#could just be 'things have changed now i was in critical condition i have a scar'

[mettywiththenotes]

I hope my gf is okay (longingly touches the stab wound she gave me during her breakdown)

[snekdood]

the problem with conservatives is they think you challenging their beliefs is somehow oppressing them

[lila-lou]

✨In my time of dying✨

Summary: Dean is in a coma while you wait for him to wake up. My version of S2 E1 - “In My Time of Dying”.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt, some fluff

Word Count: 4193

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The car crash’s aftermath was a blur of smoke, shattered glass, and the sharp smell of gasoline. You were thrown against the side of the Impala, your head hitting the window hard enough to black out for a few moments. When you came to, everything was chaos. Dean was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious, with blood trickling down his forehead.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to unbuckle yourself.

You had been with the Winchesters ever since Dean saved you from that vampire nest. You owed them your life, but more than that, you had fallen for Dean. His bravery, his fierce loyalty to his family, and the way he always managed to keep a sense of humor even in the darkest times had all won you over. But you had never dared to tell him. You were younger, and you thought he saw you as just a kid sister, someone to protect.

Finally free of your seatbelt, you reached over to check Dean’s pulse. It was there, faint but steady. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived.

The next thing you knew, you were being pulled from the wreckage by emergency responders, the world a whirlwind of flashing lights and urgent voices.

The hospital room was sterile and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth and chaos that usually surrounded the Winchesters. Machines beeped rhythmically, marking the passage of time in a way that felt both too fast and excruciatingly slow. You sat in a stiff chair by Dean’s bedside, your own injuries throbbing dully, but they were a distant concern. The nurses had tried to convince you to get some rest, to let them look at your bruised ribs and the cuts on your face, but you had refused. All that mattered was Dean.

It had been 24 hours since the crash. Sam had managed to get some rest, his tall frame awkwardly draped over a couple of chairs in the waiting room. John was still in critical condition, but stable. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Dean’s side, not even for a moment. Every rise and fall of his chest was a lifeline, a fragile connection that kept you tethered to hope.

You gently held Dean’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His face was pale, the bruises stark against his usually vibrant complexion. You traced the lines of his knuckles, trying to memorize every detail, as if the act could somehow anchor him to this world.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice cracking. “You have to wake up. We need you. I need you”.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. You had to be strong, for him, for Sam, for everyone. Dean had always been the one to keep it together, the rock that everyone leaned on. Now it was your turn to be strong for him.

A soft knock on the door drew your attention. Sam stood there, looking haggard and worried. He gave you a small, tired smile as he stepped into the room.

“Hey”, he said quietly. “How’s he doing?”.

You shook your head slightly. “No change. But he’s strong, Sam. He’ll pull through”.

Sam nodded, coming to stand beside you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You need to rest too, (Y/N). You’re hurt, and you won’t be any good to Dean or anyone if you collapse”.

You looked up at him, seeing the same pain and worry reflected in his eyes. “I can’t leave him, Sam. Not yet”.

Sam sighed, but he didn’t argue. He knew how stubborn you could be, especially when it came to Dean. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down next to you, his presence a comforting weight in the silent room.

The hours passed slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. You and Sam kept vigil by Dean’s side, your concern for him making the time both crawl and fly by. Each beep of the machines felt like a countdown.

A nurse entered the room, her expression professional and calm. She approached Dean’s bed with a clipboard, preparing to check his vitals. You watched her every move, your eyes sharp, your body tense with anticipation. When she adjusted Dean’s IV line a bit too roughly, you snapped.

“Careful!”, you barked, your voice sharp with worry. “He’s not some sack of potatoes you can just fucking toss around”.

The nurse looked up, startled, and Sam placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe you. “Hey, it’s okay, (Y/N). She’s just doing her job”.

You shook your head, unwilling to relent. “I know, but she needs to be gentler. He’s been through enough”.

The nurse nodded apologetically, her movements becoming more deliberate and gentle. “I´m sorry. I’ll be more careful”.

Sam squeezed your shoulder again, this time more firmly. “We all want the best for Dean. Getting angry won’t help him”.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside you. “I know. I just… I can’t stand seeing him like this, Sam. He looks so vulnerable”.

Sam nodded, understanding all too well. “I get it. But we have to trust that they’re doing everything they can to help him”.

You looked at Dean’s peaceful face, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over you. “He has to wake up, Sam. He just has to”.

