuracy of results. It involves periodically assessing study sites to confirm that data is being collected properly, according to ethical and legal requirements, as per Good Clinical Practice (GCP) guidelines.

2. Know What Types of Studies are Monitored: Clinical research monitoring can be used for a variety of studies, including clinical trials, observational studies, epidemiologic studies, and public health surveys. It is important to know what type of study you are monitoring in order to ensure that the appropriate procedures are followed.

3. Understand How to Monitor a Study Site: The primary goal of clinical research monitoring is to confirm that the protocol and informed consent form have been followed properly at each site. This requires a thorough review of all relevant documents such as case report forms (CRFs), source documentation (e.g., physician notes), internal audit reports (audit trails), and external quality assurance reports. Additionally, it involves evaluating compliance with GCP guidelines during study visits or remote reviews, as well as conducting interviews with staff members to assess how they are handling data collection and reporting processes.

4. Become Familiar With Regulatory Requirements: In addition to GCP guidelines, there may be applicable regulations from local governments or other institutions that must be adhered to when conducting clinical research monitoring activities. Understanding these regulations is essential for ensuring compliance with applicable laws and regulations related to clinical research activities.

5. Develop an Effective Monitoring Plan: An effective monitoring plan should include a detailed timeline for visiting sites, information about any specific areas where focused attention is required (e.g., enrolling/randomizing patients or managing adverse events), and plans for auditing/reviewing data generated by the study site(s). Additionally, it should incorporate measures for controlling risk associated with data collection processes so that issues can be identified early on in the study process before they become problematic later on down the line.

Clinical Research Monitor Job

The job of a Clinical Research Monitor is to ensure that clinical trials are conducted ethically, safely and in compliance with established standards. The primary responsibility of the monitor is to protect the rights, safety and well-being of the human subjects enrolled in the trial. Duties typically include developing protocols for clinical studies; coordinating study start up activities; conducting site visits; monitoring data for timeliness, accuracy and completeness; auditing files for regulatory compliance; managing investigator queries/issues; preparing visit reports; reviewing update protocols related to study operations; resolving issues raised through audit reports or other sources; providing technical guidance to sites regarding protocol implementation or study conduct; and escalating complex issues or potential risks as needed.

Clinical Research Monitor Salary

Salaries for this position tend to vary depending on education level, experience and geographical location but can range from $60,000 per year for entry level positions up to around $90,000 per year for more experienced professionals. In addition to salary many employers also offer benefits such as paid vacation days, health insurance plans and retirement packages.

Resources for Clinical Research Monitoring

1. National Institutes of Health (NIH): Clinical Research Monitoring

This link provides information on NIH's guidelines for monitoring clinical research, which include topics such as the roles and responsibilities of the investigator, data safety monitoring boards, and protocols for reporting unanticipated problems and adverse events.

2. National Institutes of Health (NIH): Guide to Clinical Research Monitoring

This comprehensive guide walks readers through all aspects of clinical research monitoring, including topics such as study design, randomization strategies, regulatory compliance requirements, data management, monitoring plans and reports, quality improvement initiatives, and safety assessments.

3. US Food and Drug Administration (FDA): Guidelines for Clinical Trials Monitoring

This resource from the FDA outlines the importance of effective monitoring in clinical trials and provides an overview of the different roles within a clinical trial as well as details about essential elements for implementation of an effective monitoring strategy such as risk assessments and adverse event tracking.

4. International Conference on Harmonization of Technical Requirements for Registration of Pharmaceuticals for Human Use (ICH)

ICH has developed standards that provide a set of harmonized technical requirements for clinical trials conducted across countries in the European Union (EU), Japan, and US with an emphasis on quality assurance and safety monitoring during trials.

5. Association of Clinical Research Professionals (ACRP)

ACRP's guidelines provide best practice recommendations for conducting clinical research studies in accordance with applicable regulations and standards to ensure patient safety monitoring during studies as well as data integrity throughout the process from start to finish.

6. Pharmaceutical Research & Manufacturers of America (PhRMA)

The PhRMA guidelines provide an overview of expectations around clinical research activities with respect to ethics, data integrity, safety reporting, resource allocation and more. It defines roles and responsibilities of all those involved in overseeing a clinical trial such as a Clinical Research Monitor or CRA who has primary responsibility for ensuring that the protocol is implemented correctly throughout a study’s duration

Clinical Research Monitoring Review

1. What is the main purpose of clinical research monitoring?

A) To ensure that a research study is conducted in accordance with applicable regulations and ethical standards

B) To ensure that data collected during a research study is accurate and reliable

C) To evaluate the safety of participants enrolled in a research trial

D) To oversee the financial management of a research project

Answer: A) To ensure that a research study is conducted in accordance with applicable regulations and ethical standards. Clinical Research Monitors are responsible for ensuring compliance with Good Clinical Practice guidelines, protecting participant privacy, verifying data accuracy, and evaluating protocol deviations. In addition, they may also be involved in reviewing participant eligibility requirements, conducting site assessments, providing training to investigators and staff on proper study procedures, as well as monitoring progress towards completion of all requirements of the study.

2. What type of individuals typically serve as clinical research monitors?

A) Physicians

B) Nurses

C) Regulatory specialists

D) All of the above

Answer: D) All of the above. Clinical Research Monitors can come from various backgrounds such as medical doctors (MDs), nurses (RNs), pharmacists (RPhs), regulatory specialists (e.g., Regulatory Affairs Professionals or Paralegals), or biostatisticians/data analysts who have experience in clinical trials and understand local regulations related to human subject protection. Each monitor has specific job duties depending on their education and experience, such as assessing compliance with regulatory guidance or analyzing data sets for accuracy, completeness, integrity, or validity.

3. What kind of activities do clinical research monitors need to perform?

A) Protocol reviews or verifications

B) Ensuring appropriate documentation completion

C) Site visits to observe investigator conduct

D )All of the above

Answer: D )All of the above. Clinical Research Monitors need to perform several activities including protocol reviews or verifications; ensuring appropriate documentation completion; site visits to observe investigator conduct; liaising between sponsors and sites; assisting with resolving issues associated with adverse events; reviewing case report forms for completeness, accuracy, consistency and correctness; evaluating subject safety throughout enrollment process;and writing reports detailing their findings at each visit.

4. What is one benefit gained from having an effective Clinical Research Monitor on-site? A) Reduced risk for legal liability stemming from negligence

B) Improved protocol adherence by investigators

C) Increased patient engagement during trial period

D )All of the above

Answer: D) All of the above . An effective Clinical Research Monitor encompasses several benefits such as reduced risk for legal liability stemming from negligence due to thorough oversight and accurate record keeping; improved protocol adherence by investigators through continued communication between sponsor representatives and researchers on-site regarding best practices; increased patient engagement during trial period due to more detailed explanations about potential risks/benefits offered by having monitor on-site ; and improved efficiency when dealing with complex protocols that require multiple levelsof oversight due to familiarity with protocol specifics which decreases time spent troubleshooting errors or unclear instructions..

5. How often should Clinical Research Monitors visit a particular site?

A) Weekly B) Biweekly C) Monthly D) Quarterly

Answer: C) Monthly . It is recommended that Clinical Research Monitors visit sites at least once per month in order to maintain active surveillance over ongoing studies at each location while also providing timely feedback regarding any issues discovered while on-site visits are taking place within a shorter timeframe if needed based upon changes made midstream or other unanticipated circumstances which might require immediate attention by sponsor personnel.

[smutoperator]

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The Breeding Clinic

Park Jihyo, Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader

Tags: breeding, creampie, titfucking, nurses, rough sex.

Word count: 5961.

Day 1

The last few hours hadn't been the best for Dr. Park Jihyo. Attracted by the alternative of a stable job beyond her already long idol career, she had decided to get a job at a medical clinic in the days she wasn't performing in Twice. However, the first few days of the job had been exhausting for her, leaving Jihyo in a state of despair. As the last patient entered the room, he found Jihyo with her head down, having enough of such a job.

"Hi, I'm here to see a doctor." You entered Jihyo's room. She wasn't much in the mood for another patient this late in the day, having even forgotten she still had someone waiting for an appointment. In spite of that, Jihyo kept it professional, putting her head up as you talked to her, asking for your name to see if that was indeed the case, and then confirming you were indeed scheduled for an appointment. "Sit down there; I'll be back soon with the procedures." Jihyo stared at you, dirty thoughts already in her mind as she looked for. Her previous patients were all insufferable dudes with little man syndrome, but you look different. She kept looking at your sexy stature and plotting what she was about to do.

Jihyo put her uniform in a position where you could clearly see her massive tits popping out before exiting her room. You took the magazines she had put in the waiting room to market her "TT Clinic", almost wondering if this wasn't a scam. The magazine had nothing regarding medical procedures, and it was filled with sexy pictures of two idols: Jihyo and Kwon Eunbi, who was apparently the other doctor in the clinic. You keep looking at the magazines and seeing the same thing before the sound of high heels coming out of Jihyo's room interrupts you.

"Come to my room." She says. You look shocked as Jihyo is wearing those sexy nurse costumes you'd usually see at a party but not at a clinic. A perfect cleavage to showcase her boobs, a red thong, and a pair of gathers connect her nurse outfit to her pantyhose. You obliged, sitting in her medical chair as Jihyo picked up her instruments, ready to examine you. "So, what issues do we have here?".

"I injured my hand; I don't even know how to tell because you'd feel so embarrassed knowing the reason", you tell her. "It's fine; you don't need to tell me; just disclose the injury. Now we're going to follow some standard procedures. Can you please take your shirt off?", Jihyo asked. "Alright", you say as you take it off. Jihyo doesn't even look at your hands, checking instead your heart rate, her breasts bumping against your chest, making you feel a little embarrassed, leading you to ask, "What kind of exam is this?"

"Just relax, baby; trust your doctor", Jihyo replies as she puts her hands under your pants, also taking them off while placing her boobs against your face. Things start taking a wild turn as she wraps her blood pressure monitor around your cock. "Looks too flaccid; let me do something to make it go up", she says, licking the tip of your wrapped cock, as you're only able to groan as her tongue keeps making some naughty circular moves around your tip.

"Ahhhhh", you let out your first loud moan as Jihyo wrapped her mouth around the tip of your shaft, making her smile as you screamed. She pumps the monitor, clenching it around your cock as she keeps sucking it. It turns out she knows how to pump someone's blood pressure up as you start to get hard and your penis veiny at each pump and licking Jihyo gives you. "How about that treatment, baby?", Jihyo asks with a big smile on her face, putting the monitor down as she just turned your cock from a flaccid instrument into a throbbing monster. "Hard as rock, would you mind if I sat down on it?", Jihyo asks.

"Sit down? I-I-I", you stutter as Jihyo starts taking her red panties off, her high heels shaking the floor as she walks in your direction, climbing on top of your body as she lines up your big cock against her tight wet entrance. For a second, you forget your injured hand and try to line it up yourself, but she quickly takes control, grabbing your pole with her left hand and sticking it inside her pussy, moaning for the first time on that exasperating day. She wastes no time, taking your full length in one go. "Ohhhh shit" you exclaim as her tight pussy wraps around your cock.

"Much tighter than that pumper, right, baby?" Jihyo brags as she starts bouncing up and down your cock, taking a pair of inclined bounces before riding you straight down. The little air coming out of her super tight vagina makes it queef, as you hold yourself not to cum after not even a minute inside her. You gave her left cheeks a spank, but Jihyo remains unfazed. "Spank me, baby", she says, as it only makes her bounce faster and go all the way up before slamming straight down your cock. Jihyo sets both feet in the chair as she moves faster every time she slams her cheeks down your hips.

You grab Jihyo's ass, but truly, she's the only one setting the pace; her sexy moans make you go even crazier. Jihyo uses your cock like a training toy, her cheeks clapping against your hips as she tests multiple bouncing motions against your dick. She puts her right leg on the floor with her left leg still holding by the edge of the chair, making your cock hit different spots in her womb. "So how do you like mommy Jihyo's treatment, baby?" she asks. "Oh, yes, it's so good", you reply as you pant at every bounce. "Faster, please" you say as you spank her ass again, and Jihyo grants your wish, riding you in a way that feels like your cock is about to snap in half. "Hold on, baby", you can't resist, and you start thursting upwards into her pussy, making Jihyo release her loudest moans yet. "Oh baby yes baby" she says in a cute voice before taking back control and slamming back down. Her tits bounce very close to your face, but Jihyo makes sure to keep them out of your range.

She then pulls out after a long ride and gives your prick a deep sucking. You can't resist her warm mouth, thrusting hard upwards and fucking it the way you wanted to plow her pussy. Jihyo then gives you a long deepthroat before she gags on your massive cock. You grab her by the hair and make her go down on you again all the way into your balls. But Jihyo is a tough fighter and starts stroking and sucking you like nothing happened. As she licks your balls, you give her tits a little pinch, making her bite your testicles in reaction. "Give me that dirty face", you answer back as you give her an even harder facefuck than the first one.

After this oral session, you get up the chair, holding Jihyo's hands and putting her on her knees against the chair, your hands going straight into her wet cunt. Then you give a pair of spankings to her ass. "Bad doctor, this is what you deserve", you tell her. Your tongue then circles around Jihyo's anus, making her squirt for the first time as you lick her butthole clean. Next, you stick a pair of fingers back in her pussy and start fucking her with them. "You like them better than my cock, don't you?", to which Jihyo only answers with louder moans. "Fuck that pussy and eat that ass", she demands, to which you answer with even more aggressive fingering and tonguing.

You can't resist your urge anymore, sliding your cock back inside her warm hole with her wet folds, inviting you into that chair. You put your fingers in her mouth to shut her up as she tastes her nectar straight from her pussy. The loose buttons of Jihyo's nurse outfit couldn't hold anymore, freeing her tits to bounce as you pounded her relentlessly. You firmly groped her melons as you keep pumping in and out of Jihyo. "Fuck that pussy hard" she says as her voice starts to crack. You started choking her as well, leading to her clenching her tight fuckhole even harder around your cock. "AHHHHHHHH. AHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH" it was all she could scream as you kept stabbing her insides.

"Give it to me, please", the dominant Jihyo had given away to a begging one as you kept increasing the pace. "Turn around", you said as Jihyo could only give muffled noises out of her mouth, going back to suck your cock without even needing to use her hands, before caving in for another round of you pounding her messy face as tears flew out of her eyes. "Put those tits up for me to see", you demanded as Jihyo grabbed her saggy milkers as you kept destroying her throat, eventually making her gag again as you stuck your sword fully inside, with even your balls being engulfed by her needy mouth. You kept slapping your cock on Jihyo's face while her mouth heated up your testicles.

More sloppy blowjobs, deepthroats, and facefucks followed, but you had your eyes on a bigger prize. Noticing how they freely bounced as you fucked Jihyo's face, you turned your eyes to her huge honkers. "Ahhh yeah, put those tits out" you said as you finished throating her, sliding your cock between her soft milkers. Jihyo spits on the top of her tits to let you slide easier into her fun bags, moaning as you split her boobs in half with your cock. Jihyo's iconic tits are your playground now, as she moans like a whore and licks the tip of your penis every time it's within her range. Her hands on top of your shaft, her melons squeezing and gripping it, her mouth sucking it. Everything is an invitation for you to cum.

But Jihyo isn't done. "Give me that cock again", she asks, as you sit on the chair for another ride, this time in reverse. Jihyo's pink, unshaved pussy now engulfs your cock fully. Her tits bounce like pinballs, but you can't see them, leading her to tease you. She rocks her hips, grinding and circling around your shaft, all that while moaning in a manner that sounds like baby noises. You hold her waist as she fingers her pussy, the chair making loud noises as she presses your body against it harder at every bounce. You grab her tits as she stops the bounce to drink her juices straight out of your cock.

Jihyo grunts as you dunk her face against your shaft, then sucks it compulsively, getting it ready for fun. Her hands stroke it with no mercy, and her mouth throats it deep into your balls. Quickly, she's back on top, where she belongs, as you direct your cock using your injured hand straight inside her warm vagina. Jihyo spreads her legs wide open, allowing you to pump deep into her cervix. She moans as she's about to be sent to the heavens. Her pussycat squirts as your balls hit her clit. "OHHHHH FUCKK YESSS, KEEP GOING!" she yells. "OH MY GOD, DON'T STOP", she grunts as you pump her like a piston and grab both her big tits. "Ah ah ah ah ah oh shit", she says as she bites her teeth. "I love the way you fuck me", she says.

But even at the roughest moments, Jihyo never loses her composure, jumping out of your cock like nothing happened, sitting on the chair and spreading her delicious pussy out for you to eat it out, enjoying as your mouth licked her folds. "Oh yeah, baby, lick that clit" she mandated as you kept sucking her insiders while she grabbed her own tits. She puts her right foot in your neck and her right rand in your head, guiding you towards paradise, but you decided to surprise her, sticking two fingers inside. "Oh yes, fuck that pussy", she moaned. You grope her right boob and leave its nipples close for her to lick them as her pussy gets wetter. Jihyo starts shaking with both your mouth and fingers, now stimulating her pussy, her head drops down, and she gets ready to orgasm, coating your mouth with juices just as you grab her tits again.

You put Jihyo upside down in the chair, cock in her mouth, hand in her tits. As you keep mating against Jihyo's filthy mouth, you move upwards and start fingering her clit. "Don't speak, bitch", you tell her as you keep stimulating her. "Stick that tongue out", you also say as she licks your shaft inside her mouth, only letting it out for her to lick your balls. "Play with that pussy", you say as you go back to honking her tits, your cock still in her face. "Wanna do that to my pussy?", Jihyo asks just as you pull out. You grab her by the waist and put her back in the chair on her knees, letting her tits freely bounce.

The pounding continues for a few minutes until she switches positions. Jihyo lies her back against the chair and spreads her pussy wide open for one final round. "I want you to get me pregnant and make those tiddies grow", she tells you. You start pounding her in missionary, your hands grabbing her just under her boobs before you move up, using her knockers as a grip as you pump in and out of her pussy. "Fuck it, yes, harder", she says as you then grab her neck with your right hand and place your left hand on her soon-to-be pregnant belly. You then start going full speed, your hands all over Jihyo's right side, grabbing both her right leg and tit, before your left hand moves into her left tit and gropes it as you get closer to cumming. Her pussy clenches waiting for that warm load. Jihyo pants loudly, making you take your left hand out of her tits and straight into her mouth. You don't want to hear what her slutty mouth has to say, hyper-focused on destroying her tight pussy.

You eventually decide it's futile, just letting that bitch scream. You put her on a mating press, both hands on her big tits. "Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah oh fuck yes" seems like all Jihyo can say now before she suddenly says, "I want you to fuck that pussy hard until you cum". You grip her boobs even harder, knowing you can't last for much longer. "Please, baby, cum in my pussy", she says with an angelic voice, your hands all over her chest and neck. "Fucking give me that cum. Fill that pussy up; give it to me", Jihyo keeps demanding. You manhandle her like a toy, which eventually leads to you giving in. "Ahhh ahhh ahhh" you groan as your semen flows inside her tight fuckhole.

"Oh fuck, oh shit", you scream as you quickly fill Jihyo up with such a strong load that when you pull out, you still ejaculate sperm into her creamy thighs, and cum quickly starts flowing out of her vagina. "Are you better now, baby?", Jihyo provokes. "A lot better, but my hand still hurts", you reply, ending the appointment.

Day 2

The night after wasn't the best. Jihyo had drained your energies so much that you could barely get yourself hard. Your hand still hurts, but since your medical appointment became a fucking appointment, nothing has changed. So, just like the night before you tried what led to your injury in the first place, jerk off to your endless supply of fancams. However, this time, things weren't working. After the real thing, it was difficult to get hard again. Well, except for one girl frenetically bouncing her tits at some water festival and getting herself wet.

Things got worse the following day; you woke up extremely sore, needing a long bath just to get things rolling. But things took a massive turn when you received an email: it was the bill from yesterday's appointment. The unaffordable cost made your head spin. You felt scammed, ready to go back to the clinic and have a talk with Jihyo. As you arrived, there was no Jihyo to greet you, but another short girl with big tits and a ridiculous nurse outfit. "Hi", she said. You felt almost offended. "What do you mean by hi? What is this?", You showed the medical bill to the girl.

It turns out Dr. Kwon Eunbi's plan worked just as she intended it to. Finding out what you did to Jihyo yesterday made her very jealous and horny. But she needed to find a way to bring you back. Eunbi wasted no time, sending you the medical bill as soon as she set foot in the clinic. You, of course, didn't know anything about this at all. But her goal was met with ease; she knew how mad people can go over money. "So what do you want?", Eunbi asked.

"Jihyo, where is she?", you asked. "Not her shift today; you'll have to wait until tomorrow", Eunbi replied. "What if I don't want to wait until tomorrow?", you said back. "There is no way; she's at another job today and won't come", Eunbi lied. As a matter of fact, she could call Jihyo from her apartment at any moment, but she wasn't going to share with her what she could have for herself. Meanwhile, your blood was boiling. "Fuck!" you screamed. "No way you can call that bitch until tomorrow? What kind of scam do you two run here?", you screamed really mad, but also keeping a look at Eunbi's big tits.

"Stay for today, and you'll find out", Eunbi laughed. Her outfit was even skimpier than Jihyo's, showing off her belly and with just a nurse top covering her tits. Her red panties were just like her big-tit co-worker's. Eunbi got back to her room but left the door open, remaining in your sight. As she turned back to close the curtains, you could see her bare back, her ass in undies, and even a sideboob. Eunbi then turned around and grabbed her tits, teasing you from afar.

"What the hell is this?", you asked, coming towards her room. "You two are not real doctors, just a bunch of scammers", you said. "And who are you to tell us that? I know you liked being scammed by that other big boob bitch that works here, didn't you? She told me everything", Eunbi stood her ground. You grab Eunbi by her arm, growing madder at her. "I'm gonna dennounce you both. Running a brothel disguised as a medical clinic, you two are disgusting", you said. "Surely you didn't find it disgusting when you were fucking the shit out of her baby boy", Eunbi punched back.

"Alright then. Let's find out". You picked your credit card out of your wallet and paid the so-called unafforable medical bill Eunbi had sent you. "So after this money I paid you, be honest: is this a medical clinic or a brothel?", you asked. "It's whatever you want to be, baby boy", Eunbi replied. "Now you're mine too, bitch", you told Eunbi. "Yes, I am", she confirmed, jumping on you as both of you started kissing each other.

Eunbi headed to a different room. She knew that one had been used by Jihyo yesterday, and it still smelled like sex. But she didn't want to fuck while sensing her co-worker's smell. She couldn't stop kissing you; it was really her thing. And you couldn't stop looking at her tits, ready to burst out of that top; it was really your thing. Just like Jihyo, Eunbi was quite strong, as despite her light frame, she managed to pin you against the window. She quickly started working around your pelvic area, putting her hands on your still clothed but already hard cock. "Let's see if you can fuck me better than that bitch", she said.

You answered her moves back, grabbing Eunbi's ass and giving soft kisses on her neck. It wasn't long before you started sucking her right tit, wondering how her milky melons tasted. Yesterday you were too afraid to do that to Jihyo, but today you went after Eunbi's massive milkers from the start. She kept her hands on your cock, exclaiming "Oh you're so hard" as you kept grabbing her boobs. Eunbi couldn't resist for long, dropping to the floor and licking it with your pants still on. She quickly tossed them out, grabbing them with her left hand while wearing her nurse gloves, stroking them, and sucking them right from the get-go.

"Oh my God", it was your first reaction as she finished her first sucking, staring at your massive shaft with lustful eyes. "It's so much better than the old and twinky cocks I usually suck here", she tells you before giving you the first deepthroat of the day and a few more hard and fast strokes, her tits already fully out. Eunbi then added some spit to her intense stroking as she kept diving her mouth in and out of your prick. If Jihyo moans were on the cutesy side, Eunbi's were more like the ones of a veteran pornstar.

It wasn't for long before you unleashed the rage she had made you feel. The first victim was, of course, her mouth. As Eunbi was giving you a deepthroating, you grabbed her by the hair and started fucking her face. Her sexy moans after you pulled out turned you on even further. Eunbi put her tongue out, licking the tip of your penis as you swung it close to her slutty face. Of course you took full advantage, letting her lick your whole cock from balls to tip while also slapping it against her face.

"Use me", she demanded. Hearing those words only increased your desire to fuck the shit out of that bitch as you humped your cock against her face. Yesterday you were too nice to Jihyo, but today you'd be the one taking control and turning Eunbi into your sex object. You inserted your cock back in Eunbi's throat, making her gag. She moaned every time you pulled it out, which drove you insane. You pushed Eunbi close to the bed and slammed your hips against her chin, jerking yourself off as she licked your balls like a maniac. "God you're so fucking slutty!" you exclaimed, grabbing her neck and spitting in her mouth.

You got on her knees and went straight up into fucking her tits, "aaaahhhh. aahhhh, ahhhhhh" out of breath moans coming out of her mouth. You push her tits against each other, holding your shaft with just your thumb as you kiss her. "Yes, baby, slide that cock under those fucking tits", she said, bobbing her head to take your penis head in her mouth. "Spit on it, spit on it, whore", you demanded, fucking her even harder and even using the straps of her fallen bra as a support. Eunbi put her tongue out as your cock kept meeting her needy mouth, sucking it deep as soon as you paused a bit.

"Oh God damn it," you reacted, pushing Eunbi's head against your crotch, making her engulf your sword balls deep again. Out of breath, she lied only the top of her back in the bed as you tried ripping her nurse outfit. It turns out it was easier just pulling her panties to the side and sliding inside her tight mommy pussy. "Aaaaah aaaaahh aaaaah", Eunbi moaned as your cock went between her legs. She attempted to start riding, but you were having none of it, putting her back against the bed and thrusting your hips against her hot body, making her tits bounce from the start.

You firmly groped Eunbi's tits, her moans getting louder at each thrust. You spanked her tits before grabbing her by the waist and sticking your thumb on her belly button. "OH, YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEEP INSIDE ME, DAMN IT", she screamed. Her pussy was on fire as each thurst you gave her made Eunbi twist harder and harder. Eunbi was almost falling on her knees; she wasn't expecting such a rough treatment and quickly started losing the strength she had once shown. You grabbed her by the neck, choking her like she was just a sex doll.

It wasn't long until you carried Eunbi, taking advantage of her weakness, your cock still inside her hole. She screamed as you lifted her off the ground and started carryfucking her, Eunbi's tits bouncing right at your face for you to suck. She felt truly scared; even though she had been fucked in that position multiple times, you had put her completely at your mercy. "Oh my God", she screamed as she spanked her own ass. "Yes, bitch, spank yourself like the useless whore you are", you told her. "Fuck!" Eunbi yelled as she spanked her ass again, leading to your cock briefly pulling out of her hole.

"Put that cock back in, put that shit in", you ordered, punishing her almost immediately. Just as Eunbi tried to make up for her little slip by trying to bounce on your cock, you pulled out of her and slammed her body back first against the bed, while also yanking your pants off. "Oh, baby, please give it to me", Eunbi begged, bobbing her head against your cock while upside down. You kept testing her limits, fingering her pussy while she throated your cock using none of her hands, until finally hitting the right spot in her clit that made her moan and pull it out of her mouth. But she quickly recovered and kept sucking, making you put even more pressure and work your magic inside her folds until you finally turned her into a moaning machine.

"Oh God", she said in the middle of many moans. But you didn't care. "Put that tongue in my balls", you immediately asked from her as she also jerked you off with her glove around your shaft. All your fingers except your thumb were now fucking her pussy, making Eunbi moan with your balls in her mouth. "That fucking pussy is so damn wet", you exclaimed before moving to her tits, groping them hard once more, and sitting on top of Eunbi for another round of titfucking, even better now with her tonguing your asshole.

After a while, you flipped Eunbi back, ripping her nurse outfit for good and going back to work. Her cunt was even wetter now. Eunbi was caught off guard by the speed at which you were plowing her, moaning like a submissive toy. You spat on her vagina and slapped your cock against her clit, before going back in for another extreme pounding, rattling the bed. "Oh God", Eunbi screamed again as you started fingering her while working her insides. Her legs started to tremble, giving you even more room to destroy her unchallenged as her left leg went up in the air. "You're so fucking deep, I'm gonna cum", Eunbi announced as you fingered her hard, making her legs shake even harder.

"There you go, cum for me, bitch", you said as you noticed Eunbi shaking, her legs closing, and her screaming as you kept pounding her while she reached intense orgasms. "Holy shit", you said as her insides closed around your cock, but you kept fucking her relentlessly, taking advantage of a now weaker than ever Eunbi. She kissed you, trying to cling to anything as her fuckhole kept being obliterated. She could barely speak properly, saying a bunch of words you interpreted as "keep sticking that cock deep inside me." After a while, all she could do was beg. "Please, please, please", she kept screaming.