The hours stretched into an agonizing blur. Sam had gone to check on John, leaving you alone with Dean. The hospital had fallen into a hushed silence, the kind that only seemed to amplify the constant beeping of the machines. Another nurse quietly entered the room, placing a tray with a sandwich and a cup of coffee on the small table by the bed.

“You need to eat something”, she said gently. “You’ve been here a long time”.

You glanced at the food, but the thought of eating made your stomach churn. “Thank you”, you replied softly, but you didn’t touch the tray. The nurse gave you a sympathetic look before leaving you alone again.

It had been 26 hours since the crash. Two days of holding onto hope, two days of watching Dean lie motionless, his life hanging by a thread. Deep down, a gnawing fear had taken root, a voice whispering that he might not make it. You tried to push it away, but it was relentless, growing louder with each passing hour.

Your mind, exhausted and frayed, began to play tricks on you. Shadows seemed to move in the corners of your vision, and you found yourself jumping at the slightest sound. The room felt colder, the walls closing in, suffocating you with their sterile emptiness.

You moved closer to Dean, your tears blurring the sight of his bruised face. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, you have to wake up".

Your hand clutched his, holding on as if your touch alone could anchor him to life. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. You mean everything to me. More than you’ll ever know”.

Your sobs echoed softly in the stillness of the room, your shoulders shaking with the weight of your grief. “You’re all I have left, Dean”, you cried, your voice breaking. “You and Sam… You’re my family. But with you, it’s something different. You’ve become my life”.

You clutched his hand tighter, as if by sheer will you could bring him back. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t wake up. I need you to be okay. Please, Dean. You have to come back to us. To me”.

Unbeknownst to you, on the other side, Dean’s spirit watched you, his heart aching at the sight of your despair. He had been wandering the hospital, trying to make sense of his situation, when he found himself drawn back to his own room. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, was a pain far worse than any physical injury.

Dean moved closer, his ghostly form feeling an overwhelming need to comfort you. “I’m here, (Y/N)”, he whispered, even though he knew by now that you couldn’t hear him. “I’m right here”.

He reached out, his fingers passing through yours, unable to offer the comfort he so desperately wanted to give. He had heard your every word, felt your every tear, and it tore him apart knowing he couldn’t reach you.

The hospital room blurred around him, the lines between the physical and the spiritual world becoming increasingly thin. Dean could feel a presence beside him, familiar and yet unknown. Turning, he saw the Reaper again, her serene expression betraying no emotion.

“I told you already, no!”, Dean growled, his voice echoing in the surreal space. “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave them”.

The Reaper looked at him with understanding but also a firmness that hinted at the inevitability of her role. “Dean, it’s not about what you want. It’s about the natural order. You’ve done your part. It’s time to move on”.

“No!”, Dean shouted, the desperation in his voice matching the intensity of his emotions. “You don’t understand. They need me. She needs me. I won’t abandon them”.

The Reaper’s eyes softened, a glimmer of sympathy flickering in her gaze. “It’s not easy, Dean. The bonds of love and family are strong, but death is a part of life. You can’t fight it forever”.

Dean’s spirit trembled with rage and sorrow, the weight of his love for you and Sam anchoring him to the living world. “I can’t leave her like this. Not after everything. I promised to protect them. To protect her”.

The Reaper sighed, a hint of weariness in her otherwise ethereal demeanor. “Sometimes, even the strongest promises must be broken".

Just then, in the physical world, Sam quietly entered the room. His eyes widened as he saw you slumped over Dean’s hand, tears streaming down your face. The sight of you crying broke his heart, but he knew you needed help too.

“(Y/N)”, Sam said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You need to let the doctors check you out. You’ve been here for hours, and you’re hurt”.

You shook your head stubbornly, not taking your eyes off Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving him, Sam. I can’t”.

Sam knelt beside you, his voice gentle but firm. “Dean wouldn’t want you to suffer like this. You’re hurt. You need to take care of yourself too”.

Your tears flowed more freely now, the pain in your heart almost unbearable. “He’s all I have, Sam. I can’t lose him”.

Sam wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. “I know. I know how much he means to you. But he’d want you to be okay. We need to be strong for him”.

As Sam’s words sank in, you nodded slowly, allowing him to help you to your feet. The room seemed to spin slightly as you stood, your injuries and exhaustion taking their toll. Sam kept a steadying arm around you as he guided you towards the door.