You dropped Eunbi to the ground, letting her taste her juices straight from your cock. "Good girl", you laughed, putting a stop to it as she attempted to suck it deep by fucking her face once more. Eunbi was so weak, you managed to grab her by the nipples and pinch her back against the wall. She put her right leg on the window as you fucked her from behind, spanking her ass in the process. More grunting noises came from her mouth as you continued the pounding and spanking. "You're a fucking animal, fucking me so good", she said. Hearing it gave you further incentive to fuck her even harder, turning her ass cheeks redder at each spanking. "I'm that fucking bitch", Eunbi kept saying.

Indeed, by that point, Eunbi was your bitch, as she started shaking once more. Sensing it, you fingered her folds again, seeking for that second orgasm in just a short period of time. Eunbi lost her balance, gabbing your cock with her left hand as it landed right on her face. "Do you want it, bitch?", you asked her. "Yes, put it on my tongue", Eunbi said, almost losing her voice. She licked your tip before you stuck it deep in her throat once more, grabbing her by the neck as soon as she gagged. You lied on the bed with Eunbi on top of you. She finally got herself fully naked as you inserted your cock back into her pussy. Her big tits were looking amazing.

You gave no time for Eunbi to adjust, keeping control even with her on top, grabbing both her boobs while thursting hard inside her pussy. Both your hands went down to finger her clit as you made the bed scream. "That's for you, my tight pussy, that's for you, baby", she said, almost out of breath as you kept destroying her babyhole. "I love watching that dick split me up", Eunbi said as you spread her clit wide open, exerting extreme stimulation on her sensitive spots. You slapped her clit as she moaned louder, before rocking her hips and pounding her insanely, then gripping her boobs once more. Eunbi had barely any force to do anything, spitting on her own pussy which prompted you to call her a nasty girl. "So good; I'm a dirty fuckwhore", she said.

You put her body close to yours, kissing her while your right hand held her clit. "I'm a fucking whore, I'm a fucking whore, for you", she repeated as your mouth sucked her neck and right boob. "There you go, come on, come on, bitch", you said as Eunbi once again was coming close, shaking her legs once again. Eunbi was now completely dominated, as you grabbed her tits hard and kept plowing her, her head almost falling out of the bed. "Take me, take me, take me", she demanded as you pumped her hard. All she could do was moan. Her legs kept shaking as you fingered her once more, her body twitching as she came onto your fingers. As she released her juices, you spanked her juices and quickly moved back to her tits, stimulating her at both the top and bottom of her body.

"That's my whore, that's my whore", you exclaimed as you rocked the bed, putting your right hand in her mouth to silence her moans. Eunbi started fingering herself as you kept pounding her, finally reaching full climax and rocking her hips against your cock. You asked her to pull it out so she could taste it. Eunbi savored it as if she were a kid eating ice cream, but she wanted more, quickly jumping on top of you and lining your shaft back against her entrance. "Put it in", you demanded, hugging Eunbi as soon as she was deep inside you. Unlike Jihyo, you knew she didn't have the strength for a ride after such a rough pounding, meaning all you got was another chance to destroy her pussy unchalleged.

Of course you took it, starting very slowly and giving her ass some grabbing and spanking. Eunbi was crying at this point; her moans were now followed by tears flowing out of her eyes. "Daddy, daddy", finally hearing those words from Eunbi's mouth made you flip a switch, turning you more animalesque than ever as you switched quickly from slow thursts to another hard plowing, wrapping her body around your arms. "AH AH AH. FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME", Eunbi screamed, trying to hold herself to the bed's headboard and to the wall as you sucked her tits. "DADDY!" she screamed again and started riding you, trying to show she wasn't being utterly dominated, her bounces were deep and slow, almost like she was exerting all the will inside her to execute them.

That didn't last long, as you quickly got back to your normal route, plowing Eunbi once more. You unwrapped her from your arms, letting her body stay upright, reaching now to grab her tits. Eunbi moaned some uninteligible noise, which you heard as "FUCK MY PUSSY", You obliged and kept going, pushing her ass down against your pelvis, then you You quickly take Eunbi in your hands, grabbing her waist with ease, and carry fuck her once more, more violently than ever. You then pull out of her, slapping her face as you put the bed's pillow on the floor, pushing her head towards it. An upside-down Eunbi then screams, "GET ME PREGNANT NOW.".

That was what you wanted to hear. The thought of impregnating two titcows on back-to-back days gets you extremely turned on. You put Eunbi in a piledriver position, grunting as you get back inside her. Eunbi's tits and her slutty moaning mouth upside down make you get even more maniac. "PUT THAT ASS UP, I WANT THAT CUM FLOWING STRAIGHT TO YOUR FUCKING WOMB", you yell at Eunbi as you pull out to let her adjust before going back in again, this time not even looking at her, treating her as if you were fucking your personal fleshlight. "Cum in my little fuckhole", Eunbi demands, to which you answer by spanking her ass. You start groaning, ready to burst at any moment. "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO DEEP", she screams. "Spread that pussy for me, bitch", you scream. As Eunbi now can only moan, she closes her eyes, getting ready for you to fill her womb with your thick load. "Give me that fucking cum", she says right as your cock pumps out that white milk straight into her womb. You pull out but have so much to give; some of it bursts right after and hits her tits.

"You drained me good, you fucking bitch", you tell her. "That's amazing", Eunbi says as she cleans your cock, satisfied that she won't have Jihyo as the only one bragging about the wonders of your cock. "Exactly what I needed", you say as you walk out of the room after two days of putting up an exhilarating breeding clinic for these two titcows. Eunbi fainted on the floor as you put your clothes back on and left. As you went back home, you deleted all your fancams from your drive, knowing you'd never be able to replicate the experiences. In your drive, only two sets survived: Jihyo in a bikini and Eunbi bouncing on that waterbomb festival. As if you ever missed them, you could take a look at those tits and remember these special times.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Mother Jones:

When a man with painful cystic acne came to dermatologist Eva Rawlings Parker for help in a Nashville clinic, she couldn’t prescribe him doxycycline or minocycline, two medications she’d typically use to treat this condition. This is because the man was a roofer, says Parker, and these medications would have impacted his ability to tolerate heat. 

Parker’s patient was far from alone. Other common medications for physical health, like beta blockers, can impact people’s ability to handle heat. Many medications for mental health do, too.

Conventional wisdom tells people with conditions that make them unusually vulnerable to the sun, like the autoimmune disorder lupus, or are on medications that lead to heat sensitivity, to avoid staying outside when the sun is at its strongest.

But for the one-third of US workers who must spend regular time outdoors, that advice bursts into flames. For some, such as farmworkers, hours and hours of heat exposure, with minimal or no reprieve, are just part of the job. Increasing heat waves and more frequent wildfires point to the need to find real solutions for outdoor workers—and highlight how labor and climate change are intertwined. 

Edward Flores, faculty director of the Community and Labor Center at the University of California, Merced, specializes in the conditions of low-wage and immigrant workers in California. He says the need for heat safety policy reform is acute. “We know that workers have been dying,” Flores says, “because of chronic conditions that accumulate through heat stress over many years and decades that lead to shorter life spans.”

Parker, the dermatologist, is acutely aware of how heat can trigger or worsen skin problems. She is co-chair of the American Academy of Dermatology’s group on climate change and environmental issues, and was an author of a 2023 review on the ways climate change can contribute to dermatological issues, including triggering flares of conditions like hidradenitis suppurativa—which causes painful lumps deep in a person’s skin—and skin cancer.

Workers do have some legal rights to breaks and water, depending on the locale. California, Oregon, and Washington are the only states that mandate those breaks. And roughly half of crop farmworkers have no legal work authorization. That lack of legal status, and the threat of deportation, gives many workers reason to fear complaining about working conditions.

In July, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration proposed a new set of rules which would help protect more than 36 million workers from heat-related illness or death. The proposed OSHA rules would require employers to monitor their workers for heat exhaustion symptoms, provide adequate water and shade, designate break areas, and provide mandatory rest breaks, among other things. 

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twelve: threesome kink

>>> brain go brrrr! i can only write a stsg threesome i swear it's bad these days. i just love this dynamic so bad and am clinically addicted omfg i hope u all love it as bad as i do--it is officially the longest piece thus far

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!fem!reader x suguru geto >>> cw: mfm threesome, m/m interaction, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), spitroasting, reverse cowgirl, double penetration (same hole), overstimulation, hard dom!geto, pleasure dom!gojo, switch gojo, switch reader, squirting, creampie(s). >>> wc: 5.3k >>> event masterlist

he’s not sure when things changed. he’d always seen you in one light, he thought: his friend, his teammate, and a powerful sorceress that made the group a triple threat. you were easy to get along with and impressive to work alongside. you were also funny and had the same taste in music as him, which was a method of bonding during your early years of school. and sure, you were also insanely beautiful, but it was inappropriate for him to have a crush on his classmate. besides, yaga says it’s best not to intermingle with other sorcerers anyways. it would only complicate things, especially as you grow to be closer friends. so geto dated around to distance himself beyond missions and tried to to forget the butterflies your smile gave him for the sake of your group. with his luck, you were probably into satoru anyway.

he’s always been in love with you, he thinks, but enjoyed playing hard to get. unlike suguru, he didn’t shy away from spending time with you. he loved to follow you around campus with his arm hooked around your waist, all big grins and pick up lines that made you roll your eyes every time. he was able to play it off on his nature, claiming that annoying you was worth every extra second of his time. he was all too fond of your amazing skill and intellect, your immense beauty and body for days was only an added benefit. gojo made it a point to train with you exclusively, something that brought the two of you closer and allowed you to see the serious side of one of your best friends. he could never bring himself to make a real move. with his luck, you were probably into suguru anyway—like everyone else. 

this delicate balance continued through the rest of your years at jujutsu tech and into your young adult years. the strongest, the curse-eater, and the girl that captured both of their hearts–and connected theirs to each other. gojo was able to satiate himself on his little touches and glimpses of your flustered smiles, shamelessly jerking off at night to the daydreams he has of his precious little girl best friend bouncing on his cock and moaning his name. geto tries to delude himself into feeling like a protective older brother, making it his job to monitor your safety and suitors. but no matter how much he tries, his hand still finds his cock in the comfort of his own bed in the middle of the night, shamefully pleasuring himself to the idea of having your body rocking beneath him and his hand around your neck. 

everything gets worse—or better, depending on who you ask— when you all move in together. it was gojo’s idea, claiming his home was too big for just one singular man. so of course he would invite you to come live with him, he hoped to make you woman of the house at some point in the future anyway, so why not now? he extends the same invitation to his other best friend, only because he knows geto would kill him for taking you for himself. the men were close, closer than most friends in multiple ways, so it was no mystery that their shared crush on you eventually became common knowledge. neither of them minded the competition, seemingly convinced he would win your heart on his own before the other could do the same—or in the worst case scenario they would share you! (and whose idea do you think that was?) 

            but they had to up the ante. 

it started small, geto dropped all his flings, even earning a few comments from you about how lonely he must be with his lack of company these days. he always chuckles and give you that suave smile of his, purring out a it’s time i get serious with a wink. he offered to make dinner nightly, making sure the brunt of housework didn’t fall on you since you were already on laundry duty. he always gave you rather selfish relationship advice, making sure you knew how differently he would treat a woman. it wasn’t lost on you, nor were gojo’s efforts.

he encouraged you to take his card and go crazy, often accompanying you on shopping sprees for the house and making sure you leave with an armful of new clothes and whatever else your eyes lingered on too long. satoru showed you his serious side, keeping the house regularly dusted and the floors cleaned, insisting a family should clean up after themselves and not keep servants to make their lives more detached. he invested in your hobbies, letting you try to teach him how to knit, play video games, even trying to do a little book club with you—that unfortunately, suguru was better at, much to his disappointment. 

you weren’t dim, you could tell what was happening. you had your suspicions for a while, the two of them practically glued to your sides at all times nowadays—unless one of you was away on a mission, which happened far too often for their liking. you would be lying if you said their attention didn’t make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, the two were easily the strongest sorcerers the world had to offer if you didn’t take one of those spots for yourself. they were both undeniably gorgeous in their own ways—so how could you possibly choose? your forced obliviousness is the only thing keeping you three firmly planted in friendshipville. though, it’s been more than obvious that you haven’t been seeing anyone outside of them, thank god, and you’re getting antsy. you have to apply more pressure, figure out something that would push them over the edge. you had to keep them competing for you since you couldn’t pick one over the other on your own. aha, you’ve got it—it’s low, scheming even, but you’re growing desperate. you’d just have to dust off your best acting skills and sluttiest outfit. 

it was late that night. you knew the boys were still awake, able to hear their laughter from your room. with one final and steadying breath, you peeked into the living room. they were sitting together on the couch watching a movie that was forgotten about as soon as you walked in, the soft sound of your door closing behind drawing their attention. you were evil in your cropped tank that made it painfully clear that was the only thing covering your perky tits, and it didn’t stop there. you didn’t bother with shorts, a cute thong cupping your pussy and sitting along those glorious wide hips. they could die–the effect you have is clear immediately. suguru clutches a throw pillow over his lap, hoping to smoothly hide the throbbing erection just looking at you gave him, while satoru only makes his more obvious by spreading his legs—at least geto tried to respect you. their eyes are practically bulging from their heads, suguru’s lip was between his teeth meanwhile satoru’s curls into a smirk. 

“you guys are being so loud out here.” you bat your eyes innocently, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger as you let your gaze bounce between them. gojo slides his glasses off, a bit starstruck as he sets them aside and looks over to suguru, needing him to be on the same page. 

“sorry princess,” satoru pouts, patting the spot in between him and geto. “since you’re up…why don’t you hang out with us?” you note the greed swimming in those all-seeing eyes. you force some bashfulness. 

“oh–dressed like this?” you rotate your hips a little bit to further your point and suguru has to clench his jaw tight to not groan aloud. “i wouldn't wanna make you guys uncomfortable.” 

“you won’t.” suguru blurts out, tucking some of his overgrown bangs behind his ear. satoru nods his agreement. 

“yeah! you’re our girl, you could never make us uncomfortable.” the white headed one says, cunningly petting the cushion again. you smirk to yourself, giving them a faux-reluctant nod before striding to sit. your ass ripples as you step past suguru, and his dick throbs pathetically. as soon as your back touches the couch, satoru’s arm is around your waist to tug your upper half into a lean; then suguru puts a massive paw over your thigh, kneading and stroking the exposed skin gently. they’re both so close, the heavy feeling of their hands on your skin was intoxicating; you could hardly tell where one stopped and the other one began. their scents were so overbearing, suguru’s spicy cinnamon and bourbon contrasted the honeyed vanilla sweetness of satoru so perfectly it had you drunk and losing sight of your master plan before anything had even really happened. but don’t worry, they’ll take very good care of you. you’ve gotten the ball rolling, which is good enough, right? 

they pretend to keep their eyes on the tv, heads forward like they don’t notice what the other was doing. satoru’s hand starts to creep under the hemline of your tank top, sinewy fingers long enough to brush against the underside of your breast. you hum softly at the touch, only encouraging the lean man to do it again. suguru watches patiently, waiting for more of your approval. you burrow deeper in his side, pushing your chest out even further. he could practically giggle with excitement at your eagerness. suguru scoots closer, sliding his arm across your lower back to grab handfuls of your thick ass free to fondle thanks to your slutty panties. your weight falls back to the middle, wanting to give geto more of your attention. he smiles at satoru at the action, taking it as a sign of your affection. the other man rolls his eyes, leaning into your side to nuzzle your cheek. 

the black haired man does the same into your neck, their hands kneading and rubbing and stroking your skin. you lean your head back against the couch, throwing your arms around them to encourage them further with a blissed out grin of your own. 

“our slutty little roommate came dressed like that for a reason.” satoru snickers, bringing his other hand to cradle your jawline, tossing a wink towards his dark haired counterpart. 

you hum, prying your eyes open to look at him with a smirk. “course i did…just like you asked me to move in for a reason and sugu gives me back massages for a reason.” you muse, humming as you walk your fingers down their spines. they look at each other with slight surprise, clearly they thought you were unsuspecting of them all this time. you chuckle softly, trailing your digits down their arms to close around their wrists, moving their massive hands to your chest, a boob each. you smirk at them. “everything that’s about to go down is only because i want it to happen, understand?” 

you look at gojo first, reveling in his amused expression. he hadn’t expected you to take over and become the boss, but he wasn’t necessarily opposed either. it was sexy to think that he had fallen for your trap, and not the other way around. he’d happily do anything that you wanted, all he wanted was you. you arch your brow and he nods dumbly, nuzzling into your cheek again to show his devotion. no woman had tamed him before, but it wouldn’t be so bad to start now, especially not when the woman in question is his very sexy best friend. you give him a soft smile of approval before turning to the real work, geto. 

many women had tried and failed to tame him, and he thought it was pretty funny each and every time. but now here you are, his gorgeous lady best friend, prepared to tell him what to do and exactly how to do it. now that was just plain adorable. you could see see the flames of intrigue flicker in his obsidian eyes, a gaze so intense it made you shrink into satoru a little bit. suguru was being hand gifted the only thing he’s ever wished for, but he would still have it on his terms. he squeezes down harshly on your breast, making you squirm. “cute. we wanted this longer though, so. how about you listen to me instead?” 

you scoff, looking down at his hand on you. “don’t act so bold now, sugu. if you wanted to be in charge, you should have acted like it.” you tease, and even gojo smirks behind you. he thought it would be pretty amusing to watch you two battle for dominance, though he’s smart enough to capitalize on an opportunity when he sees one. he pulls you against him, kneading your hips and giving your exposed neck sweet sloppy kisses, all playing into your favor. “maybe i’ll let you give out orders next time–but if you want to be a diva, i’ll just fuck satoru—i’m sure he’s more than enough.” 

the mentioned man hums, happy to be in your good graces and your leveraging tool. nothing drives suguru crazier than watching gojo get all the attention. geto gives you a look of dissatisfaction, only pushing you to climb onto your lanky friend’s lap, smiling down at him like an angel from heaven. gojo thought he may die right here. you’re perfect, the way your weight feels in his lap pressing up against his semi is so glorious already he’s afraid he may embarrass himself. his hands find your waist, and he’s looking up to you like he has no idea what to do next. he really is so clueless that it’s adorable. satoru acted like a pussy magnet, which wasn’t necessarily wrong since he is so gorgeous, powerful, and tall, but he never knew how to interact with them—especially since all his fantasies consisted of you, anyway. you smile down at him again and he knows it will be alright, that he’ll do what he does best and learn on the fly—he has to make you feel good. 

“take my shirt off, baby.” you coo to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could peel it off. He leans forward unsurely, almost looking to geto for approval before he pinches the fabric and brings it over your head. your tits fall from the little tank top holding them in place, a beautifully heavy chest with pebbled buds wait, calling gojo’s name. his face turns red and he looks up to you for the next order, feeling his semi grow into a full blown problem. geto watches you with narrowed eyes, aching bulge straining against his pants still, and you were only making it worse. he curses himself for being enamored with someone like you, an expert in pushing buttons. you’re his woman whether you know it or not, and he’s only willing to share you with his bestest of friends, even if you were grating on his last nerve. 

“do what feels natural, sato.” you breathe out, focused on the way his eyes grow at your permission and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. he’s been fixated on you as long as he can remember, and now it was his time to prove that he was the one for you. he drags your hips closer, wanting you to feel his erection pressing into that tiny thong you had the nerve to put on. you gasp in surprise, though a giggle quickly replaces the sound. you rest your arms on his shoulders, content to twirl locks of snowy white around your fingers. he groans at the sensation, struggling to keep his head on straight already. your body is so warm beneath his hands, so soft and pliable. you duck your head down to kiss him, and he tilts his head up to receive it. it swallows up all his senses, tunneling out everything around him to only focus on your touch, taste, and smell. he’s hungry, eager to prove his worth as a lover, wanting nothing else but to make you feel good. he grabs at your hips to feel you closer, and you indulge by circling your movements in his lap. he moans into your mouth as he feels your tits brush up against his shirt, making him break the kiss and lean back so he could get it off. he does it so quick that you aren’t prepared for his mouth to smack up against yours again, teeth clashing. you giggle again, enchanted by his boyish charm and overwhelming affection for you. it was sweet, and even though he was inexperienced, his kisses were full of passion and heat. 

geto had mixed feelings. on one hand, you looked magnificent. your body is like nothing he’s ever seen before, almost to the point of unfairness. no woman could ever compare after this. he’d either have to marry you or be forever disappointed. but, on the other hand, you were wiggling around in gojo’s lap instead of his, and that’s only tolerable for so long. gojo is lucky still, if it were anyone else there would be no tolerance at all. but his patience is wearing thin, especially once you start letting little moans of your own go because of satoru’s big hands massaging your tits and his bulge catching on your puffy clothed clit. you even sound angelic, and it’s pissing him off. this was just a display of your power over them, but suguru wanted to teach a few lessons of his own. he scoots closer, letting his hands mingle around with satoru’s, feeling the dips of your body. 

you can feel his touch, easily differentiating between satoru and suguru. your lanky friend’s hands were slimmer and warmer–moving around clumsily. your dark locked counterpart moved with more experience, his fingers thicker and rougher. you smirk at his impatience, clearly not able to be as obedient as dear satoru. you knew it would go like this, with gojo doing anything to please you and geto vying for control himself. you didn’t mind—you know it would push gojo to compete. 

geto wastes no time in pulling you off of gojo’s lap and into his own, much to his friend’s disappointment. you give him a pointed look, brow raised and all, but you still wrap your arms around his shoulders the same way you did your other bestie. he smirks up at you, expecting nothing but your compliance once he sees how wet gojo got you. he can tell from the look in your eyes that you don’t have a lot of fight left in you despite the way you act, and that’s perfect for him. he plans to make you brainless, able to remember nothing but him anyway. 

“greedy much?” you tease, tossing a look to the pouty white-haired boy watching with contempt. suguru shrugs. 

“hardly, just proving that he is not all you need.” he smiles up at you innocently, raking his touch over your thighs. unlike gojo, he knows exactly how to work you up and melt in his hands. gojo harrumphs in the corner of the couch. geto’s brow creeps up even though his head is laxly leaned back against the sofa. he watches you like he owns you, and you love the contrast between the two boys. you roll your eyes and lean down to kiss him anyway, and his lips tell you that the show is over. he gnashes his teeth against your lip, making you squeal and open up for him, wherein he promptly shoves his tongue in to smother yours out. your fingers card through the black tresses cascading over his shoulders and down his back as you hum into his mouth. he’s humming at your eagerness, letting his hand drift from the meaty parts of your hips over to the wet patch on your panties, grinning when you gasp. he works his deft fingers over your heat, and gojo makes a strangled noise as he watches you lewdly suck on geto’s tongue. you let your hips roll into his hand, his other one coming down on your rippling ass. you moan softly, prompting him to spank you again, much to satoru’s enjoyment.  

“s’fat, looks so pretty when you do that.” he compliments his friend, shoving out of his pants in anticipation of what comes next. his hand grabs around his proud length, pumping the curved shaft for minimal relief. geto hisses, feeling your hips move desperately towards your own release. he slaps your ass a third time, making you groan out and toss your head back, the picture of a perfect mess. 

“gonna cum already?” he tsked, though the smirk on his face betrays him. you nod, tugging on the roots of his hair hard enough to cause a little sting. satoru groans, tired of watching and desperate for any form of aid, but you’re too intoxicating to rush. “then cum.” he demands, stopping his touch. 

he knew he had pushed you far enough already, feeling your pelvis stutter against his hand. he watches you come undone, digging pearly white teeth into swollen lips as you dampen your panties another level. he doesn’t give you any type of reprieve before he’s pushing and tugging and arranging you for his preference on the cluttered couch. your brain is foggy already, clit throbbing from satoru’s craze and suguru’s abuse. he’s got you on all fours, face positioned over a huge cock nestled in trimmed white hair. 

“be easy on her, satoru.” geto warns as gojo gets to his knees, fisting your hair to get your attention. if you enjoyed suguru’s dominance then he would try some of his own. he directs your mouth over his leaky tip, and you stick out your tongue to encourage him. he nearly shudders just from that, and you whine at the feeling of geto sliding his hands down your ass and thighs with his breath fanning over your shiny hole. you’re gagging on satoru’s length hitting the back of your throat as suguru his fat tongue licks a teasingly slow stripe down your slit. you can’t help but pressed yourself further back into his muscle and force yourself down to the hilt of satoru. he groans loudly, giving you a taste of your own medicine with how he pulls on your hair. he guides you along him, amazed at how much better you feel than his hand. your velvet cheeks feel so wet and warm, it’s amazing he doesn’t cum down your throat instantly. meanwhile geto eats you from the back, sucking on your lips and nudging up against your bud in alternating motions, making your head cloud up with dizziness. that could be from the lack of air you’re able to get in around gojo’s cock stuffing your mouth, tears sliding down your flustered cheeks and drool spilling out around him. he’s whimpering, the sound of him coupled with squelching from both ends had suguru grunting into your folds, letting your sweet essence dribble down his chin. he’s grabbing handfuls of your ass, bruising and smacking the fat. your hands explore the lean expanse that is satoru’s body, muscular thighs keeping you steady and flexing abs making you clench around your other friend’s tongue. 

“gah, this—is amazing–fu-huck.” satoru whines, fisting your hair as his cock jumps at the sight of you. you moan your approval, pussy spasming for geto once again without warning, releasing on his face this time. your vision is already blurring, pleasure ripping through you all at once. he’s drunk on the taste of you, sitting upright on his knees as he scoops some of your cum out, coating his fingers with the slick. he may be the slightest bit possessive, but what’s his is gojo’s, and he had to let the other man taste you and get just as pussydrunk as he is. his other hand tugs you off his friend’s dick with a pop, pushing his hardness to the crack of your ass. he leans over you, body like a slab of concrete as he extends his hand to gojo. he leans up immediately, and you’re amazed at the sight of satoru sucking your juice off of suguru’s fingers, moaning slightly at your taste. geto smirks at him, settling back to his original spot. gojo grins widely as he wipes some residual tears from your face. 

“she’s so pretty, tell her suguru.” he sings, pushing some hair out of your face as the aforementioned wraps a beefy arm around your waist and pulls you to a sitting position against him. he’s so solid, you can feel how thick and long he is against your back, and it makes you tingle with need like you haven’t came twice already. he pulls you along as he repositions himself, sitting on the couch like it’s intended to be used for with you balanced on his abdomen. 

“oh of course, our pretty lady is the only girl i see.” suguru croons, pulling your hair into a ponytail just because he could. you look down at his cock, biting down on your lip at the sight. he was an inch or two shorter than gojo, but made up for it with his thickness. he had veins running along the shaft much like his muscular arms, and a dark tip growing impatient. they were perfect, you knew they would please you in different ways, but you had to have them both. 

when satoru gets to his feet and stands in front of you, pale fingers stroking his pretty cock, you knew that was their plan. 

geto snakes his hands to your thighs, prying them apart with little resistance from you. he lifts you with this grip, lowering you down all at once on him. he chuckles when you hiss and squirm at the stretch, feeling like a hot knife just gutted you. suguru continues sinking his hips into the cushions below and slamming them back up into you, locking eyes with his best friend eagerly awaiting his turn. you were a whimpering mess, falling back against the man railing you and leaving him responsible for holding you upright as your head finds home on his shoulder. 

“if i go easy on you now, you won’t be able to fit us.” suguru explains with a labored breath, your walls so tight he didn’t know if you’d be able to take them anyhow—but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. you nod your understanding, moving your hips to help his strokes hit even deeper. you already feel so full, you can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when satoru tries to push in. “so fucking wet for your best friends, you’ll take us, won’t you?” 

you nod vigorously. it feels like you’re floating, every snap of suguru’s hips slammed his cock impossibly deeper. you knew your little act of control would only last so long, but it worked beautifully. if not for you, they’d probably be jacking off to you for the foreseeable future. 

“say it, wanna hear it from our girl’s mouth.” he coos, the tone of his voice so contradictory to what he actually says. it makes your pussy squeeze him anyway. 

“wanna take my best friend’s cocks.” you babble, feeling satoru’s hands on your waist again. 

“and what else?” suguru groans, almost irritated that your pussy fucked this good and you’ve had the nerve to keep it to yourself all this time. his hand closes around your throat this time, trusting satoru to keep you from falling over. you were so pliable and it was such a treat to hear you talk like this. 

“and i’m soaking wet for you both, god–stop teasin’.” you whine, batting your eyes at satoru. he’s sympathetic to your cause, wanting nothing more than to shove his rod deep in you and wonder who makes you feel better, not keen to wait for orders anymore, eager to earn your praise. suguru has your legs spread open perfectly; so while geto snickers from your answer, gojo steps forward and shoves his cock over his best friend’s and into your choking cunt. the feeling takes even suguru aback as you cry out from the stretch. It’s impossible, it’s too much, you feel like they’ll break you in half if they start to move, but the burning subsides, your fingers digging at gojo’s chest when suguru starts to move. 

all three of you moan. it’s too good not to, your cunt locking the men against each other, rubbing against your silken walls and the bumpy texture of the other’s ridges was the best way to fuck, they found out. suguru is slow, and prompts gojo to go even slower, feeling you loosen up as the pressure of them in your gut only makes you delirious. you’re so loud, nasty moans and curses coming from your lips as their pace increases, the two men locked in competition to make you and even the other cum first. satoru leans in, pressing his rock hard abdomen against you and deepening his angle. he has to balance himself by bracing his hand on suguru’s other shoulder, both of you close enough to kiss. this was how it was always meant to be, the three of you. he gives you a sloppy kiss, his free hand cupping your cheek to tell you how much this means to him. geto’s caught up in the moment, he tells himself, but everything feels so clear. they were never in competition—you needed them both, and he needed you both, and satoru needed the two of you both. then he feels it, a sloppy kiss meant for him, and he hums in realization. it wasn’t much different from kissing you, though satoru certainly needed the practice. you moan lewdly, the sounds of your cunt being stuffed and their grunts and groans of pleasure provide the soundtrack as they work in tandem to drive you crazy. 

“g’na–ngh–cum boys, ohhh~” you cry, legs starting to shake in suguru’s grip. they break their kiss to watch you jerk and jump, fucking into you as deep as their hips will allow. Satoru presses his fingers to your clit, hoping to increase your cute little spasms, but what you do instead is even sexier. you push at his shoulders, a clear liquid gushing and spraying over his abdomen and dripping down your cunt to cover suguru’s balls, leaving them both gaping in amazement. 

“that’s a good fucking girl, shit–” suguru mumbles, watching satoru’s face scrunch up in overwhelming pleasure. he doesn’t warn you, holding your hips down to receive all of his cum, the hot feeling making you writhe and moan in his lap to send satoru spurting too. it’s so much, the burning warmth in your gut, their seed mixing together inside of you and gushing out around them both, making such a mess you’re almost embarrassed. satoru slumps forward to kiss you all over, mumbling out thanks for letting them destroy you like this as he lifts you off of suguru, cuddling up with you—mess be damned. you’re panting, sensitive, and dripping but you can’t stop grinning at your success. suguru rolls his eyes at satoru’s childishness, but it really just amuses him. he’d rather you have company as he cleans up the messes anyway, cleaning you and even satoru up before himself. satoru spoons you from behind and suguru shoves himself on the couch to hold you the other way, content at his display of power over the two strongest sorcerers in the room. everyone settles their breathing and into a lull of peace, the only sound in the room was the forgotten movie on the flatscreen, until. 

“hey—i didn’t get to eat her outtttttt.” gojo whines, squeezing your body. you laugh, expecting geto to do the same, but he entertains this argument. 

“you got your dick sucked—i didn’t get that—”

“we have plenty of time to even the score, shut up and let me sleep before i use my technique to un-fuck you.” you giggle. 

[delusionalfanficwriter]

accident

The morning sun cast a soft glow over the streets of Seattle as Y/N drove to her training session for USWNT. The familiar scent of coffee filled the air, but her mind was focused on the upcoming game and the challenges that lay ahead. As she approached an intersection, the traffic light turned red, forcing her to come to a stop.

Just as the light turned green, Y/N accelerated, her mind still occupied with thoughts of tactics and strategy for the game. The intersection was busy, cars moving in various directions. However, in the blink of an eye, a distracted driver ran a red light, colliding with Y/N's car from the side.

The impact sent Y/N's car spinning, metal crunching against metal. The sudden jolt left her disoriented, the world spinning around her. As the chaos unfolded, she heard the distant wail of sirens, and through the haze, she saw the familiar faces of Maya hopping out of the fire truck and the Station 19 team rushing to the scene before her eyes started to close shut. 

Maya takes in the scene,  her eyes fall on the license plate number she has seen dozens of times. Her mind jumps to y/n, who she knows is in Seattle for the game coming up later in the week. The y/n who she and Carina took under their wing after she showed up several times to clinic days. They opened their home for her until she was steady enough to be on her own and when she isn’t with USWNT she is home in the UK playing for Arsenal. 

Panic and concern etched across her face, as she sprinted towards Y/N's car. Reaching the damaged vehicle, she instantly saw y/n out cold. Reaching for the door handle, it wouldn’t budge. “Fuck! Guys it’s y/n. We need the jaws of life to remove the door and maybe even windshield for more access.” Travis went to grab it as Warren and Andy came with the med bag as they were on Aid car 19. “Y/n, I’m not sure if you can hear me but I need you to try to open your eyes. It’s Maya. You are going to be okay.”

Maya makes the decision to break the backseat window and enter through there before crawling front to the passenger seat. Andy did the same but remained behind y/n as she helped stabilize her neck with a c-collar after Maya checked for a pulse. 

With all the hands touching her, y/n started to stir awake, moaning in pain. “Shhh. Y/n, it’s going to be okay, just try to remain still for us.”

Hearing the familiar voice, y/n turned her head as much as possible with the collar on to the source. “Cap…” She whispered.

“Hey there, kiddo. You took quite a big hit. Andy and I are in the car with you. Can you tell me if you are in pain and where?” Maya scans over y/n as y/n thinks the question through. 

“Um. My head is pounding and the light makes it worse. Chest might be bruised… Maya…” y/n’s facial expression changes into a panicked one. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong?... Y/n talk to me…”

“...legs… I- I can’t feel my legs. Maya- no no…” Y/n begins to spiral as realization hits her. 

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me and breathe. We will figure it out but don’t focus on that right now. I need you to get your breathing under control.”

Warren assisted Travis in preparing the jaws of life while Maya focused on Y/N's immediate needs. Andy opened the med bag, retrieving equipment to monitor vital signs. 

"Y/N, I need you to stay with me. Andy's going to monitor your vital signs, and we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Maya explained, her voice a steady presence in the chaos. “Nice deep breaths.”

Andy secured an IV line, administering fluids to address potential shock. Maya continued to assess Y/N's chest and abdomen, searching for any signs of internal injuries. 

"Good job, Andy. Let's keep an eye on those vitals. Y/N, I need you to let me know if anything feels off or if the pain increases," Maya directed, her focus unwavering. “Y/n pay attention to me. Eyes on me. We will worry about your legs when we pull you out.”

“Cap, my legs are everything. You know that.”

“I know, Y/n, I promise I know.” Maya is reminded of how soccer saved Y/N life and helped lift her from her rough past. 

As Maya reassured Y/N, the situation took a dire turn. A faint hissing sound emerged from beneath the wreckage, followed by the acrid smell of gas. Maya's heart sank as she realized the danger they were in.

"Warren, Travis, we've got a gas leak! We need to get Y/N out of here, now!" Maya's voice cut through the chaos, urgency evident in every word. With adrenaline coursing through their veins, the team intensified their efforts.

Travis and Warren redoubled their efforts with the jaws of life, while Andy swiftly prepared Y/N for extraction, mindful of the looming threat of fire. Maya coordinated the rescue operation with precision, her training kicking in as she assessed the risks and devised a plan.

Suddenly, a spark ignited the volatile atmosphere, and flames erupted, engulfing the front of the car. Time seemed to slow as panic surged through the team. Without hesitation, Maya made a split-second decision.

"Grab Y/N, we're getting her out, now!" Maya commanded, her voice unwavering despite the inferno raging around them. With synchronized movements, Andy and Maya carefully lifted Y/N, their actions swift yet deliberate.

“Stop it-it hurts! Maya, stop!” Y/n screamed and cried as her body was hastily carried out of the vehicle. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n but we need to leave now!” Maya screamed over the chaos. As they lifted y/n out and placed her on the stretcher, they ran as Vic and Jack foamed over the gas leak. 

“Leah… I was on a call with Leah before.” Y/n suddenly remembered having her girlfriend on the other end of the line before the crash. 

“Don’t worry, I will call her, right now.” Maya climbed into the back of the ambulance, her eyes never leaving Y/N. "You're doing great, Y/N. We're right here with you," she said, her voice filled with reassurance.

Andy followed suit, bringing the medical bag and equipment into the confined space of the ambulance. Y/N's eyes darted between Maya and Andy, seeking comfort in their familiar faces amidst the uncertainty.

“Speaking of the devil, Leah is facetiming me.” Maya says unlocking her phone but as the ambulance doors closed, Y/N's panic resurfaces. The confined space and the realization of the severity of the situation weighed heavily on her. "Maya, I can't... I can't breathe. It's too much," Y/N gasped, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Maya quickly grabbed an oxygen mask from the medical bag. "Y/N, slow your breathing. This will help," she said, placing the mask gently over Y/N's face. "Deep breaths. In and out."

“What’s happening? Maya what happened to Y/n?!” Leah yelled through the phone panicked by Y/n’s panic. 

“Y/n look who I have on the phone, wanting to see you.” Maya tries to distract the woman in front of her. Y/n pauses for a second to see her blurred girlfriend on the screen.

“Baby, you’re going to be okay, Maya is with you and I am sure Carina will meet you in the hospital. I’ll be on the next plane over.” Leah reassured y/n. 

“Leahhh,” Y/n cried. “I can’t - can’t feel my legs. I’m so scared.” Leah pauses and a panic look crosses over her eye but she tries to remain as calm as possible. 

“Wait until the doctor’s check you out, it could just be from slight inflammation. Just focus on what Maya says. She is with you and looks like Andy is there too. You are gonna be fine, baby just remain calm.” 

“Leah, we are pulling into the ambulance bay in a minute so I am going to hang up and get her sorted for the medical staff. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” Maya tells Leah knowing how protective she is of her girlfriend. With that Leah gives another word of love to Y/n before canceling the call. 

“I texted Carina as well, I am not sure if she’s in surgery or not but she’ll come to find us once she sees it.” Maya informs y/n knowing she is able to calm down more when Carina is around. “We are almost there, but it’s going to get chaotic. Just breathe, it’ll be alright.” 

The ambulance pulls up and doors open to reveal Amelia, Bailey, Kepner, Teddy, and Carina. 

“What do we have?” Bailey starts.

“23 year old female in a MVC, airbags deployed, head laceration, possible spinal injury, she says she can’t feel her legs. C-spine precaution taken. Y/n had two panic attacks already and is in pain but no pain meds given as unknown head trauma...” Andy trails off. 

“Alright, trauma 2.”

Y/n is rolled in as everyone takes on a role and several hands are trying to assess her injuries to the full extent. Y/n takes her deep breaths as she reminds herself they are here to help her. 

In the entrance of the room Maya whispers to Carina, “Carina, she said she can’t feel her legs. I tried to stay calm for her but it’s never good. She was freaking out…” 

A loud groan of pain takes them out of their moment as they see they have turned y/n on her side to check her back before placing her back down. Amelia does a head work up and then moves down to y/n’s legs. Carina steps closer to y/n for support as Amelia asks her if she can feel her touching her feet. 

“I can’t feel it.” Amelia moves up the leg and to the knee. “Nothing.” Amelia moves mid-thigh. “I barely feel that.”

“Okay, don’t worry, we will get a CT scan and check you out. Might just be inflammation on the spine that will go away.” Amelia reassured the girl Carina took under her wing. 

“And what if it doesn’t,” Y/n asks the question she knows the answer to. 

“Let’s see what the scans say and we will take it from there.” Amelia places her hand on Y/n’s hand but she pulls away. 

“I’m going to be sick.” With that, y/n turns her body as much as possible and only dry heaves. 

“Bambina, you are stressing yourself out. I know you are worried about playing soccer, hell even walking but one thing at a time. You can’t think of what ifs. I am here now. I will make sure things are in order. Maya and I will be there for you every step of the way. I am going to need you to practice the breathing exercises. I don’t want them to sedate you but if your panic gets in the way…”

“No, no I promise.” Y/n cuts her off and closes her eyes trying to regulate her breathing. The team talks to her about the next steps of imaging and makes her a priority case.

[lysatoru]

I’ll never smile again - Frank Sinatra

a little angst, reader is a neurosurgeon, neutral pronouns, ""friendship"", geto’s death is mentionned, cuss words, mention of death, mention of medical treatment, mention of graveyard

gojo satoru x reader

"time of death 10:34pm"

the monitor beeps. The noise is continuous and getting heavier and heavier to bear. You put down your scalpel, raise your hands and step away from the body. You look around, at a few people in the observatory, friends and journalists who’ve come to watch the first surgery about your experiment on a certain type of tumor, a new surgical approach to removing that tumor. A rather invasive approach indeed, but one that worked in clinical trials.

The intern begins to close the patient's skull. Drops of sweat begin to drip from your forehead, your vision starts to deteriorate more and more, you've got to get out of there. "I killed him, I killed him" goes round and round in your head. You smile slightly at the journalists in the observatory, including your best friend, your friends and Gojo. "I'm sorry, I have to go" you inform the other surgeons and doctors in the OR.

You leave the room quickly. Your best friend has seen the distress in your eyes, she knows you, she knows what you're like. "That's not a good sign" she murmurs before rubbing her face with both hands. Gojo looks at your best friend blankly and gets up, leaving the observatory. "Where are you going?" she asks Gojo "I won't be long" he replies.

You take off your coat, gloves and cap, throw the coat and gloves in the trash and your cap on the floor. You're trembling, suffocating, everyone was counting on you and you failed, you killed him. You needed air, you knew the journalists would be here as soon as possible. You walk into the x-ray room. You see them, the scans of your late patient, "what the hell happened?" you look at them over and over again. You go in circles in the room, biting your lip and rubbing your eyes. You rip the scans off the wall and throw them on the floor, "fuck!". Tears start to roll down your cheeks, unintentionally.

"Are you all right?" you hear a voice coming from behind you, you knew exactly who it was. Gojo slowly closes the door behind him and moves closer, "Everything's fine, everything's fine".

"Everything's fine?! Do you really think everything's fine?! Are you kidding me?!" you reply.

"Shh, it's not your fault you know" he tries to stay calm.

"Who operated on him? Who opened his skull? Who performed an invasive surgical method on him? It’s me!" you lose all control, gojo is not your enemy in this situation, quite the opposite. You move closer to him, pointing at yourself, tears flowing, your voice starting to break little by little

"You need to calm down, it was experimental and you know it" gojo puts his hands on your shoulders

"Do not touch me!" you reply, backing away violently.

He sighs and raises an eyebrow, leans back against a wall, crosses his arms and legs, "I'm not going to teach you your job, but death is part of your job. there are things you can't foresee".

"He was 15! He was 15 and he had a tumor since 13! He died at 15 because of me! It’s not fair!" you say crying your heart out . "Death was almost inevitable, you know that" he replies calmly.

"And what do you know about death? how often do you come into contact with it?" you approach him.

"What do you mean?" he approaches you too, clenches his jaw, the tension begins to build between you. "Don’t start with those things it won’t get us anywhere" he sighs once again. He didn't want to get upset because you'd just lost a patient who was very important to you, but he soon realized that the subject could take a rather dramatic turn.

"You dare lecture me about death and inevitability when you literally killed your best friend?"

— silence.

Gojo straightens up, uncrosses his arms and looks at you, raising his eyebrows, again "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" you’ve gone too far.

"Do you really think I wanted this? That I wanted all this?" he approaches you again, his eyes wide.

"I know I didn't, I'm sorry-" you slowly back away

"Do you really think that your job as a neurosurgeon, which you chose, and my job, which was imposed on me, are the same? Do you really think that I don't deal with death? You don't kill patients, you fail to save them, it's not the same. I kill people on purpose, that's the difference between us. — the more he talks, the closer he gets to you, you find yourself leaning against a wall involuntarily. You raise your head more and more to look at him because he's so tall — I have no choice but to do this job, you do. I kill those around me for ungrateful people like you"

"Satoru, please wait-" you start following him

The door slams and you find yourself alone in the scan room, you'd just pissed off the only person who'd come to support you after your defeat, Gojo considered you a true friend so much so that he confided about his friendship with Geto and how much he was suffering today, from his death. You knew that your patient's death and Geto's were incomparable, and yet you compared them. Why were you so stupid?

You start to follow gojo through the corridors but the journalists start to come between you "I'm sorry I have to-", "Did you make a mistake?", "why did he die?", "He was only 15, how do you feel?" fucking journalists. You see Gojo disappear in the hallway.

When you get home, you try to call Gojo, but he doesn't answer. You try to send him messages, but he doesn’t reply.

11:57pm

i’m sorry Satoru i know i fucked up

12:03pm

please, can we talk?

12:32pm

i think i know where you are, i’m coming

You get in your car and head down to the graveyard. A few minutes later you arrive in front of his grave and there he was, crouching, wearing his mask as usual, you've always wondered if it was also a way of hiding his emotions, the eyes speak, but his, what do they say ?

"Hi, you didn’t reply to my texts i was scared" you say softly. He doesn’t say anything. "I’m sorry you know i didn’t mean that" — "Why did you come ?" he say not looking at you but still looking at the grave. "I was worried". He laughs ironically "really ? you really are the last person i wanted to see here."

You decide to approach him a little. "I wanted to make sure you were fine" — "And I am, you can leave now"

You don’t know what to say anymore, it was all your fault anyway. "Satoru I-" — "leave" he looks at you and you decide to leave.

You know he’ll never smile the same again without Geto near him.

hi, first post since almost nine months *tries not to panick*. I don’t know how to feel about this, i think i lost the way i was writing before ? i don’t know. I have a feeling this is botch :( I wanted to try something new but anyway.

even though i’m not a big fan of this work, i’m really happy to writing again^^

if you think i use deepl for this one you’re right 😜👍🏻

[prettyboykatsuki]

i've been very far home, my heart | nightowl (blooming panic)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags; established relationship, hurt/comfort, feelings of inadequacy / low self worth, gn!reader (they wear heels and have manicured nails, but otherwise nondescript. no gendered language), role reversal, arguing / messy human behavior, suggestive towards the end, they are implied to be the same height 🫡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc ; 3.7k (added 500 to wc in editing. ok)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n ; bro idk what happened here FDHJDKDKJ. my sleep meds were making me feel super hungover, i got a little cooked on the devils lettuce and then wrote this?? and it wasn't bad lmaoaoa??

i really like this blonde twink ive known for three days. he is like. so extremely, hilariously my type and exactly like several ppl i've dated so this end up being a reflective piece on being a giver n navigating adult relationships.

title is from where we go by jelani aryeh

The bathroom light is on.

It’s spilling underneath the door frame when you come in from work later than usual. It’s busy season, with new clientele - all of which require socializing around drinks and expensive dinners to secure them. It’s nearly 1am, and you’ve taken two Ubers to get back home from the restaurant all the way across town that you’ve been mingling at since nine.

You closed the deal though, and your boss (perhaps seeing the visible exhaustion in your eyes) has given you the go-ahead on taking a few days off. The consulting part of your financial advising job could wait until Monday, which was a relief to hear. You came home expecting Nightowl to be up. He’s always up this late, and when he is - he rarely limits himself to one room in the apartment. You have a routine to it. You sleep in the dark bedroom and Owl tries not to make so much noise as to wake you.

You texted him you’d be late, and he’d read it but didn’t reply. Too worn down to think anything of It at the time, you slept on two car rides rather irresponsibly and were unsure of what to feel when your apartment didn’t have any lights from the outside upon arrival. Youwalked in after that, wondering if your eyes had been playing tricks. But the house was still dark, both upstairs and down stairs - in the bedroom and in the office. The only place you could find any trace of life was in the bathroom.

You’ve only left your bag on the couch downstairs. Worry makes your brows furrow as you turn the door knob to your shared bathroom and walk in. The clinical scent of bleach is the first thing to grasp your senses, jolting you awake from the haze of steam and leftover buzz of alcohol.

You cough a little, and find Nightowl on the bathroom floor. There’s a bottle of peach soju on the counter, and a few open packets of developer and mixing bowls. Owl is drunk already you think, or at the very least tipsy, moreso than you. The hot blush on his skin makes you think he’s been at it for a while. You try not to monitor his liquor intake too much, but the concern you feel is immediate and not helped by where you find him.

His body is slumped against the gray wall closes to the tub, sitting on the tile with a different bottle in his hand. His phone is face down beside him and he’s not noticed you come in. Your frown deepens as your heels click slightly on the tile. Crouching down at the knee, you reach your hand out for his forehead. His skin is so hot it’s scorching. You sober up almost instantly.

Even in his inebriated state, he seems to recognize you. His smile is wide, but you don’t feel like it reaches his eyes.

“Oh, so you decided to come home after all!”

You smile sadly followed with a curt nod. “Sorry.”

“Don’t really see what the point is in you apologizing when you’ve already been so late,” He says jovial. You try not to let it sting. You remind yourself that he’s drunk and stifle a sigh again. “But welcome home!”

“Were you gonna bleach your hair?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Yeah,” You reply, choosing to sigh that time. His lip wobbles a little and you try not to say anything more. “Do you want help?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

You mumble something about being right back and Nightowl hums in affirmation. A feeling washes over you. Bone-deep exhaustion crushing your lungs and making you wheeze when you step out of the bleach-scented bathroom. When you’re distance enough away that he won’t hear you - closer to your bedroom door, you breathe in and out, calming yourself down. After you feel more centered, you open your shared room door and take a stool from along the wall, bringing it with you into the bathroom. Nightowl doesn’t turn his head to look at you until you place it. Sharing a glance with each other, he gets up on his own and sits himself on the placed stool dramatically and you give him a weak smile through the mirror he doesn’t bother returning.

You’re quiet as you leave the door open a touch to make sure the steam doesn’t overheat you both. Shrugging off your suit jacket, you fold it and hang it on the towel racks behind you. You unbutton your sleeves and roll them into neat folds on both arms, and before digging into one of your bathroom drawers for plastic gloves. Sliding them onto your manicured fingers, you pick up the bowl of developer from the side of the counter and mix it using the provided brush until it’s all smooth.

Nightowl is unusually silent through the entire thing. If he weren’t fidgeting, you could barely tell he was there. It’s so difficult to see him that way. You try not to blame yourself too much.

“Gonna start,”

“Uh-huh,”

A longing passes over you in the warm, sterile air. The coolness from the A.C. in the rest of your apartment dries down the sheen of sweat your accumulated while out socializing. Your feet are killing you and your shoulders are aching and your lungs feel like you can’t get enough air out of them. That’s busy season for you. The price of your job with all of it’s stability and benefits is the annual stretch of months where you are so busy you feel like you are drowning.

It’s one thing to be so mind-numbingly busy when you’re single and only worried about not dying. Another though to have a partner waiting for you, who you love and would like to be with - who you’ve admittedly not done well in paying attention to. You’ve tried you think. Made some attempts, but it doesn’t feel good enough and it certainly isn’t enough for Nightowl. You know that, too. You look down at where your hands are applying the bleach, dazed - using only muscle memory to apply it to the roots and strands of his hair. You want to touch him. To press kisses into his spine, drunk and elated, and press your cheek to his shoulder and confess your undying love until he’s giggly all over again.

The thought of adoration soothes you. Makes you smile to yourself even amongst the unforgiving atmosphere. Nightowl doesn’t care for that, his face growing even more frustrated.

“Thought of something fun? Glad at least one of us is having a good time.”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. He looks away when he sees how pained you look, and you shut your eyes trying not to react. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” He frowns, though he seems more sad than you.

“S—“ You clear your throat and laugh humorlessly at yourself. “Okay,”

You go about your business. Many things cross your mind but you can’t wrangle your thoughts into anything cohesive enough to say. Your jaw tightens a little, like your mouth wants to practice syllables it can’t remember. The distraction of rubbing bleach into Nightowls roots is welcome. His hair is a lot healthier than it used to be, after a year of forcing him to use hair masks. You admire as you brush through the strands, and Nightowl seems to lost in his own thoughts to say anything in protest. He probably hates this silence more than you. He’s uncharacteristically stiff, and there’s no smalltalk to distract from the surroundings.

You’re not feeling well enough to try and remedy it. Allowing yourself to stonewall and sit in the discomfort is about as much as you can do to reach a hand to your relationship. You probably can’t make it better, but you can do your best not to make it any worse.

“All done,” You mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. You slide the gloves off and toss them into the trash “We should sober up before bed. Hangover before bed sounds awful. Did you,” You hiccup. “Want some?”

He doesn’t reply to you. You press your lips into a flat line, feeling somewhat sorrowful but ultimately resigned. “I’ll make some anyway. And set a timer too while I’m down there. Just, uh - join me. When you’re done here.”

Before you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist. You’re taken aback by the sudden gesture (though there’s not force in it), turning around to look at him. His face is red. Wet tears pool on the corners of his straight, black lashes. Blinking a few times in surprise, you reach your hand to wipe them from the corners. Muscle memory. You find your love for him defined that way. He doesn’t flinch away from the touch, at least.

“Don’t you have something to say to me,” He insists. You frown in genuine confusion, a sad smile pulling at your mouth.

“Thought you told me to stop saying sorry,” You repeat with no malice, smiling a little. “That’s all I’ve got though.”

His lower lip trembles again and you try not to laugh. “God. How could you be so. God.” He sniffles a little. “You could cuss me out. Or like, I dunno, just get mad in general. You’re supposed to be mad, I was,” He cuts himself off.

You laugh a little tiredly, bending down to press your forehead to his. The flush of his skin against your own makes your heart murmur his name. “I don’t have anything to say, my heart.” You assure, smiling. “We’re both pretty tired. But I have tomorrow off. Let’s cool off and talk tomorrow. “Okay?”

“Okay,” He says back, still simmering. “As long as you’re here tomorrow.”

Your heart stings. “For the next two days, promise. I’ll toss my work phone if you want.”

He cracks a smile like that. “Might have to take you up on that, cutie.”

The familiar nickname eases you a bit, making you laugh. “Whatever you want.”

__

Morning comes unyielding and indifferent, like always.

Sunlight filters through the curtains as your eyes peel open and try to get adjusted to the light. There’s a weight on top of you, and the sound of steady breath. Another heartbeat thumps alongside yours and before you can make much sense of it - you catch the freshly yellow blond roots of your lover as he lays on your chest.

You went to bed last night not even facing each other. The image of him reaching around for you in his sleep and ending up in your arms feels like divine intervention. You admire how perfectly he fits there. Your eyes trace of his features. Thick, straight brows, skin like light gold, a straight nose and full lips. The shock of blonde suits him strangely, makes the dark lines of his other features pop. It’s rare you get to look at him so closely, even more so lately.

The intimacy of his flaws makes your stomach flutter, texture in his skin and eyebags and all. You crane your neck to kiss his hairline and think about returning to sleep in the cocoon of warmth. The cradle of soothes you, makes your eyelids heavy with sleep again. You think it’d be nice to sleep in more, but you don’t want to squander anymore time with Nightowl. Shifting, you pry yourself away from his grasp and tuck him into blankets. You’ll wake him later.

You’re quiet as you tiptoe around the house and get your affairs in order. The bathroom first to shower and brush your teeth, then downstairs to start on breakfast. You take the ritual of it to calm down and ease the leftover nerves of your stomach. It was better to save any conversation for sobriety - so you don’t regret it. Still, you feel a fear lingering. A nagging voice in the back of your head as you flip pancakes and cut fruit and pour juice.

The eerie silence of Saturday morning pushes you to reflect. It’s rare you fight like this. Even more rare that Nightowl reverts to that kind of angriness, which is why you find you can’t get upset. Not even the sound of sizzling and frying can keep your mind from wandering.

Inadequacy is familiar. An old winter jacket, too sizes too small and ill-fitting but full of your own personhood. One of the things you and Nightowl bonded over a long time ago.

You did well in school, in college, made a career for yourself. It’s making up for the rest of you, you think.

At least you’re good at your job, even if the rest of you is not worth mentioning. The ghost of feeling like you are, in some basic and intrinsic way, not good enough likes to shake you every now and again. Not friend, nor partner. It’s not something you easily get rid of, despite how far you’ve grown past it. Or around it. Or ahead of it. Wherever you’ve ended up, occasions come that knock the feeling loose from your deepest memories. You work hard to cover for it.