Before leaving, you glanced back at Dean one more time, your heart aching with worry.

Hours later, you sat once again by Dean’s side, bandages now adorning your bruised ribs and cuts. The nurses had managed to patch you up, but despite their best efforts to get you to eat or rest, you refused. Your mind was solely focused on Dean, watching his every breath, willing him to stay with you.

Sam had taken shifts with you, ensuring you were never alone, but now it was just you and Dean again.

Dean’s face was still pale, the bruises stark against his skin. You gently traced the back of his hand with your fingers, your touch light and careful. Despite the stillness, there was an undercurrent of unease, as if something dark was looming just beyond the walls of the hospital.

While you kept vigil, Sam was with John, trying to coax him back to consciousness, but there was a growing fear in both of you that time was running out. You didn’t know it, but something was stirring within John, something that would change everything.

More hours passed, and exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you refused to leave Dean’s side. Suddenly, you noticed a change in the air. It felt colder, more oppressive. You shivered, though you didn’t know why. Across the hospital, in John’s room, a far more sinister event was unfolding.

John, weakened but resolute, lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with a grim determination. He knew what he had to do, the price he was about to pay. He could feel the presence of the demon, Azazel, the very one responsible for so much of his family’s pain.

“Azazel”, John whispered, his voice barely audible, but strong enough to cut through the silence.

The demon appeared, its eyes gleaming with a malevolent joy, as if it had been waiting for this moment. “John. I was wondering when you’d come calling”.

John’s eyes were hard, his resolve unshakable. “I want to make a deal”.

Azazel smiled, a cold, predatory smile that sent chills down John’s spine. “I’m listening”.

“I want you to save Dean. Bring him back. Fully. And in exchange…”, John’s voice faltered, but only for a moment. “I’ll give you the Colt. And my soul”.

The demon’s eyes flickered with interest, but it was cunning, calculating. “That’s a hefty price you’re offering, John. But are you sure? You know what this means”.

John nodded, the weight of his decision clear in his expression. “I know. Just save my son”.

Azazel stepped closer, his presence dark and overwhelming. “You know, John, you could have just walked away, left the boy to die. But that’s not your style, is it? Always the martyr”.

John’s jaw clenched, his eyes never wavering. “Just do it”.

Azazel grinned, pleased with the outcome. “As you wish”. He leaned in closer, his voice a sinister whisper. “But remember, when you’re gone, I’ll still be out there. And nothing you do can stop me from coming after Sam. Not even you”.

John’s heart tightened at the thought, but he forced himself to stay focused. “Just save Dean. I’ll handle the rest”.

The demon reached out, and with a single touch, John felt his life slipping away. A cold darkness enveloped him as Azazel claimed his soul, but in those final moments, he clung to the knowledge that he had saved his son.

Back in Dean’s room, you felt an inexplicable shift in the atmosphere. Dean’s hand twitched in yours, his breathing growing stronger, more stable. You gasped, leaning forward as his eyes fluttered open, confusion and pain flickering in his gaze.

As Dean’s eyes slowly fluttered open, a wave of emotions crashed over you, so intense that it nearly took your breath away. You had been holding everything in, trying to be strong, but the sight of him awake, alive, was more than you could bear.

Tears filled your eyes, blurring your vision, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the fact that Dean was here, that he had come back to you. A choked sob escaped your lips, and before you knew it, you were throwing your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling with overwhelming relief. “You’re okay. You’re really okay”.

Dean, still groggy and disoriented, could only manage a weak smile as he felt your arms around him. The tube in his throat made it difficult for him to respond, but the way his hand reached up to weakly pat your back showed that he understood your relief.

But you were holding on so tightly, pouring out all the fear and worry you had been bottling up, that you didn’t realize how hard you were squeezing him. Dean’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he made a small noise, trying to get your attention.

“(Y/N)…can’t…breathe…”, Dean tried to say, but his voice was muffled and weak against the tube.

Realizing that you were practically smothering him, you quickly pulled back, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and embarrassment. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!”, you blurted out, immediately loosening your grip but keeping your hands gently on his shoulders.

Half an hour later, after the doctor had checked on Dean and confirmed that he was indeed stable, the room felt lighter, filled with a sense of relief that had been absent for too long. You sat close to Dean, still holding onto his hand as if afraid to let go, while Sam hovered nearby, watching his brother closely.