You like to logic your way out of the guilt when you’ve poured so much into it and people drift. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Usually that works. Tuck your emotions into neat compartments, throw yourself further into your work, don’t drink too heavily or be alone with anyone for too long. Ignore everything, do it by yourself so you’re still worth something, wait until it’s over. Eventually it all comes to pass, and you come out of the other end alive - but alone.

You can’t do that anymore though. It’s hard to remember that. Isolation is no longer the answer, because there is someone (multiple people, really) who will feel lonely without you. Even if it’s unfathomable to you, even if it’s hard to remember. The consequences creep up like this, and your left with the emotional void of making a bad situation worse. Sorry is the only word you know. There are so many things to be sorry for.

You’re so lost in thought you burn a pancake and have to toss it. You also seem to miss the presence of another person in your shared space until Nightowl comes and wraps his arms around your shoulders. Turning the heat down, you shift to face him. He looks exhausted but he must’ve come down after washing up.

“You’re awake.”

“Mhm.” He says, still sleepy. A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “So are you. And you’re making me breakfast.”

You laugh. “I am. So, go sit down.” And then, a little more serious. “We have a lot to talk about but I’d rather do it on a full stomach.”

“We’re in an argument and you’re still taking care of me.” Sadness bleeds into his words.

You reply without skipping a beat, going back to the stove to pour some more batter. “Well, its not like I don’t love you anymore.”

There’s a long, long pause of silence that alarms you once you recognize it. Once you hear sniffling, you whip around again to see Nightowl weeping a little as he leans against the counter. Alarms go off in your head, once again turning the stove down. You wrap your arms around his waist loosely, bending down to get a closer look at him. He’s cover his face with his hands.

“Ugh,” His voice is thick and heavy. “Can you not be so nice and perfect and angelic? I’m trying really hard to be mad at you and I’m failing like a loser.”

You can tell there’s some sincerity in his words, though you ignore the first half of his statement. “I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

He pulls away then, looks at you incredulous. “You’re so,” His hands curl at your chest as you hug him slightly. You’re confused but don’t say anything. “God, you’re so frustrating.”

“Sorry,” You say apologetically. “Don’t mean to make you cry either. Feel like I’m going that a lot. We should really eat.”

“Don’t want to,” He whines a little as he says. “Just. I want to kiss and makeup already.”

You smile a little before humming.

“We should talk about it, then.”

Nightowl just nods, and you take that as permission to just go. You do your best to get the words out.

“I really love you,” You say first, and then sigh. Nightowl clings onto you tighter and listens instead of interjecting, which must mean he’s feeling serious. “And uhm, was already feeling bad about myself. And then I got busy which made it worse cause I couldn’t really you know… be there for you, so I ended up pulling away to figure it out alone and then got even busier. Which was isolating for you, and I’m sorry for that. It’s hard to like.. I dunno. Lean on you. On anyone.” You laugh a little. “Is that too vague?”

“It makes sense to me but…what were you feeling bad about, even?”

“Well I was busy before that, so I just felt shitty about being a bad partner to you. In general, don’t feel like I deserve you but then you know,” You sigh “It was shitty of me.”

“Are you kidding me?” He says. His face is twisted in a pout. “You’re seriously being all mopey ‘cause you think you’re a bad partner when you’re like… literally the best ever? Like, that I’ve ever had?”

You’re too surprised to say anything. “Is that not why were arguing?”

“I mean,” His frown deepens, and he presses his face against your chest. “Ugh. So embarrassing. I am upset because you’re so busy and we haven’t spent time together but that’s like… totally not your fault, yknow? I’m being super clingy and I was just… really lonely yesterday.”

“Sorry for making you feel lonely.”

“Stop apologizing or I’m gonna bite you, ‘kay cutie?” He says seriously. You relent with a worrisome smile and encourage him to keep going. “I was getting like… all pathetic. Cause I thought you didn’t want me anymore, didn’t even occur to me something was wrong. I’m so sorry about that, about all of it - god. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you. I hate that it still gets so bad when we've been together so long. I just missed you so fucking much. And I think so highly of you, I couldn’t help but be all torn up about the idea that you were pulling away cause you didn’t want me.”

“I do want you. I’m just surprised you want me sometimes.”

“You’re dumb,” He whispers with no bite at all. “That’s my line. You’re like literally perfect to me.”

“So we got in a fight ‘cause we needed to be with each other,” You say with a long pause, then laugh. “How silly.”

“Guess so,” He says back with a little frown. “Are we okay?”

“We’re okay,”

You share a brief moment of comfortable, understanding silence. It feels easier to breathe. Even though it’s messy and foolish, you love being with him. It makes you feel real and whole - wanted to be missed that much.

“I missed you too by the way,” You reply with utmost sincerity. “Only thing I thought of all night was how much I wanted to hold you.”

“You’re making me blush.” He says with a loopy little smile. “Y’mean that?”

“More than anything.” You reply. “I like being with you. I like taking care of you. I like that you’re needy and jealous and temperamental.”

“Stopppp,” He groans and you laugh aloud, leaning forward to place a kiss on his jaw. “Not that I hate being told what you like about me but it’s making my tummy flutter.”

“I like loving you,” You say with some finality. “I feel really shitty when I feel like I’m failing at it because I take pride in being good at that.”

“Jeez,” His face is bright pink when you pull away. “You shouldn’t think of yourself so little, yanno? Not that this is a surprise but yesterday I was like, totally acting awful to you. I really am sorry I let it get that bad, I was just really worked up. Even right now you make me so happy, it feels a little unfair to me. I want to be with you all the time. So sometimes when I can’t I just get like… awful. And stupid. And want to throw a bunch of dumb tantrums about it.”

You nod in understanding. “It did hurt my feelings but I really didn’t feel like it was undeserved.”

“It was totally undeserved!”

You crack a little smile. “Agree to disagree?”

He grabs your face with both hands, knocking your foreheads together. “It was undeserved, no take backs. I’m sorry I hurt you and always will be. Stop being so nitpicky about yourself, kay? I’m literally crazy about you.”

“Me too,” You crane your neck to kiss his palm where it cradles your face. “I adore you, baby.”

“I like being adored by you,” He says with a sweetness that makes your heart melt. “I like loving you too of course, but attention is… nice. You know.”

He makes a face at you as you say this that you can only describe as a grin, before pushing himself forward to press a long kiss to your lips. You laugh a little into, smile splitting your face at the intensity he kisses you at first thing in the morning. Over and over, pulling and pushing - giggling as you chase his mouth as he pulls away.

“We kissed but I dunno if we’ve made up,” He says. Concern briefly passes over your expression. “Got some really good ideas about how we could do that.”

You give him a flat look but can’t contain your laughter.

“We should really eat breakfast,”

He puts a hand at the top of your waistband with lidded eyes and smiles. “There’s something else I wanna eat first though?”

You pretend to be exasperated.

“Jesus. We just made-up and you wanna fuck already?”

“Duh. That’s like, the best part,”

You snort. “We’ll go once and then I’m making you eat breakfast even if I have to force it down your throat.”

“Ooh, feeling rough I see,”

You snort. “Yeah, guess so.” You shoot him a little look, leaning into whisper and nip at his ears. “On your knees for me, baby.”

He giggles a little, giddy with mischief in his face. “Mmkay,”

He presses a cheek to your clothed thigh, lovesick. “I love you,”

You can’t help but laugh at his choice of when to say it and simply reply back in full adoration. “I love you too, my heart.”

a/n ; ANOTHER AUTHORS NOTE? sorry for being the ceo of yapping im insane

i just want to like. give some insight on this fight bc im worried it seems onesided. reader has low self esteem and really beats themself over their own expectations in everything. they isolate when they're overwhelmed and work was already doing that to them. and then things got busier, which meant there wasn't really time to repair the relationship between them which is why nightowl gets as mad as he does.

nightowl is deathly afraid of being unloved and abandoned, and he get a little caught up in his self hate that they fail to realize something is going on with their partner. so he lashes it out and it feels warranted but he gets like guilty bc reader doesn't react to the goading any differently

i think nightowl is a very complicated but incredibly familiar character. he's a little selfish but i find him incredibly endearing and i have a strong desire to dote on him and monopolize him. which was the intent for this fic. but i ended up just exploring real life relationship dynamics between a character like this. very selfless x selfish. they love each other and find fulfillment in this. i love them.

[smashing-teacups]

My very dear friend (who is so grumpy that J&C hijacked her brain again when she wanted a break 🤣) @theawkwardterrier tagged me in an invite to share a section of one of my WIPs. So hey, how about a peek at an upcoming chapter of Atonement? 👀

______

In the second month, they began their respective job searches in earnest.

On that particular front, Claire had an undeniable advantage: there was a terrible nursing shortage throughout the UK, and more job postings than she knew what to do with. She had enough experience to be accepted at practically every bedside position, and so she had the ability to be selective.

A very fortunate state to find herself in, she found out rather quickly, as there were a number of positions that… well, positions she wasn’t sure she would be best suited for anymore.

Wound care, for example, was definitely out. Just reading the vague clinical expectations under the first post made her snap her laptop shut, her skin chilled and mind numb. She held Jamie from behind later that night, tears soaking her pillow as she traced the scars that had once been open flesh. The memories were as vivid as if she were living them all over again; she could see the snake of saturated pink gauze she’d pulled out of his back by the meter, watch her gloved hand depress a syringe of morphine into his IV, hear her own murmurs of reassurance as she reached wrist-deep into the cavernous wounds to begin packing them again…

So, no. Nothing with wound care.

Anything on a neurology floor was likewise out of the question. The prospect of monitoring an EEG took her right back to the endless days and nights when those incomprehensible squiggling lines were burned into her retinas, watching for any change that might signify a seizure. The ICUs in general were out for that same reason. Just the sounds alone — the non-stop beeping of monitors and IVs, the whoosh of the ventilator and hiss of suction equipment—

She couldn’t.

Her damned glass face as she scrolled the job boards must have told her husband far more than she ever would have said aloud; it didn’t take long before she woke to find a folded newspaper on the kitchen table alongside her morning coffee. Circled once, with a question mark beside it, was an advertisement from a local primary care office in town, seeking a clinic nurse.

Claire looked over the top of the paper to find Jamie watching her apprehensively, as though unsure if he’d overstepped. The moment she caught his eye, he dropped his gaze and blew on his steaming coffee. “It’d be quieter than ye’re used to,” he said around a careful sip, “but somethin’ to consider, mebbe.”

Softening with tenderness, she reached for his hand across the table. “No, it’s—it’s a good thought. Thank you. Maybe I need the quiet, I don’t know.” With a sigh, she smoothed her free hand over her face and back into her hair. “That’s just it, I don’t… I don’t know what it is I want any more.” Peering up at her husband through her lashes, she admitted with a self-deprecating smile, “Suppose I’ve just been hoping I’ll know it when I see it.”

Returning the smile so that his soft morning eyes crinkled with it, Jamie brought her knuckles to his lips. “I’m sure you will. The right job’ll find ye when it’s meant to, Sassenach. I know it.”

[scart-t]

Truly madly deeply in love

characters: zayne x reader a/n: im currently addicted to love and deepspace!! i deffo reccomend this game

Zayne's cold and shy demeanor was evident as he monitored the machines in the hospital room. Y/n lay on the bed, still recovering from the surgery, and Zayne barely made eye contact as he adjusted the IV lines.

Y/n, noticing his distant attitude, tried to lighten the mood. "Zayne, thank you for saving my life. I guess being a Hunter isn't as invincible as I thought."

Zayne nodded without a smile, "It's my job. Nothing more, nothing less."

Y/n chuckled weakly, "You may be a brilliant surgeon, but you suck at cheering people up."

Zayne's lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he quickly masked it. "I'm not here to entertain. Just focus on your recovery."

As days passed, Zayne continued to be the stoic doctor, never revealing the emotions that churned within him. When Y/n asked about her health, he spoke in clinical terms, avoiding any personal touch.

One evening, Y/n caught Zayne in a rare moment of vulnerability as he stared out the hospital window. "Zayne, are you okay?"

He hesitated before responding, "I'm fine. Just tired."

Y/n, realizing his reluctance to open up, decided to change the topic. "Remember when we used to sneak into old Mrs. Anderson's garden and steal apples? Good times."

Zayne's demeanor softened slightly. "Yeah, good times," he mumbled, his gaze finally meeting hers for a brief moment.

As Y/n's recovery progressed, Zayne's caring nature became more evident. He ensured she took her medication, followed her physical therapy, and monitored her progress diligently. Yet, he remained reserved, as if afraid to let his guard down completely.

One day, as Y/n was flipping through an old photo album, Zayne entered the room. She gestured for him to join her, "Look at this, Zayne. We were such troublemakers."

Zayne glanced at the pictures, a subtle warmth in his eyes. "Seems like a lifetime ago."

Y/n smiled, "But we made it through, didn't we? Like always."

Zayne nodded, "Yeah, we did."

It was during those quiet moments that Y/n began to see the caring side of Zayne beneath the cold exterior. As they reminisced about their childhood, she realized that his reserved nature was a shield, protecting a heart that cared deeply.

One evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Zayne found the courage to express his feelings. "Y/n, I… I care about you more than I show. I always have."

Y/n looked at him, surprised but touched. "Zayne, you don't have to be so guarded around me."

He sighed, "It's just how I am. But I need you to know that… you mean everything to me."

Y/n reached for his hand, "I've always known, Zayne. And I care about you too."

Their love story took a new turn as Zayne, still maintaining his cold and shy demeanor, continued to care for Y/n in his unique way.

[run2yoongi]

after hours | myg x reader

for whatever reason, your boss liked to work you to the bone. your countless hours of overtime and extra work never seemed to tide him over, he always expected more. after a year, your patience was wearing thin, so you finally decide to ask him what it is exactly he wants.

↳ pairing: boss!yoongi x reader

↳ setting: office worker au, kinda angsty, smut

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, bondage, unethical power dynamics/abuse of power, degradation, unprotected sex (dont do it bbyz), hurt and comfort, dacryphilia, mean dom!yoongi, teasing, spanking, creampie, no aftercare, female prefixes for reader (miss).

↳ side note: word count is 3.3k!

masterlist

"goodnight!" your coworker called out over his shoulder, waving at you as he rounded the corner and left you alone in your cold, clinical office. you hadn't even bothered to look away from your screen, just humming in response. you were tired. exhausted, if you were being honest with yourself.

you couldn't afford to be honest with yourself though, you didn't have the time. your boss, min yoongi, had asked you to send another updated report to him due in twenty minutes. you were scrounging through emails, looking to find a reference number that you knew your coworker probably hadn't even thought to send to you. it was getting impossible.

you glanced over to the corner of your desktop screen to check if you'd missed yet another dinner with the guy you'd been seeing on and off again for the last year.

7:12pm

not only were you meant to meet him at 7, but you were meant to finish work at 4. before you could even let out a frustrated sigh and search for your phone to apologise, you felt the weight of a hand rest on the back of your chair, tilting you backward, making you lose your balance.

your panicked eyes flew up to the perpetrator, coloured with a mix of anger and confusion. "do i need to enroll you in training for how to sit in a chair now?" yoongi spoke, an arrogant smirk tugging on his lips. if only he wasn't your boss, you'd think about slapping him.

you gathered yourself and swiftly sat upright, twirling the chair around slightly to break his grip. it had been over a year yet, you were still stunned by how beautiful your boss is. his dark hair was swept softly behind his ears, allowing the harsh office lighting to highlight the peaks of face, his nose and cheekbones. you'd accepted the job offer the second he'd extended it. how could you refuse a face like that?

you remembered how soft his lips looked when he'd smiled at you for the first time, right when you came in for your interview. if you'd known then that you'd be working 11 hour days, maybe you'd have realised that he was likely smiling because you'd fallen right into his trap.

"how's the report coming along?" he asked as his smirk faded into a stern line. you sighed, glancing back at your monitor. "i'm just looking for one last item, and i'll be done." you explained, attempting to keep the fatigue out of your tone to no avail.

"you're still new, but you should be working on your efficiency, y/n." he sighed, shifting his weight to lean on your desk. you swallowed the anger growing in your throat, nodding in response. "yes, sir." you bit the inside of your cheek, lost for words at his condescension. silence filled the room, and the tension in your stomach was growing unbearable.

what the fuck did he want from you?

none of your other coworkers had to submit daily reports, and you were the only one expected to bring everyone coffee in the morning, the only one expected to set up meeting rooms for yoongi without being asked, the only one who did almost four hours of over time every day.

"d-did everyone have to do all this when they started here?" you asked, gulping as you suppressed the anxiety that rose from questioning your boss. he raised an eyebrow at you, crossed his arms across his chest, and sighed, not breaking his scolding gaze. "what do you mean?"

"oh, i- uh." you stuttered, heat spreading across your face. "the reports, and the..." you trailed off, eyes darting across the empty office. "the overtime." you finished quietly.

yoongi stared at you, examining the pink flush growing across your cheeks and ears. his eyes flashed with amusement as you squirmed under his gaze, desperate for him to break the silence and answer the question. "i- i don't mind, it's just..." you stuttered, unable to look anywhere besides the floor beneath you.

"...you just?" he asked, voice dripping with levity.

"i mean, tonight, for example," you swallowed, struggling to find your words. "i had plans that i had to miss because of all the extra work." you heard him let out a short exhale, a silent laugh at your desperate plea. "extra work? you think you're working harder than your coworkers?" he mused. your eyes flew up to meet his teasing grin, shocked at his misinterpretation of your words. "that's not what i meant-" you began to explain, shifting in your seat.

"is there somewhere you'd rather be, miss y/n?" he asked smugly grinning at your panicked state. you hesitated, because yes, of course, there was somewhere you'd rather be. he stretched his hand out on your desk, sliding his pointer across it before checking for dust. "how about you finish the report, and then we can talk." he added, standing up from his position on your desk before straightening his blazer jacket and nodding his farewell at you.

-

after yoongi's brief intervention, you'd finished even later than you anticipated. the printer jamming didn't help either, you'd only managed to place your report on your boss's desk before 8pm. it was already dark out and you were contemplating calling an uber instead of catching the bus when yoongi interrupted your train of thought. "before you go," he spoke, gesturing to the seat in front of you at his desk. without a word, you took a seat, placing your hands in your lap.

"tell me about how you're being overworked." he invited, leaning back in his chair. your eyes flickered to the small of his waist, and you noted that he'd taken his jacket off, now tossed on the couch against the wall. you eyed his collar, the loosened tie, the top button undone. you'd never seen him disheveled like this.

"well?" he asked, noticing exactly where your eyes were going.

"i- i mean, i'm the only one here so far after hours." you spoke, stumbling over your words as you snapped out of your sinful thoughts. "and doing the team reports, i- i don't..."

a smile spread across his features as he slowly stood up from his chair and sauntered over to you, seating himself on his desk, his thighs only inches away from your knees. "i'm here too, you know." he spoke almost in a whisper, drawing you in. "you know the saying about diamonds being forged under pressure?" he added, not expecting an answer.

you shook your head, frustration building up and spreading across your body. "i guess i just don't know what you expect of me, sir." you sighed, unable to prevent the anger you felt slipping into your speech.

yoongi tutted, crossing his legs in front of you. "only the best from you," he laughed quietly. "you want to know how to please me, y/n?" he asked, fingers tracing down the length of his tie as his facade of professionalism seemed to vanish. you nodded, ignoring the icy sensation of butterflies in your stomach. he leaned over, lowering his face until it was just above yours. "be better." he spoke.

your eyes started burning and tears formed at their corners almost instantly. the sinking feeling in your stomach was almost painful as your chin quivered at the insult. you couldn't look at him. you had been working hellish hours, day in and day out at his request and this is how he regarded you. your view of the floor began to blur as a tear fell down your cheek and onto your thigh.

you flinched and closed your eyes as yoongi extended his arm to you and cupped your face, the pad of his thumb smearing a tear across your cheek. his touch was cold, providing relief for you in your heated state. you couldn't help but lean into his hand, despite your anger. "so pretty," he said under his breath as it hitched. you opened your eyes and looked up at him, confused. through your blurred vision, you saw him swallow.

"fuck," he breathed, staring into your eyes as his hand went from your face to his mouth. you wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to save yourself from the humiliation of crying in front of your boss. "stand up." he demanded, face deadly serious while you stared at him, bewildered. after you sat there, still, his hand reached out to pull you from the chair. you felt how hard and fast your heart was beating, how the confusion slowed your brain down, heat stirring deep inside you.

"you're such an obedient worker," he spoke, still looking down over you as he leaned on his desk. "always do whatever i say,". silence filled the room again as your heart hammered in your chest. you hated him for doing this to you and you were embarrassed, but his hot-and-cold tone made it impossible for you to leave. his words made you feel something, a mixture of humiliation and heat. you wanted his approval, his validation and you wanted him. you wanted it so bad you ached.

"that's why i keep you around, y/n." he finally spoke.

you gulped, the frustration and confusion mixing to form a mess of arousal and eagerness to please your boss. "y-you keep me back because i do what you want?" you ask, trying to keep what was left of your professional composure, although yoongi's had clocked out a long time ago.

he nodded slowly, breathing you in as you stood before him. "bend over." he instructed, finally standing. "that's what i want." he added, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. you contemplated it, mulling it over in your mind. yoongi wasn't going to make you do it, he was waiting to see how far you'd go.

"you'll let me go home at a reasonable hour?" you asked, it slowly dawning on you what exactly you were negotiating over. yoongi hummed and walked behind you, pulling the chair away from the desk. "i don't think you'll want to, but we'll see.". the thought sent a wave of electricity through you.

you didn't know what to expect from yoongi. of course, you'd thought about fucking him, but in your fantasies you were made to share a bed at some work trip, it had been romantic and critically, hadn't started with you crying. nevertheless, you stepped forward towards the desk and placed your hands on the cool wooden surface.

you felt his hand press against the expanse of your thigh, rubbing it over in soothing motions before he retracted it and landed a cruel, hard slap against the tender spot. you groaned at the lingering sting on your skin, knees buckling beneath you as your jaw clenched. "what you really lack," he spanked your thigh again, harder and higher up your legs. "is discipline."

he placed a hand on your back, pushing you further down and bringing your face flush against the desk. you felt your skirt hitch up and rest against your hips, revealing your plain black underwear. you certainly hadn't expected anyone to be seeing your ass today, otherwise, you might have worn something a litter lacier. yoongi didn't seem to mind as he groped the flesh of your ass before landing another slap, this time on your behind, earning a strangled moan.

"this is what you're good for," he growled as he brought your hands behind your back. you heard the rustling of fabric before feeling him place his tie around your wrists, wrapping it tightly around them before pulling it into a knot with a swift yank. he spanked you again before stepping back to take in the sight with an approving smile.

"so tell me where you'd rather be, y/n." he mused, rubbing the reddening hand marks on your skin. "getting fucked by some fucking low-life who can't even pick you up from work? was that one of the plans you've had to miss because of your mean boss?" his fingers drifted over your aching core and you shifted your hips, desperate for relief from the stinging his ruthless slaps had caused. he responded by applying more pressure as he stroked you over your folds.

"so fucking desperate," he chided, pressing your underwear into your soaked core. "you should hear the way your coworkers speak about you. such a pretty thing, such a tight ass." he was mimicking someone, you couldn't tell who.

you let out a hum, unable to answer as the reality of the situation was still forming in your mind. you just wanted him, you didn't care anymore. you wriggled your hips, backing them into his palm. his free hand slipped onto your hip, pulling your underwear down until they were at your knees. from the corner of your eye, you saw him bend down onto his knees as both of his hands regained their grip on your ass. "please," you whined, pleading for his taunting to be over.

his tongue was hot and wet, licking long stripes and pushing past your folds. the foreign feeling sent you reeling, and you let out a high-pitched moan as you felt your face heat up against his desk. he stood up and leaned over you, his face behind your ear as his fingers found their way to your clit. "obedient little slut," he hissed, his venomous words shooting straight to your core. "you come into my office every day after hours wearing your tight skirts and heels,"

he rubbed your clit in fast, tiny circles making you moan whenever his index finger passed over it with a little too much pressure. "and you wonder why i always keep you back?" he laughed incredulously, you could hear the disbelief in his voice. he stood back up, removing his hand from your soaked pussy. you heard him fiddle with his zipper before pulling his cock out of his slacks. you wished you could see it, you just knew it would be as pretty as he was. he pumped it slowly, looking over you as you squirmed in your powerless position. "can't fucking take it anymore," he sounded desperate. you wondered how long he'd been thinking about this, planning this.

you weren't prepared when you felt his cock press against you, its smooth length coating itself in your arousal. he groaned as he rubbed himself against you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you into him. "tell me to stop," he said, almost begging. you knew how bad this would be for him, for you, for the company, but you couldn't. you needed him.

"i want you," you replied in your softest of voices. "please, sajangnim"

you felt him line himself up behind you before slowly entering you, filling your core as you fluttered around him. you let out an unrestrained moan in tandem, finally feeling a ripple of pleasure wash over you. he didn't ease you into it before pumping himself into you, using a firm grip on your hair as leverage for his merciless thrusts. "fuck," he exclaimed, throwing his head back as he fucked you over the desk, papers and pens falling to the floor. "you're my slut," he panted.

you nodded against the desk, his unrelenting strokes invoking waves of ecstasy every time his cock filled you up. "yours," you agreed mindlessly. "only yours."

he slapped your ass, the pain adding to the spreading pleasure taking over your body. "you'll fuck when i want you to fuck," he spoke through his grunting. "say you'll suck my dick whenever i ask."

you could barely register his words through your moans and the deafening pleasure. "yes, sir, whatever you want." despite your concession, he slapped the side of your thigh. he fucked you, unrelenting and unforgiving like he'd been deprived for years.

he used your tied wrists to pull you flat against his chest as his other hand snaked around your front, rubbing between your folds and stroking your clit as you moaned at the overstimulation. "greedy slut." he spat, sharply impaling you with a powerful thrust that hurt. you felt the tie come loose from your wrists.

you whined, needing him to be satisfied and continue pleasing you like he had been. he pulled out of you, forcefully turning you around and pushing your ass into his desk. for the first time, you saw his crazed expression, lips wet, coated with spit and your essence. his pupils were blown out and his expression was serious, almost furious. if you weren't so turned on, you'd almost be scared.

as he pushed you further onto the desk, you used your palms to keep your balance as he carelessly brought one of your legs up and around his waist. for a brief moment, you eyed his cock- thick and hard. pretty, like you'd expected.

you couldn't look for long before he slotted himself between your legs and entered you again, his eyes trained on your chest as your tits bounced in response to his thrusts. his lips were parted as he fucked into you, cockily driving into you like he knew how good it felt.

moans passed your lips before you could register them, your orgasm building even quicker now that you could actually see what he was doing to you. "lie down." he grunted, pushing you down before you could respond. he lifted your other leg and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk, the tip of his cock pumping your hilt, drawing a pained groan from your throat.

this position was almost too much for you to handle, allowing yoongi to reach deeper inside of you than he had before. or really, deeper than anyone had before. your palms tapped against his arm in desperation as you gasped, ready to reach your orgasm. "please, i'm going to-" you began. he slapped your thigh, cutting you off and breaking your train of thought. he continued rolling his hips into you at a tireless pace, desperate to reach his own end. "such a slut for me, cumming on my cock already?"

you hummed, nodding eagerly at his words. one of your legs fell as he released his hold, his hand finding its way to your pussy to rub soft circles over your clit. you were almost sobbing, the pleasure ripping through you pitilessly. you arched your back as his cock slid in and out of you while the first wave of your orgasm began to crash, wetness spreading down your legs and onto the desk. "yoongi!" you exclaimed as he fucked you through the peak your orgasm, your fingernails digging into his toned arms. your vision began to whiten as you came, unable to think of anything besides how incredible and intoxicating he felt inside you.

the fluttering of your walls and increasing tightness around his cock became too much, and yoongi lowered his gaze to where the two of you met. a thick ring of white had formed at the base of his cock, and it sent him over the edge. he dug his fingernails into the flesh of your thigh as he released a whiny grunt at the realisation. you felt him pulsate inside you, his thrusts becoming unrestrained and rigid as his eyes crammed shut. his grunts became moans as you felt him release inside you, your name falling from his lips in breathy pleas. his thrusts finally slowed as his tip became too sensitive to continue.

he unsheathed himself and tucked his wet cock back into his pants, you could still make out the hard, thick shape underneath. silence filled the room as you began to move, closing your legs and hopping off the desk. yoongi raised an eyebrow and bent down to pull your underwear back up against your pussy. "don't waste a fucking drop." he whispered before winking at you. you straightened out your skirt as you processed his words.

he'd finished inside you.

he rubbed your clothed cunt before standing back up and fixing your collar, as if he was getting ready to send you back off to work. though, you had a feeling he wasn’t done yet. "i'll drop you home." he spoke, turning on his heel to grab his jacket from the couch.

like he hadn't just completely changed everything for you.

[2willowlane]

mmph. i fell hard for the town doctor already; and i'm in need of some hugs with him </3

gender neutral reader, sfw, romantic/platonic

running the clinic in pelican town wasn't as easy as many think it is. sure, less people does equal to some not-so busy working hours. sorting through medical files, organizing documents, making sure all of the information is up to date... harvey is glad that he has maru taking care of some of the shifts. however, all those restless nights where he had to scramble around for his coffee mug—as the only light source came from his monitor, as he filled in the monotonous "yes/no" questions that would fill up the screen...

it made harvey feel so, so very exhausted already; by just the mere thought of it.

harvey adored his position, as he did slave away hours of his life at medical school for a reason. there was something that connected him with medicine. even if there's something more personal with him and aviation, he could find comfort in knowing that what he did with his life was right. there was something that did urge at him, though, that his dreams of being a pilot felt as if they were just selfish. selfish, in a way, that he only wantes to fulfill what was right for him—not for the countless others that are in need.

though, with time, did come with patience and understanding. he knew that not all dreams can come true; but he wasn't deterred by it. as long as he kept on getting those model planes in the mail, and still listen in on the air traffic every now and then—he was able to enjoy those simple, little delights. at first, the title of "doctor" felt like a burden to harvey, a pang of emotion hitting him whenever he'd be referred as that. it was something a person had to experience; as it was hard for harvey to even begin to place what that feeling meant to him.

wiping his mouth off with the cuff of his olive overcoat, harvey finished drinking his evening coffee in his upstairs apartment. it was around 12pm; the time where he'd enjoy to go outside, trying to not let the stale air of the clinic get to him all too much. even if he just stood outside on that bunch of grass for hours and hours, it always served as a great space to just appreciate what he has here. great friends and job, in an equally great place here in the valley. those moments where the doctor could just relax inside, not having to worry about anything (just yet) was what he lived for. all that hard work then satisfyingly pays off—for the better, really.

as he got up to run some water in the sink, to clean his mug, he heard a gentle knock at the door. he knew who it was exactly. with a gentle grin to himself, harvey went to go place down the cup on the countertop, as he made his way towards the door. opening the door, you knew you probably had just made his day, as he immediately asked how you were doing; oh-so happy to have seen you. with such emotion, you reciprocated harvey's affections, with a heartwarming hug of your own.

"what's gotten you so excited?" you felt his voice reverberate against your chest, your head comfortably next to his; your hands behind his tall, strong back. "not that i mind, however."

harvey allows his friends to come to his apartment; as he not only appreciates the company. it makes him feel also appreciated, that someone would want to spend at least just a moment of their time upstairs. there were times where he hates having such a big space to himself; he knows that it's not the biggest flat, but, he couldn't imagine living in anything greater. it just reminds him of how lonely he could get at times. with his job requiring him to move to this place and that... harvey enjoys knowing that there are still people out there who understand. he doesn't want to be the "busy friend" all of the time; he works because he cares, and he works very hard to at least get a day off—a day off to where he can at least spend his time doing what he enjoys most. namely, being with you.

as you laughed, a bit embarrassed by how you hugged him, you withdrew—still holding onto him. he chuckled by your mumbled apology, and reassured you that everything was okay.

"it's okay! well, glad that you've been well."

[a-little-revolution]

hey elliot! this is a surgery question, so please take all the time you need to reply. you've mentioned you had top surgery before, and i was wondering what it was like accessing that kind of care as a little person? was it challenging finding a surgeon willing to work with you? what sort of considerations were needed for your surgery and recovery, if any? i was also curious if you had used a binder before surgery, and how you found it? i have a hard enough time donning and doffing mine with long arms, so i'd imagine it could be quite challenging for you, but maybe you found ways around it! thank you for all your hard work and patience in educating folks. wishing you bountiful spoons and lots of restful, easy days 💚

Hello! Thank you so much for your patience, I did indeed take some time to process this - I'm more than happy to answer questions related to surgery on here, as it's such a large part of my experience as a little person, but I may indeed take some time to respond as I have medical CPTSD.

Anyhoo lol Yes! I have had top surgery, and my dwarfism did effect how I accessed that care:

Because I'm at risk for spinal injury, my surgery was done at a hospital rather than an outpatient centre where most top surgery is conducted (I needed to be kept overnight for monitoring while most top surgery patients leave day-of)

Like for all my surgeries, my sleep apnea and oxygen levels needed to be monitored

But unlike my many other surgeries, this particular hospital (which will remain nameless for my own security) was incredibly inaccessible despite it being obviously well funded. No stools to be found, the wheelchairs were so high and designed with an almost bike-like frame that I needed to be liften in and out of them, and the staff was unfriendly and ableist.

My surgeon was picked for her experience with little people rather than her experience with top surgery. (I ended up unhappy with my results because my surgeon was more familiar with breast reductions and didn't follow through with my wishes. My top surgery was actually the worst surgery experience I've had - I was repeatedly dead-named by members of the hospital, overdosed on anaesthesia, and my surgeon had a terrible bedside manner)

But my touch up surgeon was my first choice! Dr. Armstrong at McLean Clinic did a fantastic job straightening my scars and removing my nipples (which I had hesitated on for the first surgery but firmed up for the second. I love having no nipples!)

Image description: a photo of my torso and lower face, displaying my healed top surgery results. Two wavy pink scars line the bottom of my pecks, and I have no nipples. With one hand on my hip and the other on my upper chest, you can see my tarot "the fool" tattoo, my kissing crows, and my sailor mercury star. On my right hand I wear a red glass ring to honor my deity Hestia. I have pail skin, a short brown beard, green curly hair and a gold vertical medusa piercing.

Post-op care was understandably different for me. Since my arms are already short and locked, the limit to my range of arm motion affected me even more. I needed even more help with care tasks than that of an average height/able bodied patient. I was lucky to several loved ones around to help :) Though compared to other surgeries, I was happy that I was able to walk and be more independent for the most part.

I also just want to add: something I see a lot on social media is trans and nonbinary folks seemingly bouncing back from surgery effortlessly. We see them at the beach, posting photos, and it gives the illusion that top/gender affirming surgery isn't the painful, emotional, difficult thing that it is. IT'S OKAY IF YOU DON'T FEEL QUEER JOY IMMEDIATELY AFTER SURGERY!! It takes a while to heal and bounce back because it is a lot on your body! Take your time, and give your body the love and care it needs!

Anyway I hope this all was helpful/educational - and I wish all my queer, trans, and otherwise gender diverse followers a lovely day!!

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ayo can we get a hot ass "keep my wife's name out your goddamn mouth" Kathy x John

Kathy does routine physical exams obviously and in the showers Price overhears some locker room talking about his wife, how they'd like those hands to go further, like how she bosses them around etc.

Cue him rounding the corner to give them a solid punch and "Don't you dare utter my wife's name again"

Up to you if she rewards him ☺️

yes you fucking can!!!!

That's My Wife!

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.5K~ cw: jealousy, protectiveness, arguments, violence, injuries (mentioned), misogyny, sexually-charged comments, "locker room talk", smutless smut.

The worst time of the year for the army medical staff at Tidworth is September. Oh, how the nurses and doctors hate the month of September during which, for two weeks straight, they see nothing but soldier after soldier for health checks and physical exams to confirm that they’re fit for service.

It’s, unfortunately, repetitive, mind-numbing and time-consuming. It’s also, unfortunately, a whole hands on deck situation. So, everyone who’s not actively doing something else, gets called in to help process the soldiers.

That’s how Kathleen ends up, every year, in the clinic, helping physicians assess the soldiers. Her jobs tend to be easy. More of the same that she tends to already do: measuring heights and weights, calculating their BMI and body fat percentages, using the stethoscope to listen to their heartbeat and breathing, manning the blood pressure gauge…

And, of course, the most interesting stuff. Conducting stress tests and having to strap all sorts of machines and sensors to the soldiers and monitor how they perform as they run on a treadmill, as well as doing physical checks on old injuries, scars…

In short, she spends a long time in front of shirtless men… and even longer touching their chests, arms, backs, and sometimes their legs, to check for injuries, which often ends with her crouching or kneeling at their feet.

And, of course, the stupid soldiers can’t keep their mouths shut. More often than not they make a few remarks about taking her out later, about coming to see her more often, of being lucky they get her for their checks…

It’s a nightmare. Kathleen hates it. In fact, she wishes she wasn’t tasked with that every year… But the choice is her or risking one of the pretty new interns having to do it, girls who haven’t yet developed the thick skin she has, and would likely giggle and get flustered at the lads behaviour… instead of calling them out on it or just downright ignoring them.

September, as it turns out, is also a nightmare for John. But he only figured that out today.

After his Bravo team finished training for the morning, John allowed them to hit the showers and he stayed behind to finish some work and talk with Soap.

As they enter the locker room, the rest of Bravo team is already in the communal showers, talking loudly amidst themselves and laughing, their voices echoing amidst the spraying of the showers over them.

John pops open his locker and starts shedding his workout kit, tossing it into his bag on the shelf. Soap isn’t far from him, a few lockers up, in the adjacent wall, his locker door having his name ‘MACTAVISH’ inside the clear plastic name tag holder, with a post-it naming him ‘F.N.G’ scotch taped below it.

John doesn’t need to pay much attention to know they’re talking about women, especially, the nurses from the nearby Tidworth base. All of them had gone through their check-ups in the last couple of days and, as is typical, they couldn’t keep their traps shut about the pretty women with soft hands doting all over them.

“Oh, mine bent over and pushed those tits of hers right up to my knee.” One of them said.

“Lucky bastard. I got a bloke.” Another replied.

Oh, how many times John had told them to be quiet and keep those sorts of talks to themselves when they were at the barracks, and not in public… But did those knobheads listen? No, never.

John grabbed his towel and 2-in-1 shampoo and bodywash and headed into the showers, taking up one of the vacant spots and drawing the curtain after hanging the curtain just outside his stall.

“I swear she was giving me the look… Definitely wants a piece of me.”

“No bird would want a piece of yer ugly mug.”

The lads continued talking as he let the water run over his body and began quickly lathering himself up with his 2-in-1, washing his hair and face aggressively before running his head under the falling shower water.

“I’m not devout, but this new batch’a nurses they got this year makes me a believer.”

“That’s right, brother.”

One-by-one they started vacating their stalls, still chatting loudly about their check-ups and the young women that treated them, lounging about the locker room and making each other laugh.

“But that arse of hers… I just know she’d bounce so well on my cock-”

“Oh that’s nothing. You didn’t see her last year before they changed the colour of the scrubs… That blue colour just… mmmmm…”

John finishes his shower not long after, wrapping his grey towel around his hip and tying it up to stay still. Then, he collects his 2-in-1 bottle from its perch atop the metal piping of the shower and starts making his way back.

That’s when he hears it:

“It’s no wonder the Captain’s peacockin’ himself around like that… I mean have you seen the size of her tits?”

John’s blood runs cold. They wouldn’t fucking dare. They wouldn’t talk about Kathleen. 

No. 

Not they. 

Him.

Sergeant Ellis Evans. 

One he’s always had problems reining in.

“Captain’s lucky is all I’ll say… Body like hers… Hell, even I’d forgive that bloody attitude of hers.”

The others laughed as Evans continued.

“I mean, I’m sure Kathleen’s mouth’s good for more than just talking… Gotta be good on her knees.. They call her ‘Brass’ for a reason, right? Bet she leaves ‘em with a nice polish and shine once she’s done.” 

That did it.

John rounded the corner into the locker room and, abruptly, the room fell into silence, breaths hitching and the temperature dropping into an uncomfortable ice.

But John didn’t stop walking at the doorway… In fact, he beelined right for Evans.

“Captain, I-” Evans immediately tried backtracking. “We were just joking, we were just-”

“Keep my wife’s name out your bloody mouth.” John grits at him through clenched teeth before he throws a right cross to Evans’ face.

-

It’s just past 7P.M. when Kathleen comes in through the front door. John has made dinner for them and little Charlotte is already asleep in her crib by the time she does.

She sets her bag down in the entrance, takes off her shoes, and pads over to the kitchen in search of John.

“Hi…” She greets him softly as she approaches the table, causing him to swivel on his chair to greet her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She presses a kiss to his mouth, which he returns. “Hi, Da’lin’.” He murmurs to her once they separate.

“Is she down?” She asks in a soft tone as she looks at him.

“Mhm… Full belly and empty diaper.” He tells her, which makes her smile softly, seeming relieved.

Kathleen feels exhausted, as usual, still not used to the work-life balance that comes from having a 4-month-old baby who doesn’t like to sleep + and a physically demanding job that runs on a 12-hour-shift schedule. 

John swivels back to his previous position, nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand, the right one resting on the table, the knuckles covered by a blue gel ice pack.

“So that’s what happened...” Kathleen muses as she glances at his iced hand, before backing away to grab herself a plate of food from the cupboard.

“What is?” John murmurs as he glances at her, watching her serve herself of some frozen lasagna and salad.

“One of your lads ended up in my emergency room after some ‘roughhousing gone wrong in the locker room’... I was musing about what he did all afternoon.” She quips as she pads over to the table again again.

“Hm.” John mutters quietly, seemingly a mix of embarassed and annoyed at that fact.

“So what did he do?” She asks as she takes a seat on his lap, perched on his lap, as she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“Talked about you.” John murmurs, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Only I get to say debauching things about My Wife.” He grumbles as he looks up into her eyes.

Kathleen rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, but she can’t help the smirk that takes over her rudy lips as he calls her ‘his wife’. “My, Mr. Price, defending my honour, huh?” She jokes as she pops a bit of lettuce in her mouth.

“Defending my honour… and yours by proxy. Just an unforeseen consequence of it.” He tells her, trying to act nonchalant about the fact he broke a man’s nose, eyesocket and three of his ribs, for demeaning his wife.

“Right… Of course… How stupid of me…” Kathleen teases as she leans toward him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which makes his blue eyes close, a smile taking over his features. 

“As opposed to… what exactly? There isn’t much up there other than thoughts of my cock, da’lin’.” John remarks, causing her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and flick his head away from her by pushing his cheek, annoyed.

“I can very well just stop thinking about it all together… And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that when I was just about to reward you for defending me…” Kathleen teases as she pops another cherry tomato in her mouth, eyes locked on John and the way his pupils dilated, his cock already stirring awake in his joggers against her ass in her green scrubs.

[mandalhoerian]

⸺ luis serra x reader, 21K

⸺ folk horror, psychological horror

⸺ summary: Luis Serra has one last heist in mind, a job that promises to be the ultimate escape. Together with you, he’s come to Valdelobos—a remote, luxurious village said to hold riches beyond belief. But as plans unfold, you find that paradise often comes with a price.

⸺ back to bloody endings.

⸺ read on ao3

taglist: @uhlunaro @wxwieeee @ann1-the-s1mp @withonly-sweetheart @esterphobic

@justb3333 @ada-wong-lover @nyctophiliagnes @kiyokoume @lightning-hawke

@cherriesnfangs @byexbyez @dark-star-exe @raiko

The steady beep of a heart monitor cuts through the fog in your mind, dragging you slowly from unconsciousness.

Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by a soft, unfamiliar pressure. The air is cool, crisp with the faint scent of antiseptic that stirs an uncomfortable knot low in your chest. You blink, and the room around you begins to take shape—white walls, a wooden side table, a bed covered in a quilt dotted with tiny pink roses. Sunlight slips through lace curtains, casting soft patterns on the floor.

You sit up slowly, wincing as a dull ache pulses at the base of your skull. The sheets slip from your shoulders, rough and starched, as if they haven’t been touched in a long time. You rub your eyes, trying to chase away the heaviness in your limbs, but it lingers stubbornly.

Your fingers curl against the blanket as you glance around the room. The furniture is minimal—neatly arranged, but unremarkable. A cabinet rests against the wall, its corners chipped from age. There’s no clutter, no signs of life except for the faint scent of disinfectant that hangs in the room. A perfectly folded set of clothes rests on a chair in the corner, as if waiting for you. The room feels clean, orderly. Familiar. But not yours.

A hand presses gently against your back and you jump, startled. A tall woman stands beside the bed, her long hair drawn loosely into a ponytail. She smiles reassuringly as she hands you a glass of water. She’s tall, her white uniform crisply pressed, and her movements are smooth, unhurried. She smiles, a calm, practiced expression that radiates warmth.

“You’re awake,” she says. “How are we feeling?”

You open your mouth to answer, but your throat feels dry, your thoughts still sluggish. You clear your throat and manage to ask, “Where am I?”

“You’re in Valdelobos, at our clinic,” she says, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She doesn’t look old enough to be a doctor or nurse, but there's something vaguely comforting about the way she carries herself. Like it's second nature to put others at ease. It gives you a bit of comfort even as the fog lingers persistently in your mind. “You were in an accident, but everything’s fine now. We’ve taken care of you.”

Her words settle into the quiet, and for a moment, they seem reasonable. Accident? The word stirs something in you, but it’s distant, out of reach. You look around the room again, as if the answer might be hidden in the sterile order of it all.

“An accident?” you repeat, your brow furrowing as you grab in the dark for a memory that won’t come.

The woman nods calmly and hands you the glass of water again. You take it obediently and drink deep. The cool liquid eases the tightness in your throat. “Yes, a car crash just outside the village. You and your friend were both brought here after. You’ve been unconscious for a few days.”

It's just then that you notice the urinary catheter, though thankfully your bladder isn't full so it remains somewhat less-than-sexy in terms of emergency hospital stays. That would explain why you feel this weight pressing down on your lower half and why drinking such a small amount of water was already enough to make you realize just how much of the good stuff you could drink right now. Another tube is connected to your arm via IV line. Both look newer than the room itself which adds up given what she said about the crash happening only recently.

"I...don't remember," you say slowly, putting a tentative hand to your forehead. A name rises in your chest before you can stop it. “Luis,” you murmur, straightening in the bed. Your heart quickens slightly, and you look to the nurse for confirmation. “Is he... is he okay?”

Her smile deepens, eyes softening at the mention of him. “He’s resting in the room next door. He woke up a little while ago. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that you're awake.”

You nod, relief settling in your chest, even as a faint thread of discomfort lingers. You press your palms into the mattress, grounding yourself in the sensation of the firm material beneath your hands. The quilt feels too smooth, the pattern too perfect. You blink and turn back to the nurse.

“Can I see him?” you ask, the words leaving your mouth faster than you intended.

“Of course,” she replies. “Take your time. When you’re ready, you can visit him.” Her hands fold together neatly as she moves toward the door. “I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

She glides out, the door clicking softly behind her. The room falls back into silence.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold tiles beneath your feet sending a shiver up your spine. You’re dressed in a pair of simple pajamas—not your own. They’re crisp, like they’ve been freshly laundered, but the fabric feels stiff against your skin. For a moment, you just sit there, grounding yourself in the cool air, the stillness of the room. You need to get that catheter off, hopefully it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it looks. As you do so, you look over to the nightstand where someone has left you flowers, probably some sort of 'make your stay better' thing since hospitals charge enough.

There's no sign of your possessions, which strikes you as odd given all things considered. That aside, you have no recollection of getting here in the first place, not to mention a crash. Not surprising really considering the way your head is hurting, though at least whoever bandaged up your injuries seemed to have done it properly despite whatever happened. At that thought, your fingers creep slowly across your face, expecting to find scars or worse...but there's nothing but smooth skin, albeit incredibly sensitive when you prod too hard.

Satisfied that no part of your face seems damaged, you rise carefully from the bed. You feel stiff, sore, but not injured. Just battered, tired and dazed with bits of memory threatening to crawl their way to the forefront of your mind. None do yet, but you know that once you start moving they might come easier. Your body certainly remembers even if your brain hasn't caught up quite yet.

You cross the room toward the window. The curtains brush lightly against your arm as you pull them back, revealing the village beyond. Rows of neat, colorful houses line the cobblestone streets below, a few villagers stroll down the street, their laughter carrying faintly as they pass each other with smiles. . The rooftops are bright, the flowers blooming in vibrant colors, and the trees sway gently in the afternoon breeze. You glance toward the horizon where rolling green hills rise beyond the buildings, stretching toward snowcapped mountains rising in the distance. Everything seems peaceful, serene—a village from a postcard.

You push open the door to Luis’s room, feeling the cool brass handle slide under your palm. The room smells of faint lavender, mingling with the sharp scent of disinfectant. The layout mirrors yours—same white walls, same meticulously folded quilt, same stillness. But here, there’s something different, something that pulls a smirk to your lips the moment you lay eyes on him.

Luis sits at the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched slightly as he leans forward, rubbing his temples with the heels of his palms. His dark hair is a little messier than usual, unruly strands curling at his temples, and a faint shadow of stubble dusts his jawline. He looks up when the door clicks shut behind you, and there it is—that smile. Crooked, lazy, pulling up at the corner of his mouth, familiar as the man himself.

"You look awful," you tease, leaning against the doorframe and crossing your arms over your chest as he scrubs a hand down his face, huffing softly in response. "Who pissed on your parade?"

Luis groans, letting his hand drop to his lap. “And you sound like an angel, mi amor,” he shoots back, sits up straighter, waving his hand in a dramatic flourish. “Here to rescue me from boredom until I die, please say sí, say sí, mi corazón, por favor - save me from myself, from my sins. My jailer does not speak to me much more than required so I hope your conversation will be better."

“Please,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you push off from the door and stroll over to him. “Rescue? From what? Free room and board? If anything, I should be asking for a cut.”

He laughs, the sound rich and easy, filling the room in a way that makes the sterile walls feel a little less suffocating. His laughter has always been like that—disarming, a weapon he wields with precision when the tension creeps too high.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” you continue, taking a seat on the chair next to his bed, kicking your feet up onto the side of his mattress. “You’ve got that look in your eye. What’s eating at you?”

Luis narrows his eyes, but there’s a flicker of a smirk still tugging at his lips. He knows he can't hide much from you—and hell, he probably likes it that way, showing off like he always does.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" he asks with faux offense as he puts a hand to his chest for extra measure. "Ah...forgive me, it's just the medicine makes me slow, I swear. It was not intentional."

That earns another soft snort as you shake your head at him. "Oh no, it definitely was," you insist. "And it sucked. Come on, we've known each other for too long. Tell me what you're thinking about before I try to guess." You reach over, nudging his knee with your foot. "Leave the mysterious and brooding bullshit to me."

He grabs your ankle gently, thumb brushing against your skin, his touch warm and firm, shooting sparks through your whole body. Always touching, always finding an excuse to brush fingers or bump shoulders or press close in the cramped car during cons. That kind of intimacy comes naturally for him and has you stumbling every damn time because you never know when it starts or when it stops. Probably exactly what he wants since he lives for flustering people in general, but you'll be damned if you give him the satisfaction of being the one person who gets away with making you blush on command.

"You'd rather guess?" he asks with feigned surprise as he squeezes your ankle again teasingly, letting go soon after. "We really are falling into roles these days if that's what you wish." He leans forward slightly, dark hair tumbling across his forehead, muddy gray eyes scanning yours for a second before continuing, "My only mystery is the same one we're both struggling with, I think; what exactly happened?"

Your smile drops, replaced by an almost grimace as you frown and shake your head in frustration. It’s not your style. Instead, you shrug to recover, stretching your arms behind your head. “Well, considering you still have all your limbs attached, I’d say we came out on top.”

Luis chuckles, leaning back against the headboard now, his arms draped casually over his knees. “Is that how we measure success these days? Low bar, cariño.”

“Hey, sometimes it’s just about survival,” you reply, giving him a pointed look. “Besides, what the hell were we even doing out here anyway? You remember more than I do?”

A strange expression crosses Luis’s features as he hesitates. His brows draw together, and his gaze drops to his hands for a moment, watching as his knuckles crack quietly under the weight of his thoughts. It only lasts a second, barely long enough for you to notice unless you knew him well—but you do.

He looks up again, mouth twisting into something like a smile but lacking any real joy, falsehood as bright as the sun itself. It makes your stomach drop because while Luis tries his best not to lie to you, that doesn't mean there aren't parts of him he keeps tucked safely in the shadows, invisible until the light hits them just right. And right now, that blinding sunshine feels a little bit too intense for your liking.

"It's a bit jumbled, but..." He drums his fingers on the blanket beside him. The gesture reminds you of tapping Morse code messages late at night when the two of you couldn't sleep during stakeouts or when you simply wanted a private conversation during noisy events where nobody would be able to catch onto secret signals. Not that anyone ever could with the two of you running circles around everyone else. "We were coming here, to Valdelobos. This place—it’s like a dream, right? Too good to be true. We figured it was perfect. Rich folks, isolated, nobody’s paying too much attention to them. Easy pickings. Last heist. Supposedly. I don't have the details straight. Don't really remember much either."

You tilt your head, watching him closely. Luis’s expressions are always so readable, even when he tries to act indifferent. His forehead creases just a bit more, his jaw tightens just enough to notice—little tells that you’ve learned to pick up over the years. He’s frustrated, more than he’s letting on. Something is bothering him. But he continues before you can ask.

"Maybe my luck ran out this time," he says wryly, tossing you a casual smirk. "Maybe we should have stuck with card games instead. Had the odds in our favor, eh, mija?"

“Well, lucky for you,” you say, breaking the silence, “I’m sure it’ll come back once we’re out of this place and back on our feet. Valdelobos isn’t exactly the kind of place I planned on setting down roots.”

Luis’s eyes flick back to yours, and the smile returns, even if it’s softer this time. “Yeah? Not charmed by the quaint little village yet?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m thinking we settle down, open a bakery, sell muffins to the same five people over and over.”

“Sounds like hell,” Luis mutters, looking vaguely amused at the idea. "Better than living off cards and schemes though."

"Sure, except we suck at baking." You raise an eyebrow. "Really, we'll end up poisoning someone somehow. Are you okay with being arrested over muffins, Luis? Is that how you wanna go down in history? Murderers by blueberry breakfast pastry?"

He grins crookedly, showing off one too many teeth as he responds dryly, "Just wait until I get my hands on a whisk and buttercream frosting before passing judgement."

You nod, kicking off your shoes and tucking your legs up onto the chair, making yourself comfortable. "Worst comes to worst, we’ll just steal a bunch of cakes from somewhere nice and fancy so we have a proper retirement dinner instead. Besides, maybe they won’t arrest us if we bribe them with pie."

Luis smirks, knowing and acknowledging before changing topics with no warning, tone suddenly turning serious despite his expression remaining relaxed. "Tell me you don’t feel something wrong here."

The question surprises you. You shift forward, dropping your feet to the floor again. Luis catches the movement, glancing back at you. There it is again; hints of frustration. Hints of suspicion, even. And it's those two things which concern you most when it comes to Luis. That kind of mood usually spells trouble sooner than later. Even with whatever drugs he's been fed through his IV drip. He's always on his toes, always watching for risks, threats or opportunities. You admire him for it, truthfully, because sometimes you wish you had half the instincts he does. The instinct to turn tail and run whenever shit goes sour has saved both your hides more than a couple times over.

"We can talk about that once we get out of here," you suggest with an uncertain laugh. "Whatever plans you were cooking up can wait." You reach over, taking his hand in yours gently, lacing your fingers together, noticing the slight wince as you do. He has scratches on the knuckles. They weren’t bandaged like yours, and though they didn't seem deep, they are noticeable as all hell, especially paired with how obviously painful it must be to make such a cute face just from having a simple hand held. Either way, he doesn’t pull back, and you give his palm a quick squeeze before letting go, satisfied with the gesture if nothing else.

The sun sits high in a cloudless sky, casting a golden hue over the cobblestone streets as you and Luis step out of the clinic. It's warm, and a light breeze sweeps across the village, carrying the faint scent of flowers and freshly baked bread. It would almost feel serene if it weren’t for the constant tickle of uncertainty gnawing at the back of your mind.

Luis walks beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, shoulders relaxed, but there’s a restless energy in his movements. He glances around, taking in the neat rows of pastel-colored houses, the carefully trimmed hedges that line the walkways. Everything looks too polished, too clean, as if someone had gone over every inch with a careful hand to make sure not a single thing is out of place.

The sound of children laughing draws your attention to a group of them playing in the distance. They chase each other down the street, their faces flushed with joy., and a young man strolls by with a basket of apples slung over his arm, nodding at you with a wide smile as he passes.

Luis pulls his lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and closed with a soft click, click, click. His fingers dance over the metal, the small flame briefly flickering to life before he snaps it shut again. His lips twitch into a half-smile as he catches you glancing at the lighter. “You think they’ve got cigarettes around here? Or are they all too pure for such things?”