Dean, though still a bit pale and obviously tired, seemed more like his old self with each passing minute. His humor was coming back, and he was starting to grow impatient with the confines of the hospital bed. Finally, he decided he had had enough.

“I’m getting out of here”, Dean declared, his voice still a little raspy but strong with determination.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Dean, you were just in a coma. Are you sure you’re okay to be moving around?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine, Sam. The doctor said I’m stable, and I’m not sticking around here any longer than I have to”.

You shared a look with Sam, both of you equally concerned but also understanding that Dean was never one to stay down for long. “Dean, maybe you should take it easy”, you suggested, though you could already tell by the determined glint in his eye that he wasn’t going to listen.

Ignoring your concern, Dean stood up slowly, testing his balance. He wobbled for a second, and you instinctively reached out to steady him, but he waved you off with a grin. “See? I’m good”, he said confidently, though the effort was clearly taxing.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”.

Dean shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

He reached for his clothes, which had been folded neatly on a chair beside the bed. As he turned around to grab them, you and Sam both couldn’t help but burst into soft laughter. His hospital gown had ridden up, revealing a rather undignified view of his backside.

“Dean, your… uh… gown’s not exactly covering everything”, you said between fits of laughter, your previous tension finally breaking into something lighter.

Dean froze, then looked over his shoulder, realizing the situation. “Seriously?”, he muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly, though he quickly recovered and shot you both a mock glare. “You guys enjoying the view?”.

Sam was practically doubled over with laughter now, the stress of the past few days melting away in the ridiculousness of the moment. “Oh man, Dean, you really know how to make an exit”.

You tried to stifle your giggles as you stepped forward to help him, holding the back of the gown closed while he reached for his jeans. “Come on, let’s get you dressed before you traumatize anyone else”.

Dean huffed in mock indignation as he quickly pulled on his clothes, the familiar routine grounding him back into reality.

As Dean finished pulling on his jeans, Sam, still chuckling, muttered, “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Dean, you look like you could use one too”.

Dean smirked, giving Sam a nod. “Yeah, I could use a good cup of coffee”.

Sam glanced at you both before heading towards the door. “I’ll be right back”, he said, then stepped out, leaving you and Dean alone in the quiet room.

You turned back to Dean, ready to help him gather the rest of his things, but the moment you reached for his bag, Dean’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist a bit more firmly than usual. The unexpected touch made you pause, and you looked up to find him staring at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“(Y/N)”, Dean started, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper than his usual bravado. You could see the tension in his eyes, the way his thoughts seemed to be racing as he stood just inches away from you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the room suddenly feeling smaller, as if the space between you was charged with electricity. Dean had always been close to you, but this was different. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he was looking at you, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could say anything, before you could even fully process what was happening, Dean moved. He pulled you closer, his grip on your waist firm, while his other hand came up to gently cup your face. You barely had time to react before his lips were on yours.

The kiss was sudden, but it was everything you had imagined it would be—warm, intense, and filled with all the unspoken emotions that had been simmering between you for so long. Dean kissed you with a passion that left no room for doubt, his lips moving against yours as if he was trying to pour everything he felt into that one, breathtaking moment.

You melted into his touch, your hands resting weakly against his chest as your heart clenched with a mix of overwhelming emotions. Every thought, every fear, every doubt you’d had over the past hours seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced by the warmth of Dean’s embrace and the fervor in his kiss.

Time seemed to stop as you lost yourself in him, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. His hands, rough yet gentle, held you close, grounding you in the reality of the moment. This was real. Dean was here, and he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands remained on your waist and face, anchoring you to him, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the last 48 hours”, Dean murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze locked on yours, filled with a mixture of relief, longing, and something deeper that made your heart swell. “Dean…”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve wanted this for so much longer”.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if letting the weight of your words sink in, before opening them again, his expression softening. “I know”, he admitted, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “Me too… I was just too damn stubborn to admit it”.

A small, tearful laugh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the tension of the past few days finally start to ease. “I was scared, Dean. Scared that I’d never get to tell you how I feel. That I’d lose you before I ever got the chance”.

Dean shook his head slightly, his forehead still pressed against yours. “You’re not gonna lose me”, he promised, his voice full of conviction. “Not now, not ever. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere”.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness, of relief. You brought your hands up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

He pulled you into another kiss, this one slower, more tender, as if he was savoring every second of it. And you kissed him back, pouring all your love, all your fears, and all your hopes into it. This was a new beginning for both of you, a step into something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to be realized.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Dean wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on the top of your head. For a moment, you both just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into insignificance.