“Considering this place looks like it was ripped from a travel brochure, I’m betting they don’t,” you reply, matching his stride as the two of you move farther down the street. "Or maybe the ones they do have are expensive enough you need permission just to buy them."

His gaze turns mischievous as his grin widens, exposing slightly crooked teeth. He spins the lighter between his fingers, his movements fluid and effortless. You've always found it mesmerizing when he does that, but it's rarely comforting. Not with Luis Serra involved. That particular moveset comes out when his brain is working overtime, and nine times out of ten, it means there's something shady going on that requires finesse.

Luis chuckles, his eyes scanning the village with casual interest, but there’s a tension in his jaw, his thumb brushing over the lighter’s surface in slow, deliberate motions. “Might have to raid someone’s stash if this keeps up. I can’t keep pretending fresh air is enough for me.”

"Use the opportunity to go sober or something." You cross your arms loosely, trying not to wince at the soreness in your muscles. Your clothes fit snugly, almost like new despite smelling distinctly musty and like someone else. They probably aren't yours, given what happened, but you also really don't want to consider what happened to whoever owned them before. Better to assume the clinic gave you these spare ones. "You're gonna cough out a lung one day and die before we even finish a score."

Luis shrugs, adjusting the lapels of his jacket neatly against his chest. He runs a hand through his hair and brushes some of the loose strands behind one ear, revealing more of his face in profile than usual. It highlights the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the smooth lines of his jaw. There's a certain appeal in seeing him less than perfectly groomed like this. It feels rare, intimate—almost private in spite of it being in plain sight. It takes you a moment to register that he spoke while you were distracted. "Dying without finishing my business doesn't matter as long as it happens before something else gets me first."

His gaze drifts toward a nearby woman tending to the flowerbeds in front of her house. She smiles brightly at the two of you, her hands dusted with soil as she brushes her apron down.

“Good afternoon!” she calls, warm and sweet, as though she’s known you both for years.

“Afternoon,” Luis replies, lifting his hand in a lazy wave, his fingers still curled around the lighter.

The woman tilts her head, her smile widening as her gaze lingers on you both for a beat too long. You give a small nod in return, but something in her expression makes your shoulders tighten. It’s not overt, nothing obvious, but there’s a depth to her gaze, a brightness that seems almost... too knowing.

You shake the thought from your head, focusing instead on the sound of your boots scuffing against the cobblestones. Luis is already moving ahead, casting glances at the storefronts as you pass. There’s a bakery on the corner, its windows filled with neatly stacked loaves of bread, each one golden and perfectly shaped. Next to it, a butcher’s shop displays an array of meats that gleam behind the glass in shades of red and pink.

He flips the lighter open again, watching the flame flicker before shutting it with a sharp snap. “So, what’s the plan? We just wait around until someone hands us a ‘Welcome to Valdelobos’ brochure with all the secrets printed inside?”

You shrug, keeping pace alongside him as the two of you walk further down the street. People bustle about, their chatter filling the quiet afternoon, carrying over the soft hum of crickets chirping from nearby gardens. Some of them glance in your direction, offering friendly waves and cheerful greetings. It should feel normal, easy. It doesn't. Not even as you start waving back while Luis sticks with smiling thinly at everyone and keeping his tongue safely away from saying anything unnecessary to those poor souls. "Isn't this part your area of expertise?"

"Yes." He gives a short laugh. "But there are limits to what I can do here when all I know is this place is full of people with money. Doesn't exactly narrow the options down very far, especially since our lovely hosts haven't seen fit to share any more details. Still, don't worry." With practiced ease, Luis slips into his best cocky grin, flashing white teeth as he winks playfully. He falls back into his usual routine of banter and mischief so seamlessly you would never guess it bothered him at all. He gestures casually towards himself, speaking slowly as if explaining something simple to a child. "This will only take a few days, tops. Give me enough time and I'll find something worth taking advantage of, believe me. The hard part was getting here to begin with."

The door to the café creaks softly as it swings shut behind you, the faint jingle of a bell accompanying it. Inside, the air is warm, thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee. Wooden tables are scattered across the space, each one gleaming as though polished with care, their surfaces reflecting the soft afternoon light streaming through the tall windows. The place is quiet, save for the faint clink of dishes from the back room, and the muted murmurs of customers conversing amongst themselves. A radio plays somewhere outside—a pleasant tune, cheery, old fashioned. Almost vintage sounding.

Luis steps ahead of you to an empty booth in the corner where sunlight shines down on the polished, warm brown of the tabletop. His coat hangs loose over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, showing off the faint scar along one forearm, earned from some past scrape or another. He moves fluidly, his hand brushing the back of a chair before pulling it out and sinking into the seat, settling comfortably in the seat. He stretches out, one leg kicking lazily out in front of him, his fingers already dancing over the metal lighter in his hand. Flick. Click. Snap. The flame flares briefly before disappearing again. He’s been playing with it since you left the clinic, his gaze traces over the rest of the establishment as if sizing it up, taking everything in, analyzing each detail before storing it away.

You lean against the counter at the front of the room, glancing at the glass display filled with pastries—each one golden and perfectly formed, as if no one had ever made a mistake in this kitchen. The woman behind the counter greets you with a smile that’s almost too wide, her apron spotless, her hair neatly tucked behind a pale green bandana. Her gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary, but you don’t let it show that you’ve noticed.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, bright and airy.

“Just coffee,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at Luis. “And whatever he wants.”

Luis, still lounging in his chair, doesn’t look up right away. His thumb flicks the lighter open again, the small flame dancing briefly before being snuffed out with a quick snap. He’s quiet for a beat longer than usual, before flashing the woman a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll take whatever the lady is having. And maybe something to eat. Surprise us.”

You order for both of you, paying with the money you found in your pockets earlier—wondering if this was what they were able to salvage from the car crash and returned back to you. It didn’t seem like a lot, but you supposed it might suffice for now. The woman at the counter hands you the change in a small basket, her smile never wavering, and you thank her before making your way back to the booth where Luis is waiting.

As you slide into your seat, Luis nods toward the basket sitting between the two of you. He picks up a sugar cube, popping it into his mouth with a soft crunch, his jaw moving in slow circles as he savors the taste of pure sugar with no flavor while you grimace, watching him.

"I just brought sweets, and you settle for a sugar cube like a horse," you say in disbelief as you pick up your coffee cup, taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid. It’s rich and dark, with a hint of bitterness that lingers on your tongue. Not bad, actually. Better than you expected. Luis just chuckles quietly, reaching for another cube, his eyes following the movement of the café owner as she moves behind the counter, humming along with the music. "Terrible taste."

"You don't know what you're missing," he replies, popping the cube in his mouth and sucking on it loudly. "It's an underrated treat. A secret delicacy. Not that I'd expect you to understand."

"It's just sugar. Just sugar, Luis. You might as well chug corn syrup while you're at it."

His expression is relaxed, almost bored, but the lighter keeps moving, his fingers spinning it absentmindedly, never staying still. His brows are slightly furrowed, and you notice that there's a small scar above his right eye. One that's new, not one you remember. It looks fresh, recent.

"Your eyes are twitching," you say, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest, watching him closely. "Spill."

Luis glances up, his gaze flicking from the sugar bowl to your face, and a smirk spreads across his features. "What?"

"You've been on edge all morning," you state plainly, gesturing at the lighter in his hand. "The peace and quiet making you itch or what?"

He stops lighting the it on and off, but his thumb keeps sliding over the edge of the lighter. He brushes his thumb across the scar above his brow, as though he'd forgotten about its presence. "Why would it? It's what we wanted, no?" His gaze flicks back to the window, where a couple walks by, hand in hand, smiling and nodding at everyone they pass. “What do you think? Should we buy a little cottage here? Raise some chickens, maybe a goat?”

This talk feels intentional in the aftermath of the muffin banter you had earlier, and you’re not sure whether to be concerned or annoyed. Or amused. It’s not entirely out of character for him to joke about something like that, especially since he’s never shown an interest in settling down before. Still, something about the mental image of Luis tending to a flock of animals on some idyllic farm in the countryside makes your lips twitch. "I'd pay to see you milk a cow," you reply with a half-smile, raising your eyebrows. "That'd be a hell of a show."

Luis grins, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the tabletop, his chin propped up by one hand. His dark hair falls across his forehead, brushing his cheekbones as his head tilts to the side. He's always been good at this game, this dance between you two that's almost like a game of chess, every move carefully calculated. "Oh, I'd be happy to give you a private performance," he says, his accent rolling off his tongue in a way that's both charming and infuriating. "No charge."

You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but the corners of your mouth turn upward, betraying the amusement that bubbles up within. "Pass," you say, taking another sip of your coffee, feeling the warm liquid slide down your throat and settle in your stomach.

"Your loss," he shrugs, reaching for another sugar cube, popping it into his mouth and crunching down loudly.

"Please stop eating pure sugar," you groan, rubbing your temple with one hand. "You're better than this, Luis, there's literally a plate of actual food right there, use it."

Luis just grins, shrugging casually as he chews the sugar cube noisily, his fingers tap a rhythm against the lighter, his thumb brushing over its surface in a way that seems almost unconscious. He leans back in his seat, his legs stretching out under the table until his foot brushes yours. “I’d make a terrible farmer. Too many things that can catch fire," he says out of nowhere. “And you, you’re too much of a city girl to even touch a pitchfork.”

You shrug, playing along, but you notice the way his fingers tap against the lighter, the rhythm uneven now. His foot is still pressed against yours beneath the table, a gentle pressure that's oddly grounding in its familiarity. "Who knows? Maybe I'd be a natural." You take a bite of your own pastry, savoring the flaky texture and the hint of sweetness that lingers on your tongue, it melts in your mouth, leaving a pleasant aftertaste.

"I think you’d go crazy. No action. No excitement. Just... this.”

He gestures loosely to the café, the street outside, the perfect houses lined up in neat rows. The smirk is still there, but his eyes don’t follow his hand. They stay fixed on the window, watching the people pass by with their wide smiles and easy laughter. His thumb flicks the lighter open again, the flame flickering before disappearing with a snap. It’s a small thing, a nervous tic maybe, but it feels important somehow. Like there’s more beneath the surface.

"What's wrong with 'this'?" you ask, setting your cup on the table, the porcelain clinking gently. "Not exactly complaining about the free medical treatment and a roof over our heads. Beats sleeping in the car or some rundown motel."

The smirk slips from his face as he sighs, turning his gaze back to you, his expression unreadable. “I’m saying you’re just like me. You’d be bored out of your mind.” His tone is light, but his eyes stay sharp, searching yours as though looking for confirmation, a sign that you understand what he’s really getting at.

There’s a beat of silence, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft clink of cups being set on tables and the faint rustle of the napkins the woman keeps folding. Luis’s smile doesn’t fade, but there’s something tight in his jaw, something restless in the way his foot taps against the floor.

You're blinking as if to fix the blurriness in vision as you automatically reply, "Yeah, that's true," but your words are distant, muffled, like you're out of your body. You shake your head slightly, trying to clear your mind, wondering why you replied like that when you're not quite of the same opinion, not even close. You try to speak, to say something, but the words die in your throat. You blink again, and this time, everything snaps into place, the colors suddenly sharper, the sounds clearer. "I... I'd be restless, yeah. This being the last heist is disappointing, actually. I feel like there's so much this dream team still can do together. Who's gonna stop us from making a mint if we keep doing this?"

Luis just nods, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your face, searching for something. "Of course you would say that."

Luis moves through the warmth of Valdelobos like a man underwater. The sunlight is bright, almost blinding as it bounces off the brightly painted houses, their walls a patchwork of reds, blues and yellows. He squints against the glare, a second heartbeat in his skull pulsing with a dull ache. His surroundings are thick with the smell of blooming flowers, baking bread, and a faint undercurrent of something sharper—burnt, acrid, though it’s nowhere to be seen. His steps are slower now, more measured, though he’s not conscious of it. Every inch of him feels taut, like a string stretched too tight, his mind drifting in and out of focus.

He can still hear you walking beside him, feel your presence there, steady and real, but his thoughts keep dragging him somewhere else. Somewhere darker. The lighter in his pocket feels like a lifeline, his thumb brushing over its worn edges again and again, but even that doesn’t anchor him.

His heart misses a beat as the cobblestones crack beneath his feet, crumbling into rubble and ash, the space around him dimming as if the sun has vanished behind a thick blanket of smoke. He’s not walking through Valdelobos anymore—he’s standing in a narrow alley, the walls are crumbling around him, charred from some unseen fire, and it reeks of smoke and something metallic, sharp against the back of his throat. His hand grips the shoulder of someone beside him, but it’s not steady. He’s not guiding them—he’s dragging them. Their steps falter, stumbling over debris on the ground, and their voice is high, frantic.

“I can’t—” They're struggling, foot catching on something unseen. Their balance is off, and Luis can feel the tremble in their frame as they try to keep up. "Luis, please..."

“Dios mío, you need to pull yourself together!” His grip on them tightens, but it’s not to help—it’s to force theö forward, to make them move. The guilt presses in at the edges of the scene, but there’s something else now—frustration. His heart pounds, not from fear or sorrow, but from the burning irritation knotting tighter and tighter in his chest.

She stumbles again, her shoes scraping against the ground, and Luis snaps. "You want us both to die? After everything, after all our efforts?!" His reprimand echoes off the crumbling walls, harsh, cold. It’s not like him. Not the him he pretends to be, with a charming smile and an easy laugh. This version of him is all jagged edges and sharp angles, raw, stripped down to the bone. 

“I didn’t—” they start, but the words falter, barely audible over the sound of his own frustration thrumming in his ears.

He yanks his arm away, the motion harsh, and they nearly trip, balance thrown. He steps back, the anger simmering just beneath the surface now, hot and raw. He’s had enough of this, of them. There’s no room for hesitation, no room for weakness, and yet here they are, wasting time. Every second they waste is another second lost.

Their form flickers, just for a moment, like an image out of focus. They shift, hands outstretched toward him, but the plea in their movements only makes the anger twist harder in his gut. He doesn’t want to help them, doesn’t want to guide them anymore. He’s already done too much.

“Get up,” he snaps, cold, cutting through the thick air around them.

"I'm sorry," they say, a trembling, thin whisper. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear."

Then, just as suddenly, the scene shifts again.

Luis blinks, and the room snaps into focus. It’s small, the humidity thick and suffocating, it's like swallowing solids in his lungs to breathe. There’s no fire now, no smoke, but the walls are too close, the ceiling too low. The bed in front of him is rumpled, the sheets twisted, and the figure lying there—still, too still—doesn’t move. His chest feels tight, the anger from before crumpling into something colder, heavier.

His hand reaches out, hovering just above the figure’s shoulder. The light in the room is dim, the shadows swallowing the details of the face that remains hidden from him, but he can feel the familiar twisting of guilt clenching around his ribcage and letting go in a steady motion.

He doesn’t want to touch them, doesn’t want to feel the confirmation of what he already knows. His hand trembles, his fingers twitching with the instinct to pull back, but he’s rooted there, the moment dragging on, stretching into something unbearable.

“I don't want to do this anymore.” The sniffling is faint, the words trailing off before they reach him fully, but they echo in his head, bouncing around in the quiet, taunting him.

His hand drops, hanging uselessly at his side as he steps back, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The room keeps getting smaller, the walls pressing in closer. The guilt is everywhere—clinging to the sheets, dripping from the ceiling, pooling in the dark spaces behind the furniture. He can feel it seeping into his bones, his muscles, his blood. The weight of it threatens to crush him, and he staggers back, bumping into the dresser behind him, sending bottles and glasses clattering to the floor. The noise shatters the silence, echoing in his ears like a scream, and he turns, his hands clutching at the doorframe as he stumbles out of the room, leaving the still, unmoving figure behind.

And then it fractures again.

Valdelobos reasserts itself in a dizzying rush of color and sound. The sunlight, the colors, the smell of flowers and fresh bread—it all comes crashing in around him like a tidal wave of sensory overload. His breath catches, his eyes watering from the sudden brightness, and for a moment, he’s disoriented, unsure if he’s even standing on solid ground. The world tilts around him, his balance thrown off-kilter, and he sways on his feet, his hands reaching out blindly for something to steady himself against.

A hand brushes against his arm, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, his heart hammering in his chest as he tries to regain his bearings. His lungs burn from the effort of breathing, his vision still swimming with the remnants of the nightmare, and he blinks furiously, trying to clear his head.

Luis blinks hard, his heart still pounding in his chest, his breath coming too fast. He reaches up, dragging a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of anger, of guilt.

His hand moves to his pocket, his fingers curling around the lighter, but he doesn't pull it out. Instead, he just holds it there, feeling its weight, its solidity. A lifeline. A tether. He's not sure how long he's been drifting, but it can't have been long. He looks over at you, your eyes narrowed with concern, your hand still hovering near him. He can't meet your gaze, can't bring himself to look at you, not after what he saw.

You sit across from Luis in the small room of the inn, your back resting against the uneven wooden chair. A dense silence hangs between the two of you, filling the space like a thick fog, The faintest breeze pushes the curtain, offering occasional whispers of relief from the room’s stagnant warmth. You shift in your seat, drumming your fingers on the table in front of you as you try to piece everything together in your mind. It all feels fragmented, like an unfinished puzzle, pieces still scattered across the table, waiting for someone to fit them into place.

Luis, on the other hand, is staring down at a map that’s laid out between the two of you. His hands trace the outlines of the village, the corners of his lips curling slightly, though the smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. There’s something off about him—there’s been something off since the crash, but it’s hard to say what. Maybe it’s just the disorientation from the accident, or maybe it’s the fact that this whole place is like a civilization apart from the world, tucked away and secluded. Either way, you both need to get your heads back in the game. You’ve got a job to do. The crash took away some of the finer details of that, but the goal is still simple enough—rob the rich bastards blind, then get out and get to the next heist. Or so you think, at least.

You pull the notebook from your bag, the one with hastily scribbled notes you barely remember writing before the crash. You thumb through the pages, your eyes scanning over the details you managed to jot down. There’s a name, a target, someone wealthy enough to make this con worth the trip. Your handwriting looks rushed, as though you were trying to get everything down before it slipped away from your mind. The edges of the pages are creased, worn from being handled too much.

“We were targeting Araya Montesa,” you say, flipping the notebook around so Luis can see the notes. “She’s some sort of local elite, deals in old money and new investments. According to this”—you tap the page lightly—“she’s been funding projects all over the place, big ones. Something about property development, maybe?” You pause, narrowing your eyes at the scribbles. “It’s vague, though. I don’t remember why she’s important.”

Luis leans in, his brow furrowing slightly as he studies the notebook. His fingers hover above the page, but he doesn’t touch it. “It’s always the ones with their fingers in everything, isn’t it? The ones who think they own the world because they own a few houses and half a forest. Typical. Montesa sounds about right. Someone like her? Probably doesn’t even blink when she throws money around.” He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what was the angle?”

You flip the notebook back to yourself, skimming the pages again, looking for clues. There’s a rough sketch of a timeline—dates, events that seem to correspond to something important. You squint at the details, trying to recall what you were thinking when you wrote it all down. “The angle was that she’s got a hand in some shady dealings. Off-the-books investments, money moving into places it shouldn’t. We were going to pose as investors, or maybe contractors. I’m not sure. It’s all... It’s just not clicking.”

“We don’t need the details to click just yet. It’s about getting in first. Blending in. The rest, we can pick up as we go. That’s how these things always work, right? We start with what we know, then make the rest up as we go. That’s the fun part.”

He gives you a look, his smile finally softening into something more genuine, but... You lean back, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow, your mouth quirking up into a half-smile.

“Okay, what is this? You never make it up as you go along and I’m the one telling you to just get in and get out. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard in that crash? Did the smoke really fuck you up?” You’re only half-joking, a note of concern creeping into your words. This feels different, and not in a good way.

Luis sighs, his hands dropping to his sides as he leans back in the chair, the wood creaking under his shifting position. “I've always been like this, cariño. I'm the one who gets us into the messes, remember? You're the one who plans our way out. That’s the way it’s always been. The way it works best.”

"I, um..." Your middle finger finds the corner of your eye socket, massaging and scratching as you shut your eyes, trying to remember. But it's all a blur, a jumbled mess of half-formed memories and sensations. You need to trust yourself—trust that you can pull this off. You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You're good at this, at reading people, at finding the angle, the way in. You just have to find it again. “So, we show up as contractors,” you say, scribbling a few quick notes in the margins of the notebook. “Maybe we’ve got a project in mind that she’d want to fund. Something flashy, something with a lot of potential. She seems like the kind of person who likes to be seen as important, influential. We feed into that, let her believe she’s in control, and when she’s comfortable enough, we take what we need.”

“That could work. Everyone likes to feel like they’re the ones pulling the strings, especially people like her. We’ll make her think she’s calling the shots, and then we’ll make our move. Easy. In and out, right?”

You glance at him, watching the way he leans back in his chair, that easy confidence oozing from his posture. He’s always had that air about him, like nothing could ever faze him, like he’s untouchable.

You get the feeling he'd want to get into this more, script down everything down to the minute details, but he doesn't look like he'll even attempt to. He's really serious about improvising. Which is very much unlike him. He's a planner, through and through. Always has been. This whole thing feels like it’s on a razor’s edge, ready to tip into disaster at any moment, what changed? Why does everything feel like it's in flux? Why are you suddenly doubting everything you know about each other?

For a few moments, the room falls into a quiet hum, the only sound the faint rustling of papers and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath the weight of your shifting feet. Luis keeps his eyes on the map, but his focus seems distant, distracted. You want to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s feeling the same strange disconnect that you are, but the words stick in your throat, caught between the lines of your own doubts and uncertainties.

“So, what’s the timeline?” Luis asks, finally breaking the silence, pulling you back to the present. “How long do we have before we need to make our move?”

You flip back through the notebook, scanning the dates and trying to make sense of your own handwriting. “There’s a festival," you say, tapping the page again. “It’s happening in three days. That’s our entry point. If we can get in, we’ll have access to Montesa and everyone in her circle. Plenty of opportunities to gather intel, see how things work around here.”

“Three days. Not a lot of time to figure out this place, but I guess it’s more than we had when we started.” Luis rubs his jaw, the stubble on his chin scratching against his palm and making noise. “Alright. Let’s get a feel for the area, find out what we’re dealing with, and then we can start planning our approach.”

"Shopping first," you suggest, gesturing at the clothes you're wearing, the same as Luis's. "We stick out like sore thumbs in these. The locals dress like they've stepped out of a vintage postcard: bright, pastel, flowery. Not exactly the look of investors or contractors, but there's a way to make it look rich."

You reach for your bag, digging around until you find a crumpled note with a list of stores and addresses, hastily scribbled in what must have been a hurry. "I don't remember writing this," you admit, smoothing out the paper on the table. "But I must have thought it was important at the time. Maybe it's worth checking out."

Luis nods, taking the note from you, his eyes scanning the names and locations. "Looks like we've got a full day of retail therapy ahead of us." He grins, handing the note back to you. "Might as well enjoy it while we're here. When was the last time we went on a shopping spree?"

You can't help but smile, some of the anxiety melting away in the face of his optimism. "Probably when you insisted on buying those matching fedoras in Barcelona. Remember that? The shopkeeper looked at us like we were crazy, but you wouldn't take no for an answer."

There's a hesitant, almost confused pause where the silence stretches for a second longer than necessary before Luis nods, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," he says, his tone a bit off, but you brush it aside, chalking it up to the stress of the situation. "Good times."

It’s simple, right? Just follow the steps. It’s not like we haven’t done this before—just a few marks, a little deception, and we’re out. I mapped it all out, every move, every contingency. There’s nothing we haven’t accounted for. We’ll get in, we’ll do what we need to do, and we’ll disappear before anyone realizes what happened. We’ve done it a hundred times, haven’t we? So why do you feel different this time? No, no, it’s just nerves. I always get like this. But I can’t let myself get sloppy now, not when we’re so close. We’re a team. I need to trust that. We’ve got this.

The festival preparations have taken over the town square, with brightly colored stalls popping up overnight like mushrooms after rain. There’s a quiet buzz in the early morning, a feeling of excitement and anticipation hanging in the misty, cool mountain village. The cobblestones are slick with dew, the storefronts decorated with garlands of flowers and paper lanterns, their windows reflecting the soft light of the sunrise. You can smell the fresh bread being baked at the local bakery, the earthy scent of the flower arrangements, and the faint hint of woodsmoke from the bonfires that will be lit later tonight.

You and Luis make your way through the bustling streets, the colorful skirts and dresses of the villagers swirling around you, and you feel a little out of place, dressed in your more practical clothes. You stick out like a pair of crows among the vibrant parrots of the festival, but you push the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. The festival is the perfect opportunity to get close to your mark and gather the information you need.

“We need to start with the small talk,” Luis mutters, leaning closer to you, low enough to not carry over the hum of conversation. “Get people talking, make ourselves less... foreign.”

You glance at him, taking in the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes scan the crowd, always searching for an angle, a weakness to exploit. “I’m good at small talk. You’re good at charming the pants off of everyone around you. We’ll play to our strengths, okay?”

You glance around at the different booths. The villagers are focused, intent on their tasks, but they don’t seem too guarded. Some of them are talking in hushed voices, their hands busy tying up decorations or arranging offerings for the festival’s centerpiece, a towering wooden structure in the center of the square, draped with garlands and flowers.

Luis nudges you with his elbow, his grin sharp and playful. “Fancy helping me with some baskets?” he says, tipping his chin toward a group of villagers struggling to lift a few heavy baskets of flowers onto a cart. “We’ll look like the helpful types, and maybe they’ll be more willing to chat.”

You roll your eyes but nod, following him as he makes his way over to the group. One of the young women is wiping her brow with the back of her hand, her face flushed from the effort, while two younger men struggle to lift the baskets onto the cart.

Luis steps in smoothly, offering a hand. “Mind if we help? Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

The woman’s face brightens, her smile wide and grateful. “Oh, thank you! We’re trying to get everything ready for the festival, but it’s a lot of work, and the boys here, well...” She gestures to the men, who exchange sheepish glances. “They’ve got more muscle than sense.”

Luis laughs, already bending down to grab one of the baskets. He lifts it with ease, his movements fluid and unhurried, and sets it on the cart with a satisfying thump. “Well, no harm in helping out where we can. It’s a big festival, right? Must take a lot to put it all together.”

The other woman nods, her hands busy arranging the flowers in the baskets. “Oh yes, it’s the biggest event of the year. We’ve been preparing for weeks, and even then, it’s a scramble to get everything just right. Everyone pitches in, though. It’s tradition.”

You grab another basket, lifting it with less grace but enough strength to make it look effortless. “It must be a lot of work,” you say, glancing over at Luis, who’s already moving to help with another load. “Do you get a lot of visitors for the festival?”

The woman chuckles, shaking her head. “Visitors? Not really. It’s more of a local thing, you know. The kind of celebration that stays within the community. It’s been that way for generations.” She pauses, her hands still for a moment as she looks at the flowers. “But we always welcome a few extra hands. You two aren’t from around here, are you?”

Luis steps in before you can respond, his voice smooth. “Just passing through. Thought we’d stop and enjoy the festival while we’re here. Seems like a good way to get to know the place.”

Her smile returns, though her eyes linger on the two of you for a beat longer. “Well, you’ve certainly come at the right time. There’s no better way to get a feel for Valdelobos than during the festival. It’s... special.”

Luis gives her a wink, picking up another basket and moving it onto the cart with a casual grace that seems almost effortless. “Can’t wait. So, tell us about this festival. What’s the story behind it all?”

The woman’s face lights up as she begins to explain, her hands moving animatedly as she describes the origins of the festival, the importance of the harvest, and the rituals that have been passed down through generations. As she talks, the two of you keep helping, lifting the baskets and moving them to the cart, all the while keeping your ears open for any information that might be useful. You can feel the energy of the village growing around you, the anticipation building as the preparations continue. By the time you’re done helping, the sun is starting to rise higher in the sky, casting the square in a warm, golden light, and you’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat from the physical labor. The woman thanks you once more, her smile wide and genuine, before she excuses herself to tend to another task, leaving you and Luis standing in the center of the square, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the festival’s final preparations.

“That’s the thing about small towns,” he says eventually, somewhere far away in his head. “They always think their traditions are special.”

You give him a look, arching a brow. “And are they not? They seem pretty excited about this festival.”

He shrugs, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “They’re excited because it’s what they know. But what they don’t know is that there are hundreds, thousands of other villages just like theirs, all with their own ‘special’ traditions. It’s nothing new, just a different flavor of the same old thing.”

You shake your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips. “Ever the cynic, Luis.”

He shrugs, a hand resting on his hip as he watches the villagers continue their work. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re not here for the festival. We’re here for Montesa.”

You glance over at the towering wooden structure in the center of the square, draped in flowers and surrounded by offerings. The villagers are treating it with reverence, placing their gifts at the base of the sculpture, murmuring prayers and blessings under their breath. "That doesn't look like tradition to me," you murmur, stepping a little closer, eyeing the intricately carved figures and symbols etched into the wood. "It looks ancient."

“Ancient and superstitious. These people, they probably don't even understand half of what they're doing. They're just following some old ritual, going through the motions without a thought in their heads."

You ignore him, focusing on a bundle of dried herbs and wildflowers tied together with a piece of rough twine, a name scratched on a piece of parchment tucked beneath the knot. "Looks like a shrine, doesn't it?"

Luis scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he scans the crowd, looking for a familiar face, a chance to dig in. "If that's what you want to call it. I prefer to call it a waste of time."

As the day wears on, you and Luis continue to help out where you can, lending a hand with decorations, moving supplies, and striking up small conversations with the villagers. The work is simple enough, but it gives you a chance to observe, to listen. You learn that Montesa is as influential as your notes suggested, a pillar of the community who’s been funding the festival for years. Everyone seems to speak of her with respect, but there’s a certain distance in how they talk about her, as though she’s more of a symbol than a person. You keep these observations to yourself, though, storing them away in the back of your mind, a puzzle to piece together later, when you're not so exposed and vulnerable in the middle of a throng of strangers.

Luis doesn't share the same reticence. He's in his element, chatting easily with the locals, charming them with his easy smile and quick wit. He doesn't need to ask many questions to get them to spill their secrets, their fears, their hopes. He just listens and lets them fill the silence, their words flowing freely as if he's a trusted friend, not a stranger who stumbled upon their village a few days ago. It's a skill that never fails to amaze you, the way he can disarm people, make them feel comfortable, make them forget that there's a reason to be cautious in the first place.

At one point, a young man, his skin sun-kissed and his hair dark, stops you and asks, "Are you two married?" His question is innocent, curious, and his eyes dart between the two of you, a smile on his face. "I haven't seen a couple like you around here before."

You and Luis exchange a quick look, a silent communication that's become second nature to the two of you over the years. You've played a hundred different roles, taken on a dozen identities, and in every scenario, you've known exactly what to say, how to act, how to sell the lie. And yet, Luis hesitates. For the briefest of moments, his smile falters, and his eyes cloud with something you can't quite read. Then, the mask is back, and he's grinning at the villager, his arm slipping comfortably around your shoulders. "No," he says, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, it feels like the truth. "Not yet."

But it's fleeting, the feeling gone in an instant, and you chalk it up to the adrenaline, the thrill of the con, the fact that you're in the middle of a job.

Something’s off. I can feel it, even if I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like everyone’s watching us—watching me—and they can see right through me. You don’t seem worried, though. This much faith in me is too generous, especially now, but you... I honestly don’t know how you do it. I wish I could be like that. I wish I didn’t feel like I’m already failing you. I’m trying, I really am. I need to stay sharp, for you. You’re counting on me to pull this off. We’ve come too far for me to screw it up now. Just a little while longer. Just a little while longer, and then we’ll be free.

The festival at dusk is a far cry from the day’s preparation—the whole area is bathed in a warm, golden glow that makes the flowers and the lanterns sparkle. The music is lively and infectious, the sound of guitars and drums filling the town square, accompanied by the laughter and chatter of the villagers. The food, the drinks, and the dancing create an atmosphere that's almost magical, a feeling that everything is possible, that anything can happen. You and Luis find yourselves drawn into the festivities, the rhythm of the music seeping into your bones, and the smiles of the villagers becoming contagious. It's hard to remember that this isn't real, that the joy and the camaraderie are only a façade, a cover for the job that's waiting just around the corner. But, in the midst of the celebration, in the warmth of the bonfires, the allure of the dance, and the laughter, it's easy to forget, to let the worries and the stress melt away, and to simply lose yourself in the magic of the moment.

The stalls are still there, decked out in their bright fabrics and goods, but now, they're crowded with villagers, laughing and drinking, sharing stories and secrets, the night's festivities a time of revelry and merriment.

Luis isn't drinking like you are, though. You're on the third cup of the sickly sweet wine the village keeps pushing in front of anyone who looks like they might accept. His eyes are on the towering structure. Once covered in garlands, it now gleams faintly in the dimming light, the flowers and ribbons fluttering gently in the breeze. It’s the focal point of the square, the centerpiece of everything tonight, and the villagers are beginning to circle around it, their faces glowing in the flickering light of the bonfire. They're holding hands, swaying, the soft murmur of their chant rising above the crackling of the fire.

You watch as one by one, they approach the shrine, each holding a small token—a dried flower, a smooth stone, a carved figure, all of them unique but clearly chosen with care. They place the objects at the base of the shrine, their heads bowed in brief moments of silence before stepping back into the growing crowd. It's a solemn and intimate scene, despite the number of people surrounding the shrine, and the energy in the square is shifting, the cheerful atmosphere of the festival melting into something more somber, more reverent. The villagers are calling out to someone, or to some deity, and the words blur together in a dizzying swirl of syllables that make no sense, leaving only a lingering sensation of unease in their wake. There's a palpability in the evening's events, the darkness settling around the village like a thick cloak, and the shadows in the corners of the square seem to grow deeper, the space between the stars stretching wider and emptier with every passing minute. It's a strange and unsettling sight, and one that sends a chill crawling down the length of your spine, the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end, and a sudden urge to step away.

"Where's Montesa?" you ask, tearing your gaze away from the shrine, from the flickering flames and the rising chants, and turning to Luis, who's watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes, his mouth set in a thin line. "She should be here for this, right? Everyone seems to think the world of her."

Your words are loud enough to carry over the noise of the chanting, and the villagers turn their attention to you, their eyes widening in surprise, and the chanting stops abruptly, the abrupt change in the atmosphere making the night suddenly feel colder and more menacing than it had a moment before.

You should have been quiet.

You quickly bow in apology, and the villagers return to their ritual, the chanting starting once again. Your heart is racing, and the wine in your hand tastes sour, the sweetness gone, replaced by a bitter, metallic tang. The bonfire's flames seem to leap higher, the shadows in the corners of the square darker, the distance to the edge of the village suddenly farther than it was a moment ago.

You and Luis should have left the festival early. Or maybe, neither of you should have come in the first place.

"I saw her go to her house," says a young woman, dressed in a long, white dress, the fabric flowing and ethereal in the flickering firelight, and she takes a hesitant step forward. Her eyes are large and dark, her hair cascading down her shoulders in waves of deep brown and gold. She glances at the other villagers, her expression uncertain, but then she turns back to you, her lips curling in a shy smile. "She's probably preparing her tribute. She always likes to do that in private, to get the details just right."

The soft sound of bells draws your attention back to the wooden structure, where a group of villagers is now approaching, carrying lit candles in their hands. The flickering flames cast long shadows across the square, and as the villagers arrange themselves in a circle around the structure, the rest of the crowd falls silent, their heads bowing slightly in unison.

"Here it is, please excuse me," she murmurs, brushing past you and moving to join the circle, her dress trailing behind her like a whisper of silk.

One of the villagers steps forward, holding what looks like a small wooden bowl in his hands. His face is young—too young, perhaps, for the gravity of the moment—but his eyes are serious, and his fingers are steady as he lifts the bowl toward the sky. He speaks, his words clear and strong, his Spanish rolling off his tongue in a language that sounds both ancient and familiar, and the wind picks up, rustling the leaves and stirring the flowers that adorn the wooden structure.

"Esto es un regalo para ti," the boy says, and the others in the circle repeat his words, their eyes fixed on the wooden structure, the candles burning brightly in their hands. "Recibe nuestra ofrenda, y bendice nuestro pueblo con tu protección."

You squint, trying to make out the details of the bowl’s contents in the fading light. It’s small, unassuming, and at first glance, it looks like it could be filled with herbs or incense—something harmless. But as the young man tips the bowl slightly, letting the contents spill out onto the base of the shrine, you catch a glimpse of dark liquid, thick and viscous, pooling at the feet of the wooden structure.

Blood.

You feel Luis stiffen next to you, his body rigid with alarm. The villagers don’t react—not in the way you’d expect, anyway. There’s no shock, no murmurs of confusion or discomfort. Instead, they remain perfectly still, their eyes trained on the young man as he continues to pour the blood at the base of the shrine, his face calm, serene. The liquid glistens in the candlelight, and as the pool grows larger, the coppery scent of the offering fills the night, mingling with the smoke from the bonfires and the heady aroma of the perfumed oils.

"They must have slaughtered a goat or a sheep or something earlier in the day," you mutter to Luis, keeping your tone light, almost flippant, trying to hide the anxiety creeping through your veins. You've seen some strange things, sure, but this... This is something else. Blood offerings? In a tiny village in the middle of nowhere? "A pretty gruesome part of the ritual, I guess, but... Well, it's not that weird, is it?"

He doesn't answer, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Let's leave."

"What?"

"We're leaving."

"Luis, what are you talking about?" you hiss, your brows furrowing in frustration, and a spike of anger rushes through you, sharp and unexpected. "What about Montesa?"

"Ay joder," he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Luis doesn’t release your arm until you’ve slipped through the outer edge of the square, the glow from the lanterns fading behind you as you move into the darker, quieter streets. The further you walk, the more distant the music and laughter become, and the serious state Luis won't drop for one second is an iron band around your chest. He's so tense, his grip on you so tight, that you're not entirely certain whether you should be scared or angry. What the hell is wrong with him?

Luis is quiet as you both maneuver through the narrow alleyways, his usual swagger absent. His eyes are sharp, scanning every shadow, every corner, as though the villagers might suddenly appear out of nowhere. His hand brushes yours once or twice, quick and intentional, keeping you grounded as the two of you press forward toward the inn. The festival hums faintly behind you, but its hold seems to fade the farther you go.

"Are you going to explain yourself, or are we supposed to play the guessing game now?" you snap, finally wrenching your arm out of his grasp, and turning to face him, arms folded across your chest. "We had a plan, Luis. We had a goddamn plan, and you just threw it all away!"

He doesn't even blink, his gaze locked on yours, and his lips curl into a humorless smile, a barely perceptible shake of his head. "Plans change. That's the nature of the beast, isn't it?"

"Yeah, when the job changes!" You throw your hands up, pacing a few steps, and his expression remains impassive, infuriatingly cool. "And last I checked, the job was getting close to Montesa, not running away from the fucking festival like a couple of idiots! What was that, Luis? Huh? Are you trying to blow our cover or are you just bored?"

Luis stops you suddenly, his arm shooting out to block your path. His eyes narrow, focused on something lying in the shadows ahead.

“Wait,” he mutters under his breath, his hand coming up to motion for you to stay behind him.

You step back instinctively, following his gaze to a small, crumpled pile near the corner of the alley. The dim light barely catches the edge of a slick, plastic surface, something shiny and out of place in the otherwise dusty alleyway. Luis moves forward cautiously, crouching down beside the pile, his fingers carefully tracing the edges of the material. You follow him, peering over his shoulder, and the realization hits you—a black garbage bag, torn and ripped, its contents strewn haphazardly along the ground.

"What are you doing now?" you whisper, your irritation momentarily forgotten, replaced by an uneasy sense of dread. "Why are we sniffing around in the trash?"

He reaches out slowly to pick up one of the discarded bags. His hand trembles slightly as he turns it over, inspecting the contents.

It’s a blood bag, half-full, its surface smeared with dirt and dust. The sight of it sends a jolt of unease through your spine, the implications of its presence in such a remote area, so far removed from the nearest medical facility, too unsettling to fully process. You take a step closer, the crunch of gravel beneath your foot echoing off the walls of the alley, and Luis's grip on the bag tightens, his knuckles white against the slick, red-stained plastic.

“Shit,” he mutters, standing up quickly, his face tight. He holds up the bag so you can see it more clearly, and your breath catches in your throat.

There, printed neatly on the label in bold, black letters, is your name. Your name. A cold, sick feeling spreads through your stomach, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. This can't be real. This can't be happening. Not here, not in the middle of this godforsaken village, surrounded by strangers and their bizarre rituals.

"That's..." your words trail off, your mind reeling, and your hand reaches out to touch the bag, as if to confirm its existence, to make sure it's not just a figment of your imagination. "They could have thrown it away after we were discharged, right? Someone probably found them and thought they were trash."

"The bag is cold," he murmurs, his eyes scanning the surrounding darkness, the quiet, deserted alley. There's nothing—no sound, no sign of anyone nearby. The silence seems to stretch on endlessly, and the night grows darker, thicker, the shadows clinging to the buildings and the cobblestones. "It was refrigerated. Recently."

"You don't mean that," you say, your words barely above a whisper, and the chill in the night is suddenly colder, sharper. "You can't. That's insane. They wouldn't do that. They couldn't."

Luis’s jaw clenches, and he looks down at the other bags scattered across the ground. He kicks one with his boot, sending it skidding across the alley, and the faint glow of the streetlamp catches on the label.

Another one with your name.

His eyes flick to yours, a dark, furious glint in them. “While we were out. They drew blood from us, and we didn’t even realize it.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing to make sense of what’s happening. Why would they take your blood? Just to use it on a fucking wooden doll in a festival ritual? No, no that can't be the reason. Maybe they’re selling it on the black market, maybe there’s a buyer, a collector, a twisted soul who delights in collecting samples from unsuspecting travelers.

"What do we do?" you ask, your words coming out in a panicked rush. "Do we leave? Do we confront them about it? What the hell are we supposed to do, Luis?"

He stands, his hand gripping the bag of your stolen blood, his eyes narrowing. He looks at the empty alleys, the quiet, deserted streets, and his mouth twists in a grimace, his teeth bared in a silent snarl. "We lay low. Keep our heads down, wait for the morning. See if we can find anything else. Anything that explains... this." His fingers tighten on the bag, and the plastic crinkles in his grip, the sound sharp and brittle in the stillness.

Your heart is pounding, a frantic rhythm in your chest, and you can hear the rushing of your pulse in your ears. This isn't right, isn't normal, and the thought of staying another night in the same place where someone has stolen a piece of you, has violated your trust in such a fundamental way, fills you with a cold, creeping dread. But there's no other choice. Not yet. Not in the middle of the night, in a strange land, with no idea of the dangers that may lie in the darkness beyond the boundaries of the village.

"Fine. Okay. Let's just focus on Montesa in the meantime," you mutter, trying to keep the tremor from your tone, to maintain some semblance of calm and control.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I didn’t mean to do it—how could I have known? I thought... I thought I had more time, that I could salvage it somehow even if everything was going wrong. But everything moved too fast. One second everything was fine, and the next... it all slipped out of my hands. The more I tried, the worse it got. I knocked over the papers, made too much noise, drew attention. And then it all came crashing down. I tried to catch up to her, but she was gone before I could do anything. It was just one mistake. Just one.

Montesa’s room is overwhelming in its beauty, but there’s something restrained about it. Everything feels curated—the dark wooden furniture polished to an almost mirror-like sheen, the velvet drapes that pool on the floor but never seem to gather dust, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows that dance across the gleaming surface of the grand piano pushed against the far wall. The scent of roses permeates the space, faint but ever-present, weaving through the air with the softest hint of something warmer, like cinnamon.

Montesa stands at the center of the room, her back straight, posture elegant as ever. Her dark hair is swept up, revealing the perfect arch of her neck. She watches you both with a kind of stillness that makes it seem as though she’s the centerpiece of the room, everything else merely an accessory to her presence. Her smile is warm, practiced, but you can’t help noticing the slight tightness around her eyes, as though she’s studying you as much as you’re studying her.

"Please, sit." Her voice is velvet itself, rich and inviting, but there’s a firmness beneath it. She gestures to the set of chairs arranged around a low, intricately carved table. Luis moves first, ever the smooth operator, offering a charming smile as he lowers himself into one of the plush ones. You follow, though something—whether it’s the overwhelming decor or Montesa herself—makes the chair feel stiffer than it should, the plush seat resisting your attempt to settle in comfortably.

Montesa watches you both, her hands clasped loosely in front of her as she moves toward her seat. The soft rustle of her silk dress is the only sound as she glides across the room, a picture of grace. She doesn’t sit immediately, though. Instead, she pauses, looking at the two of you with a gaze that feels a little too perceptive, a little too knowing.

"It’s always a pleasure to meet new faces. Especially when they arrive at such a... crucial time."

"You know how it is," Luis says, light and conversational. "It’s hard to resist a place like Valdelobos. It’s got this... charm." He flashes her a smile that might as well have been carved from stone, the way it doesn’t shift in his eyes.

Montesa’s gaze lingers on him a moment longer than it should, then drifts toward you, those pale eyes glinting in the soft light. "Charm, yes. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Valdelobos is... timeless. It has a way of drawing in the right people at the right moment." Her words roll off her tongue smoothly, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s mocking you. It’s the way she phrases it—the right people. She lets it hang, not quite accusing, not quite casual.

"It’s the festival, right?" Luis cuts through with a practiced ease. "Seems like everyone’s excited. Must be a big event around here."

"You’ve been enjoying it, I hope?" she asks, finally sitting. She crosses her legs, one elegant foot resting just above the other, her posture the very image of poise.

Luis chuckles, leaning back in his chair, his arms draping casually over the armrests. "It’s quite a spectacle. Never seen anything like it," he says, flashing that easy smile of his. He plays it off light, nonchalant, the way he always does when he’s trying to deflect.

Montesa’s smile widens, but it never quite reaches her eyes. "I’m sure it’s... different from what you’re used to," she says, her gaze flickering between the two of you. "But traditions are important here. They’ve been part of Valdelobos for as long as anyone can remember. We honor the past, the present, and the future in equal measure."

You clear your throat, trying to fight back the prickle of nervousness crawling up the back of your neck. "You must be pretty proud to be able to fund something so significant. It really puts your generous spirit on display."

She blinks, a tiny gesture that belies a depth of emotion. "I’m merely a... facilitator. Valdelobos has always had its own way of doing things, long before I was ever here."

There’s a moment of silence, and you feel Luis shift beside you, his body leaning forward just a touch, enough to show that he’s intrigued but not desperate. "A place like this... I imagine it takes someone with a steady hand to guide it."

Montesa’s eyes glitter with amusement. "It takes more than a steady hand, Mr. Serra. It takes patience, understanding... and knowing when to let things run their course."

Your heart skips, but Luis doesn’t flinch. His smile tightens, but it doesn’t fade. "Sounds like you’ve been running the course for a while then."

Montesa’s smile widens, her fingers brushing delicately along the table’s edge as she regards him. "Longer than you might imagine. But events like this take the weight away. This festival brings everyone together, reminds us of what really matters. Life, connection... love. Loyalty." Her gaze lingers on you as she speaks, and your heart skips a beat. Is she testing you, somehow? Or just seeing how you react to her words? You force yourself not to shift under the intensity of her stare. If she suspects something, if she knows why the two of you are really here, then all of this will have been pointless—and you will be in trouble. But surely she doesn't. She has no reason to suspect anything, after all. No doubt many people have approached her for sponsorship, perhaps even investors looking to get involved in the local community. Right?

"Money," Luis adds, so lighthearted that it'd be obvious to anyone it's meant to be a joke, but he's actually deflecting, playing with his cards close to his chest. "Must bring a lot of visitors to town during the festivities, no?"

This time Montesa laughs, a rich, velvety sound that fills the room. "Not nearly as many as you'd think. As I'm sure you've noticed, this isn't exactly a bustling hub of activity. We're a quiet community, tucked away from most of the world, but we make our own fun."

Something catches your attention in her demeanor, a hint of subtle flirtation dancing along the edges of her smile, but you can't help wondering if it's genuine—if she's actually interested in either of you. Luis, of course, picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows raised and his chin tipped to a rakish angle. It's impossible for him to miss, even when he's half paying attention.

The three of you continue to chat idly about the festival, exchanging stories about festivals past and speculating about future traditions to come. Montesa listens with rapt attention, taking sips of wine whenever a pause presents itself in your conversation. Every now and then, Luis leans forward in his seat, resting one elbow on the carved armrest, and lightly stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes flash, bright and curious as he waits for your reactions, for the opportunity to engage further in a discussion of business opportunities or connections outside the village. But you know better. It's a habitual mannerism—nothing more—and any chance for the two of you to slip a thread or two into her web of power lies firmly outside these conversations. There are moments, however brief, where your words hit their marks, and a thin layer of confusion, disappointment, perhaps fear shows through her veneer. Luis is good, damnably good at drawing those responses out of others. He gives you a quick glance or grin, something that tells you the threads are working, whatever he might intend later.

At one point, someone else knocks on her door, peeking inside and giving her an update on how the preparations for the evening ceremony are proceeding. A pall hangs over Montesa's face at the reminder of her duties, but she politely excuses herself to handle whatever needs her attention first, leaving the two of you alone with a candid apology to return to you as soon as possible. The moment she closes the door, shutting out the faint din of chatter from the servants and attendants still flitting about the building in last-minute preparation frenzy, silence descends around the two of you. Your chest loosens, though the tightness behind your ribcage doesn't disappear entirely. If there was ever a perfect opportunity to look around, ask questions, dig deeper, it'd be this moment—when everyone is focused on something else, something much less relevant than who you both truly are.

"So we snoop?" Luis suggests in a hushed tone, not bothering to check whether or not anyone else lingers just outside of earshot. "Make ourselves useful and give Montesa a reason to like us better?"

"We snoop," you agree quietly. You cast a glance at the closed door, unsure how long you'll have until Montesa returns, or when she expects to. The risk is high, of course, but it's nothing the two of you haven't done before, especially in situations far more precarious than this one.

"Think you can convince them you need somewhere private to throw up?"

So, that's exactly what you do.

A bit of sneaking around after convincing some of the staff you pass that you're about to spill your guts all over the pristine floors, and a little maneuvering behind some decorative curtains hiding what looks like a maintenance corridor, you quickly find yourselves standing in a narrow passageway leading deep into the estate's interior.

The door creaks open to reveal a small room, dimly lit by the low glow of the setting sun filtering through a narrow window. It feels different inside, heavier—filled with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic, like aged coins rubbed between fingers too many times. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with artifacts and trinkets from what looks like another time—forgotten by most, preserved by few. It’s the kind of room you wouldn’t stumble upon by accident. Montesa must have kept it hidden, or at least away from prying eyes.

Luis steps in first, his eyes flicking around the space, sharp and alert. You follow closely behind, your gaze catching on the scattered objects that seem almost too carefully arranged. The room feels less like a storage space and more like a gallery—intended to be observed, not disturbed. But that doesn’t stop Luis. His fingers hover over a small glass display case, tapping lightly on its surface before he lifts the lid.

A low whistle escapes his lips as he picks up a delicate piece of jewelry—a brooch, silver and intricately detailed, a snake coiled around what looks like an eye. "Fancy," he mutters, turning it over in his hand before glancing back at you with a crooked grin. "She’s got expensive taste. I can see why we’re after her."

You watch him, but your attention drifts to the far side of the room, where a large wooden cabinet stands against the wall. Its doors are slightly ajar, and through the gap, you can make out the corner of something dark and framed. You walk over, your fingers grazing the cool wood before you pull the cabinet open wider.

Inside are rows of photographs, neatly arranged and meticulously organized—dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Each one carefully mounted in its own frame, spanning the cabinet from top to bottom. You pull out one at random, the old black-and-white image crisp despite its age. It shows a group of villagers standing in front of what looks like the very same festival preparations you’ve been seeing outside. The decorations, the lanterns—they’re all there, almost identical to the present day.

In fact, the villagers in all the photos are the same ones you saw earlier today, gathered around the shrine, preparing for the festival. But these photos are old—decades old, judging by the faded edges and the grainy quality of the images. Yet their faces are unchanged. The dates written in neat cursive beneath each photo become a blur as well, but you catch glimpses. 1924. 1937. 1955. 1972.

Luis steps up behind you, peering over your shoulder. "Concept shoots?" he jokes, lifting another photograph from the shelf and squinting at it. "Nobody said this was a thing."

Then, he moves to a nearby desk, flipping through papers and documents with an almost careless ease. "It’s like she’s built an entire museum for herself. Nothing out of place, nothing too random. She’s definitely a collector," he mutters. He pulls out an old leather-bound journal, skimming the pages with a quick glance before tossing it aside. "Nothing helpful here, just more history. Where’s the dirt?"

Your hands pause as you come across another photo, this one tucked toward the back of the cabinet. It’s newer than the others, the colors still bright, though the scene is eerily familiar. Your heart stops for a moment when you see it—it’s you.

You and Luis, standing in front of the same festival preparations, your arms casually thrown around each other, smiling like you belong there. The date scribbled at the bottom of the frame is from nearly thirty years ago.

You stare at the photo, your fingers gripping the edges a little too tightly as you try to process what you're looking at. "Luis..."

He looks up from the pile of journals and documents spread across the desk, brows furrowing. "What?"

Your mouth opens but only a whistle of a breath comes out, and it's hard to talk around the lump in your throat. Wordlessly, you hold up the photo so he can see it, hoping that will convey enough without needing to explain.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. His expression doesn’t change at first, but you can see it—the brief flicker of confusion that flashes across his face before he schools it back into something more controlled and slowly walks over, not looking away from it.

"That’s..." He trails off, reaching out to take the photo from your hands. His fingers trace the edge of the frame, his lips pressing into a thin line. "There's no way."

"Maybe... maybe it’s some kind of look-alike thing," you suggest, though you don’t believe it. "People that look like us."

Luis doesn’t respond immediately. He flips the photo over, looking at the back as if he’ll find some explanation scribbled there, but there’s nothing. Just the date. Just your faces, unchanged, unaged. "Or they could be messing with us. Photos can be tampered with."

You catch sight of something tucked beneath the corner of the desk—a stack of old ledgers, worn and frayed around the edges. You pull them out, flipping through the pages quickly. The names, dates, and transactions all seem to blur together, but one entry catches your eye: a record of two "donors" arriving on the date marked thirty years ago, their names—yours and Luis’s—scribbled neatly in the margin.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Can this be?"

He stops pacing, his eyes snapping to yours. There’s a moment of silence before he steps over, his gaze dropping to the ledger in your hands. His face goes pale as he reads the names, his fingers reaching out to trace the ink like he’s hoping it’ll smudge, disappear. But it doesn’t. It stays there, glaring at both of you from the page.

He pulls his hand back slowly, response low and strained. "We weren’t here."

You shake your head, the reality of it all starting to close in around you. "No. We weren’t."

Another moment passes before he takes the book from your hands, turning it over as if he could find an answer somewhere else—somewhere in the worn covers, the faded ink, the yellowing pages.

Luis slams the ledger shut with a sharp, sudden motion, the echo of it bouncing off the walls of the room, and you both flinch involuntarily at the noise. He stares at it for a long while before placing it gingerly back on the desk. Then, he rubs his palms along his pant legs, wiping them clean of dust.

"No puedo... esto es una mierda..." he hisses under his breath, pacing the length of the room in quick, restless strides. "I’ve had enough of this place."

"Luis, calm down. We can’t just—"

"Calm down?" He whips around, eyes wide and incredulous, his hands flying up in a gesture of disbelief. "Are you kidding me right now? After everything we’ve seen—everything that’s happened—you want me to calm down?"

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down despite the heat rising between you. "Yeah, I do. We’re not going to get anywhere if you start losing your head. We have to stay focused."

"Focused?" He barks out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Focused on what? Huh? You think this is just some regular con now? You think this is about money?"

"Yes, I do. Because that’s why we’re here. We’re here for the money, for Montesa. We’ve done this a thousand times before, Luis. We know how this works."

"This isn't normal! This isn't even close to normal!" He waves a hand wildly at the stack of ledgers on the desk, gesturing around the room in a broad, sweeping motion. "This is wrong, everything is wrong!"

"There it is again," you say, your tone cold, clipped. "Wrong. Everything’s always wrong with you lately. First the blood offering, then the blood bags, now this—" You gesture to the stack of old photos, the ledger. "You’re jumping at shadows. We’ve seen weirder shit on these jobs. These people are superstitious, so what? They like to play dress-up, big deal."

"They're stealing our fucking faces!" he snaps. "They have already stolen our blood. That's DNA. It's one hell of an identity theft scheme if not something far messed up! And you're making excuses?!"

"Because you're acting like this is our last job when it's nowhere near it!"

He scowls. "Yeah? Well maybe it should be. Maybe we should stop getting involved in crazy jobs and live our goddamn lives instead of chasing some golden goose dream!"

Your shoulders drop a little, and the fight drains out of you. His anger isn't entirely unreasonable. "Isn't that why Montesa is supposed to be the last one? Hm? So we can quit? I intend to follow through with it, Luis. I really do."

"You’re so focused on the damn money, you’re not even paying attention to what’s happening around us. We should be getting the hell out of here, not throwing ourselves deeper into whatever they're planning for us."

"That’s your solution?" you snap back, your voice rising to match his. "Just run away? That’s what you want to do now? What happened to you, Luis? You were never like this before."

"I'm trying to protect you," he mutters bitterly.

His words hit like a slap to the face, and you recoil as if struck. Something flashes across his features—regret, perhaps—but it doesn’t soften the sting.

A thought rises from the depths: when has he ever prioritized protection, let alone protecting you? He chose money, every time. Your relationship was never serious or meaningful for him. Not to mention the number of times he put himself ahead of others—in fact, it's safe to say he hasn't changed one iota since then.

So what the hell gives him the right to accuse you of greed?

"Since when?" you hiss back at him, all pretext of diplomacy evaporating in an instant. "When did you ever care about what happened to me?"

The lost look on his face—the utter confusion—should give you pause, but it doesn't. The words flow out of you like a torrent, cutting him with every syllable.

"Who was it that left me at that police station in Rio de Janeiro, huh? Oh right, that was you. Or how about that time we had to split up in Guanajuato and you took off without so much as a goodbye?" The memories flash through your mind with vivid clarity, and you can feel yourself shaking, your pulse all over the place. "Did I forget to mention Berlin, Luis? God damnit, you vanished without a trace after selling fake art! And, oh, yeah, let's not forget Buenos Aires! Fucking Buenos Aires! How about that clusterfuck? Who was it that bailed without warning?"

Your chest heaves, and you glare at him, your teeth gritted tightly.

"Me. Me. Me. Every fucking time, it was me. When the job turned bad or got too risky or I said no to some bullshit plan you came up with, I was the one who paid the price. So what if this place freaks you out? You've always been ready to bail the second it gets dicey, Luis. It's not new. And for what? Huh? For what? So you can keep all the money for yourself, so you can get away clean and go on to the next big thing? That's always been your priority, not me."

You expect some semblance of shame, remorse, even denial from him, but there's only silence. No apology. No reassurance. Just quiet. Contemplation. Calculation. Then, finally, a sigh that sounds like resignation, exhaustion, and something else you can't quite pinpoint. It's strange. Red hot anger is about to tip over at how he looks like he's some stranger you're venting to, detached from the narrative. The worst part is you sense he's sincere, but his actions won't measure up to his emotions.

But before you can say anything else, the door bursts open. Several villagers storm in, brandishing knives and tools used in the ritual outside earlier in the day. At the head of the charge is Montesa herself, her posture straight and strong, her eyes sharp and searching as she scans the room. You’re grabbed, restrained—Luis too—and the argument you were having is swallowed by the sudden violence of it all.

Montesa narrows her eyes at Luis before turning her attention to you. She steps forward, slowly circling you both, inspecting, calculating. Her hands rest delicately against her stomach as if considering her options. There are footsteps coming down the hallway. Shouting. Panicked whispers echoing behind your skull, growing louder with each passing second.

And then Montesa smiles—a cruel, triumphant smile, like she's playing a game she's sure she'll win. Like you're both merely pieces in her collection, mere toys for her amusement.

I left. I had to. There was no time to explain, no time to make you understand. I tried to find you, I did, I don't know why you weren't where you were supposed to be but I couldn’t risk it further to investigate. I had to go. I know you’re going to hate me for it. I hate myself for it. But if I stayed, we’d both be lost. You’ll find your way around. I know you will.

The village square smells of burning wood and incense, thick and cloying. In front of you, a makeshift stage has been assembled atop wooden pallets; on either side, torches flare to life, illuminating the darkening sky in hazy orange flickers. You’re dragged out into the open, the ropes biting into your wrists as the villagers haul you forward with an unsettling silence. The night has fallen heavy and dark, stars barely visible through the haze of smoke that rises from the large pyre standing in the center of the square.

Your mind is whirling, your body struggling against your bonds, desperate for any kind of relief or comfort, but none is forthcoming. The villagers pull you both toward the shrine, where Montesa stands, calm as ever, her hands folded in front of her. She doesn’t need to say anything. Her presence alone radiates control—control of the situation, control of you, and most disturbingly, control of Luis.

Luis catches your eye as they force him to his knees beside you, his breathing harsh and ragged, the muscles in his arms straining against the ropes, but it’s no use. There’s no breaking free of this. Not now, not yet.

"Don’t do anything stupid," you whisper, the words coming out harsher than you intended. "We can still get out of this."

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze focused on Montesa as she steps forward, graceful and assured despite the circumstances. Her dress billows softly around her ankles, flowing gently with the breeze that sweeps through the square, stirring up the scent of smoke and roses. You glance sidelong at Luis, searching for some glimmer of understanding, some sign that he still trusts you, believes you.

When he finally looks you in the eye, there's no comfort to be found. The flickering light casts shadows across his features that leave him looking gaunt, haunted—like someone trapped between waking and sleep, caught in a nightmare that refuses to fade. "It’s me," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the flames. "This ends with me."

You click your tongue, keeping Montesa at the corner of your vision as you widen your eyes at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Luis swallows hard, his eyes darting around the square, scanning for something—what exactly, you're not sure—before he leans toward you and drops his forehead to rest against yours briefly, murmuring into the tiny pocket of space between you. His skin is clammy, cool against yours, and his breath comes quick and uneven. "Everything that's happened to us, everything that will happen—all of it started with me. My decisions, my choices, my mistakes. The risks I took, the mistakes I made. Every time you got hurt, every single time I didn’t warn you properly or pulled a fast one or led you into a dangerous situation, it was because I let my greed, my hunger, my drive get the best of me." He lets out a choked laugh, shaking his head slightly before lifting it again, pulling away from your touch. "And you forgave me. Over and over. Even when I knew I didn’t deserve it, when I should have gotten left in the dust."

"Where is this coming from?" you ask quietly, glancing at Montesa once more. She watches you both silently, her lips curling into a faint smirk, as though enjoying whatever scene she's imagining in her mind's eye. "Is this really what you want to talk about now?"

"Nowhere else to talk about it, amor," he replies, his jaw clenched tight. "This might be it, after all."

You frown. "Luis—"

He shakes his head sharply, interrupting your protest with another derisive chuckle. "See? Always defending me. I'm not who you think I am. Never was. And you... well, I got greedy. I saw an opportunity and I went for it." He pauses, drawing in a shaky sigh, and closes his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself against something—what, you're not certain. When he speaks again, his words come out strained, muffled almost—as though he's forcing himself to say something he doesn't want to admit to himself, let alone you.

"It was selfish. Stupid. So fucking stupid," Luis mumbles, staring down at the ground beneath his feet. He chews on the inside of his cheek, hesitating for just a moment before continuing in a low tone, "I didn't... mean to lie. Didn't expect it to go this far."

Cold prickles along your back as you watch him, realization beginning to sink in. "Luis... what the fuck did you do?"

Montesa steps closer, until she becomes a shadow that looms over you both. She looks down at Luis with something almost resembling pity, but it's fleeting. Her attention flicks to you, then back to Luis, and for a brief second, you feel utterly powerless in her gaze. "The festival demands a sacrifice," she says softly, like velvet, wrapping around the square. "You know what must be done."

Something in his face crumples, collapses, folding in on itself like paper tossed into a fire—too quick and messy and fragile to catch hold of or save.

"No!" You twist wildly, struggling desperately to free yourself, to reach out to him somehow, but it's no use. You're bound tight, your wrists chafing from your efforts, little beads of blood dripping down your arms. "No, no, no, no, please, you can't... he didn't do anything! This is insane! We haven't done anything, you can't just—"

"Shhh..." Montesa hushes you gently, her fingertips grazing along your hairline before settling against your temple. She leans close, her mouth nearly brushing against yours. "Accept the truth. Let it set you free, as it always should."

The world tilts, twists, spirals outward, spinning round and round like a top spinning out of control, careening blindly toward its inevitable end. Your throat aches with unshed tears as you blink at her through watery eyes, your vision blurred by grief and rage and loss. "You bitch," you spit. "You goddamn bitch..."

She ignores your words completely and turns to Luis, who has gone stiff beside you. "Take comfort in knowing this isn't personal," she murmurs, reaching out with one hand to stroke the line of his jaw tenderly before sliding it down to grasp tightly onto his chin. "And remember... You made your choice."

With a harsh tug, she wrenches his head sideways, exposing the curve of his neck to her waiting blade. He gasps, but doesn't struggle, doesn't fight back—just stares blankly at the dark expanse above your heads, where stars twinkle brightly in contrast to the thick black smoke pouring from the pyres, the steady, insistent burning of the village around you.

"Stop!" you cry out, straining forward instinctively even as the knife comes up in front of your eyes. "Please! Please don't hurt him! Stop!" But it's no use. There's nothing you can do, no way you can stop it. "Please..." you beg, helplessness seeping in to replace the anger. "Don't do this."

A soft chuckle escapes Montesa's lips as she drags the point along Luis' throat slowly, tracing a nonsensical pattern over his skin until bright crimson beads appear along the trail left by her blade. Then, abruptly, she changes direction, dragging the flat edge of the blade sharply downward in a sudden burst of motion that leaves a shallow gash beneath his ear. Blood spills out immediately, dripping freely onto the ground below, staining his shirt, matting his hair where it falls across his forehead. He hisses, flinching away from the pain reflexively, but remains still otherwise, hardly reacting other than shuddering when the drops of his own blood splatter onto his cheek.

There’s a quiet reverence in the way she touches him, like she’s handling something precious, fragile. And that’s when you feel it—the shift.

You lurch forward, trying to break free of the ropes, but the villagers tighten their grip, holding you in place as Montesa raises her hand, signaling the beginning of the ritual. The flames grow higher, licking the edges of the pyre, the heat from the fire hitting your skin in sharp waves. The chanting begins softly, the villagers’ voices low and rhythmic, building in intensity with every passing second.

Luis doesn’t fight it. He stays still, his head bowed as the chanting grows louder, more insistent. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move—just kneels there, waiting, as if he’s already resigned himself to his fate.

You’re shouting now, raw with desperation, but the words are lost in the roar of the flames and the rise of the chanting. It’s like watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion, your body frozen, helpless.

Luis’s eyes meet yours one last time, and for a brief, heart-wrenching moment, all you see is resignation reflected back at you. Acceptance. Sorrow. Love. Guilt. Regret. Loss. You know those emotions too well, intimately so, because you wear them yourself, every day. And then, the blade comes down.

Your scream rings out over the chaos, drowning out everything else except for his final gasping breaths in your ears. The villagers release you suddenly, and you stagger forward, crashing onto your hands and knees beside him. A warm wetness seeps into the fabric of your trousers where they come in contact with his skin, his blood flowing freely onto the cold stone beneath. You reach for him weakly, unable to formulate words or actions or thoughts beyond pure instinctual panic and horror. Everything spins and swirls around you as if falling apart under its own gravity, falling away until nothing remains but darkness and emptiness.

The world feels distant, muted, like you’re watching it through a pane of glass, you can’t tear your eyes away from Luis’s body, crumpled on the ground in front of the pyre. You don’t move. You don’t scream. You don’t even flinch. You just sit there, frozen, staring at him, the familiar ache inside you swelling like a hole, growing larger, angrier, darker. Consuming. Devouring.

It spits back at you something that it had been chewing for a while.

Not all at once, but slowly—like ink seeping into paper. Memories. Faces. Voices. They start to bleed into the edges of your mind, faint and blurred at first, but growing clearer, sharper, louder. Images flicker past your eyelids, scenes from a life lived long ago, from a time before the festival, before Valdelobos, when you were someone else entirely.

It starts with the streets. The sounds of a bustling city, the buzz of a job already in motion. You’re running, feet pounding the pavement, the weight of the designer purse heavy at your side. Luis is ahead, always ahead. You can see his jacket, the back of his head, the way he moves fluid and quick. He’s already slipping through the crowds with that effortless grace he’s always had. You’re trying to keep up—short legs burning, breath hitching in your chest as you weave between strangers.

You stumble. The crack of your knee hitting the hard pavement jolts you, the shock of pain shooting through your leg. You hear it before you feel it—the people around you murmuring in annoyance, their eyes glancing down at you like you're just another obstacle in their way. You scramble to your feet, heart racing, panic bubbling in your chest. You look up, and Luis is gone. He’s always gone when you need him to be there.

You remember this moment so clearly now—the sick twist of fear in your gut, the way the city around you seemed to blur into one loud, suffocating hum of voices and footsteps. You’d been so desperate not to lose him, so terrified of being left behind. Your hands had shaken as you fumbled with your other bag, checking to make sure nothing had fallen out, your mind racing to figure out how to catch up.

But you didn’t catch up, did you?

He didn’t come back for you that night. You waited, leaning against the cold brick wall of an alley you'd taken refuge in, eyes darting from side to side, trying to keep the rising panic at bay. You’d convinced yourself he’d double back. He always doubled back—always found you eventually. But he hadn’t. Hours passed, and the pit in your stomach grew until it felt like it would swallow you whole.

He was probably fine, you told yourself. He’d made the drop. He’d finish the job. He was always fine.

But you? You were stranded, lost in the city’s endless, twisting streets, waiting for someone who never showed.

That was always the way it went, wasn’t it? You chasing him. Him slipping out of reach. The pattern was so ingrained, you didn’t even realize how much of your life had become defined by it. He was the one who knew what he was doing—the one with the plans, the angles, the charm. You were just... there. Always a step behind. Always a little too late. Always a little bit less than him. Never quite fitting in the spaces he left behind. Childhood friends turned partners in crime. A duo that became a solo act. One day he'd disappear for good, and you'd be alone, again, forever.

It was supposed to be different. You told yourself that over and over again. You weren’t just his shadow, his backup. You could handle yourself. You were smart. You were capable. But that doubt, that niggling fear, was always there, creeping at the edges of your confidence, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried, no matter what risks you took, no matter what choices you made, he was always the one who got away.

You shake your head, the lump in your throat thickening as another memory pushes its way to the surface.

It’s late. You’re both in a rundown apartment, somewhere on the outskirts of town. The job had gone well—at least, Luis’s part of it had. You’d fumbled. Made a mess of the handoff, nearly blew your cover. He’d saved it, smoothed things over with a smile and a well-timed joke, just like he always did. But when you got back to the motel room, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t pat you on the shoulder or offer a reassuring wink. Instead, he sat there, staring at his phone, scrolling through messages you weren't privy to, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh.

“Tomorrow,” he said, flat, devoid of the usual teasing lilt. “We hit the club. You stay close, alright? Don’t try to pull any solo stunts like today.”

You bristled at that, the heat rising in your chest. “I can handle it, Luis.”

He didn’t even look at you. Just kept flicking the lighter, his gaze still fixed out the window. “I’m not arguing about this. Just stay close.”

That was how it always went. Him giving orders, you following them. Him out there, flashing his easy smile, charming the pants off everyone, while you hovered at the edges, trying not to screw things up. You were tired of it—tired of being the second-string, the one who needed to be looked after. But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you wanted to prove yourself, it always ended the same way.

You messed up. He covered for you. You both walked away.

Except that last time.

The memory shifts, and suddenly you’re back in the thick of it—back in Montesa’s opulent estate, the walls dripping with wealth and history. The plan had been simple. You were supposed to distract her while Luis worked his magic behind the scenes. It was the kind of setup you’d done dozens of times before, nothing special. Nothing new.

But you knew from the moment you walked into that room that something was off. Montesa’s eyes locked onto you with a sharpness that sent a chill down your spine. She wasn’t fooled—not for a second. You could feel it in the way she watched you, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. And you—nervous, fidgety, out of your depth—started to unravel.

You remember how your hands trembled as you tried to keep up the act, how you could barely keep the conversation going. Montesa didn’t need to say anything; her presence alone was enough to make your skin crawl. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, you saw it—her gaze flickering toward the door, just for a split second.

That’s when you knew she’d figured it out. She knew about Luis. She knew everything.

Panic surged through you, your heart hammering in your chest. You had one job—just one—and you’d blown it. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t find the words to salvage the situation. You needed to get out. You needed to run. And that’s exactly what you did.

You bailed.

You remember the feeling of your pulse pounding in your ears, the cold sweat that broke out on your skin as you bolted down the hallway, leaving Luis behind. You didn’t stop to think, didn’t consider the consequences. All that mattered was getting away, putting as much distance between yourself and that woman as possible. You were done. Done being the screw-up, done letting him down. Done playing second fiddle. So you ran, and didn’t look back. Not once.

Luis would have to fend for himself. He was the golden boy, the charmer, the one who could talk his way out of anything. He’d be fine. Just like he always was. And maybe, if you were lucky, this would finally teach him a lesson. Teach him not to lean on you so damn much. Maybe he'd learn to stand on his own, the way you'd had to do all those times he'd left you to pick up the pieces. That would serve him right.

You didn't bother to check whether or not anyone followed. As far as they were concerned, you were nobody. A two-bit thief, a runner. Forgettable. They weren't coming after you. They were too busy dealing with the big fish. With Luis.

Of course, it was a lot more complicated than that, but at the time, you had no idea. And the worst part? You hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see how it played out. You’d chosen to run. Hopped in the car alone, and drove, and drove. You didn’t dare to turn on your cell. If he called, if he texted, you didn’t care. He was the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Let him deal with the fallout. For once, let him figure it out. You were done playing his sidekick, his lackey. Done being his scapegoat, the fall guy. Done being the fool, the idiot, the one who didn't have a clue. Done. Fucking. Done. No more.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you what had happened. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the weight of your failure dragging you down. Luis was dead. You didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but you knew. And you were dead too.

Because here you were. Reliving it. Over and over. Trying to have a re-do. Trying to chase something that was always out of reach.

Your hands clench into fists, the ropes falling off of your wrists as the truth unravels in front of you. This place—the village, the villagers, Montesa—none of it was real. None of it mattered. It was all a reflection of you. Of your guilt. Of your endless, desperate need to prove yourself and undo what had already been done. Your breath hitches in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’re trapped in a nightmare of your own making, a prison constructed from regret and loss and anger and shame.

You feel a tremor run through your body as you stare down at Luis’s still form, the blood pooling beneath him dark and thick, the color of old wine. You don't know if he's real in the sense of this Montesa and the villagers are, but you can't bear to find out. Your fingers brush the cold skin of his cheek, and you shudder at the contact. Even now, even after all the ways you’ve failed him, a part of you still reaches out, hoping against hope that he’ll open his eyes and flash that cocksure grin.

The worst part? You’d never even given him a chance. You were always so focused on yourself, on your own fears, that you never once stopped to ask what he needed. What he wanted. Maybe that was why you ended up here.

Because you couldn’t let him go.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "So, so sorry." The apology feels hollow, inadequate. There aren't enough words in any language to convey the depths of your sorrow and regret. But it’s all you have, the only offering you can make. "I fucked everything up. I just wanted out and I didn't want to do this anymore and I... I should have stayed. I should have helped. I should've taken my share of the blame. But I hated you. I hated you so much. So I didn't. I wasn't thinking, not of you, not of the job. Only of me. Only of running. Like I've been running away from my problems my whole life. And..."

You pause, swallowing thickly, your throat tight and raw.

"Maybe that's why I'm still here. Still trying to save you. Because that's the one thing I could never do. Not in life, and not in death. God, I wish things had been different." Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the sight of his face, his features fading into shadows. "If we'd talked, really talked, we could've figured something out. Could've gotten out of that mess together. Or maybe we could've gone our separate ways. Clean breaks, no hard feelings. Anything would've been better than this." You wipe at your cheeks, the dampness smearing across the back of your hand. "I'm so tired of chasing ghosts. Tired of living in the past. I just want to move on. I want to be free of this. Of you. Of us."

As the words leave your mouth, a heaviness settles over you, a finality that feels like an anchor dropping to the ocean floor. It's strange, the way it happens, the way the world seems to shift and tilt around you, a slow unraveling that begins with the flicker of the torches and the sudden absence of the chanting, the pyre's fire and the thick smoke, the smell of burning wood, and the taste of ashes on the wind.

You weren’t chasing Luis for him. You were chasing him to prove something to yourself. And in doing so, you never really saw him. Not for what he was. Not for what he needed. You were too focused on what you weren’t.

You stand, your gaze shifting from Luis to the pyre. The flames are frozen mid-crackling, but they no longer feel dangerous. They feel like a doorway—an exit from this place, from this cycle, from everything that’s been holding you here.

The villagers still stand in their rigid lines, their faces as empty and expressionless as they were when the ritual began. But now, you see them for what they are—reflections, shadows of your own mind, your own torment. They think they’ve been offering sacrifices, but it’s you who’s been feeding this place all along. You have the power to stop it. You always did. You were just too blinded by anger and grief and self-pity to realize it. Taking a deep breath, you walk toward the pyre, the heat of the flames washing over you like a warm caress.

"Let go, Luis," you say. The words are for him, but they’re also for you. A promise. An affirmation. "We both deserve peace."

With that, you step forward, the fire licking at your heels, the smoke rising around you. You close your eyes, and the world falls away.

I don’t know if you’ll ever find this. I don’t know if you’ll ever hear these words, but I have to say them anyway. I have to try. Even if it doesn't change anything, even if it doesn't bring you back, even if I'm not able to undo the damage that's been done, at least I'll have said it.

I wanted to be better for you. I know it looks like I never tried to be. That's a lie. I did try, I did, I swear. I've spent years, a lifetime, trying to get to a place where I could look at myself in the mirror and not hate the person staring back. Where I could look at the world and not resent every single soul in it. And that was all for you. Everything. Every day, every decision, every little choice, was made hoping that one day, somehow, the two of us would end up in a different spot, and that we'd both have changed. For the better, and not the worse. That would have been my dream come true, that would have given meaning to everything, that would have redeemed all the pain and suffering, all the loneliness, all the heartbreak, that would have validated me. All of me. My existence, my choices, my failures, and successes. But, at the very least, it would have proven that I was worth the time and energy.

Instead, here I am, on my on now, talking to no one, writing down these words that probably won't ever reach you. Maybe that's fitting, considering.

I hope you're happy. I hope you're at peace. I hope, somewhere, somewhen, you're living the life you always deserved, a life full of joy, love, and laughter. An epilogue of bliss after the horrors of the main story. And, if, by some miracle, you ever read these words, please believe me when I say, from the bottom of my heart: Thank you. Thank you for giving a damn about me, thank you for trying to help me, thank you for caring, and most of all, thank you for staying as long as you did.

You were the best part of my life, and I will cherish the memories of our time together until the end of my days, hoping to meet you again under a kinder sky. Velocidad de Dios.

[atimeofyourlife]

Go ahead, rip my heart out

Part 2 of the make it worse before it gets better (part 1 here | ao3)

rated: t | wc: 1283

There was a little bit of a whirlwind once they knew what was going on. Maddie was going to call Chimney while Eddie let Bobby know, and then the message would get passed on to Hen.

Bobby and Athena were the first to arrive, followed by Chimney, followed by Hen. It felt all too familiar, gathering together in a hospital waiting room sharing information while waiting for news on Buck.

"What even happened?" Hen asked, looking between Eddie and Maddie. "Have you called Tommy?"

Eddie sighed, hating that he was going to have to break the news. "Buck came over to mine last night after Tommy broke up with him. We split a six pack and he slept on my couch. When I woke up this morning he was having cardiac symptoms so I called for an ambulance and here we are."

"They're still doing testing but the doctors think it's broken heart syndrome." Maddie added.

"Is that even a real thing?" Athena asked after a beat of silence.

"The clinical name is takotsubo cardiomyopathy. It's a sudden weakening of a the heart muscle." Hen explained, sounding like she was repeating verbatim something she had read in a medical textbook when she was in medical school.

"Yeah." Maddie replied, nodding at Hen. "It's often caused by sudden physical or emotional stress. Like the loss of a loved one or a break up. That's why it's called broken heart syndrome."

read more below the cut or on ao3

Once Buck was done with the testing and was allowed visitors, Eddie, Maddie, and Bobby joined Buck to hear what the doctors had to say.

"The scans we have done are showing an enlargement of the left ventricle, which is the standard presentation of takotsubo cardiomyopathy. We're going to need to keep you in for a few days, for continued monitoring, but the outlook is good."

"What does it mean for work? I'm a firefighter." Buck asked, still sounding a little out of breath but nowhere near as bad as he had before Eddie had called 911.

"Well, you are going to be out for a while. Maybe on light duty behind a desk for a few months. But the majority of people recover to full health. The heart muscle usually heals within a month, and it's generally around two months for patients to get back to full health. We will continue monitoring, so you won't be able to return to full duty until you have received the all clear from us."

"What is the chance of recurrence?" Maddie asked, sounding a little worried.

"Recurrence is seen in the region of 4 to 10 percent of cases, and there is no solid way to guarantee prevention. But we recommend eating well, sleeping well, regular exercise. If you haven't already, maybe look into therapy to talk about the emotional stressors both on and off the job."

"I have been in therapy, but not for a while. I guess I need to call Doctor Copeland." Buck sighed. "What about complications?"

"That was going to be my next point. Complications are rare, but as a precaution we will be starting you on blood thinners, because of your history of blood clots. The complication we are most concerned about in your case is a blood clot in the heart wall."

"Great." Buck slumped back into his pillows, seeming defeated.

"I'll give you some time. A nurse will be in shortly with your medication." The doctor said, before leaving the room.

"Buck, as soon as you're cleared medically, you can come back. If you're still on blood thinners, it won't be a deal breaker. I won't make that same mistake again." Bobby assured him.

"It's not." Buck sighed. "It's just hitting all the greatest hits right now. Someone I love has left me again, god I've lost count of how many times that has happened. I'm back on blood thinners, like after my leg was crushed. Worried about my heart health, like after the lightning strike. I just can't help wondering what's next?"

--

Working without Buck felt strange. They were back on shift a couple of days after Buck had been admitted to the hospital, and everything just felt slightly off. Eddie knew that they all should be used to working down a man between all the injuries and health scares they'd accumulated over the years, or all the times personal reasons had kept them off the job, like the months he was working at dispatch as a liaison. Hell, they hadn't long had Bobby back at the head of the 118. But Buck, he was the glue that held their family together. Eddie had heard the stories from before he'd joined, before Buck had joined. People had been friends, but not family. It had been Buck's stubbornness and huge heart that had turned the station into a family.

And he couldn't help worrying. What if something else happened to Buck? Sure, Buck was in hospital, and it was the best place for him to be. And he was already responding to the treatment. But there was always that what if. Everyone else had told him that Buck would be okay, that the doctor had assured them that he would make a full recovery. But they hadn't seen him. Only Eddie had seen how he'd been that morning. How terrifying it had been to see his best friend in so much pain, not knowing what was going on.

The only thing keeping him going was knowing that Buck would never be alone for long. Even while they were on shift, there was a revolving cast of friends and family that would continue to check in on him. Maddie, Athena, Karen, Carla, Pepa, Josh, Linda, Sue. People that could stop by for a few minutes, others for a longer visit. Somewhat replicating what had happened when Buck was recovering from the lightning strike, but more to keep him company while he was in the hospital than having people constantly on his doorstep to check in without actually letting him rest.

--

It was a four alarm fire at an apartment complex near the end of shift. There were so many houses on scene, Eddie tried to focus on the job rather than trying to figure out who else was involved. He had noticed the 217 engine, and could only hope that Tommy was on air support. He wasn't ready to have that conversation. Hell, he wasn't sure he would be able to have that conversation without it turning to anger. What could he even say to the man who had just broken his best friend's heart so bad it had landed him in the hospital.

"Diaz." He was just packing down the equipment at the end when he was approached by one of the 133 paramedics. "How's Buckley doing?"

"Better. He's responding to treatment, still in hospital." Eddie replied.

"That's good to hear, we were pretty worried about him. Thought it could be some delayed reaction to the lightning."

"No. It- uh-it's a type of cardiomyopathy." Eddie said, choosing his words carefully. Not wanting to share too many details of Buck's health. "The doctor said he should make a full recovery within a few months."

"Nothing keeps you guys at the 118 down for long. Let him know we're all thinking about him."

"Will do, thanks man." Eddie nodded and the paramedic left to join the rest of the 133.

Eddie finished loading the equipment back into the engine, and made to get in, when he noticed Tommy standing a few feet away. He didn't want to acknowledge him, but Tommy beat him to it.

"Eddie," Tommy's voice sounded a little hoarse, a slightly distant look on his face. "Where's Evan?"