Dean smiled down at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter, before he spoke up again. "How´s dad?".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 1745

Categories: Angst, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Eventual Smut

Emily sits in the waiting room, eyes glued to the emergency department doors. She’s chewed her lip raw, and the traces of blood on her tongue match the stains of yours on her clothes. The rest of the team waits around her, silent. Barely a word has been spoken since the paramedics had taken you away in the ambulance.

The clock on the wall seems to tick louder with each passing second, seemingly mocking Emily and her inability to do anything to help you. She buries her head in her hands in an effort to stop the onslaught of images that torment her.

Her thoughts start to spiral, a mixture of guilt and fear. She can’t shake the thought that if she had done something differently, if she hadn’t left you alone that night, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life right now. It’s a weight that threatens to crush her.

The surgeon finally emerges with a look on his face that makes Emily’s heart sink. He beckons the team over, and Emily jumps to her feet. The room feels too small, the air too thick, as he delivers the news. You’re in critical condition. The surgery was successful, but you lost a huge amount of blood, along with sustaining severe head trauma. Emily’s world narrows at the sound of his words. She nods, throat too tight to speak, as the doctor explains your recovery, assuming you’ll pull through.

“When can we see her?” Garcia asks.

“It’ll be a few hours until she can have visitors. Right now we’ve had to put her in a medically induced coma. If the swelling in her brain goes down like we hope, then we should be able to wake her up tomorrow.”

Emily tries to focus on the positives. That they found you, that you’re alive, but she can’t help but think about all the things that could still go wrong. She turns away from the team, knowing the thoughts are clear on her face.

Morgan is the only one to have the courage to approach her. “Emily, she’ll be okay.”

She nods, not trusting her voice. JJ pulls Morgan away for a second, handing him a bag.

“Here, a change of clothes. Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get us some coffee.”

Emily shakes her head, “I need to be here when she wakes up.”

“Emily, you heard the doctor, it’s going to be a while. Do you really want the first thing she sees being you covered in blood?”

Sighing, she takes the bag from his outstretched hand. She waves off Garcia when she moves to come with her, needing to be alone. Locking the door to the bathroom behind her, she braces herself at the sink, and hangs her head. She hesitates for a moment, not having the nerve to face herself. Taking a deep breath, she looks up, her eyes meeting the strangers in the mirror.

For the first time since she found you, she let’s herself cry.

—

The team had forced Emily to go home, refusing to let her sit in the waiting room all night. She had fought them at first, but she was tired, the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders. They told her she wasn’t any use to you half dead on her feet, and she reluctantly agreed.

Walking into her empty apartment, she’s greeted by Sergio nudging her leg. “Hey buddy,” she whispers, picking him up and holding him to her chest. Burying her face in his fur, she focuses on the rumbling of his purrs.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, she heads straight for the bedroom and puts Sergio down on the bed. Pulling back the covers, she gets underneath them without getting changed and draws the spare pillow towards her.

The scent of your hair lingers on the pillowcase, and she clutches it to her chest. If she closes her eyes she can pretend that you’re next to her. That the scent of your shampoo isn’t just traces of where you used to be. The tears come again, silent and hot, rolling down her cheeks and staining the pillow. She’s not sure how long she has lays there, holding the memory of you close.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day overcomes her. She drifts between fits of sleep and wakefulness. In the brief moments of unconsciousness she relives a slideshow of the worst moments of the past two days - and every time she wakes, she’s hit with the agonizing reality that you’re not here.

—

Morning comes and Emily is surprised she’s slept at all. There’s a brief moment before she’s woken fully, where she’s at peace. Then she remembers and the pain returns. She goes through the motions of her morning routine on autopilot, the sting of the too hot water barely registering as she showers. The sun has barely risen by the time she leaves and the early hour means she’s the first one to arrive at the hospital.

She lingers in the doorway to your room, listening to the beep of the machines that are hooked up to your bruised and broken body. She’s not sure how much time has passed before she hears footsteps approaching. Dragging her eyes away from you, she quietly greets the team, giving an acceptable answer when they ask how she’s doing.

“She should be waking up soon,” JJ says, leaning next to Emily on the other side of the doorway.

A panic starts to build in her chest and she feels the overwhelming urge to run. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” she says suddenly, walking away before they have the chance to reply. She rounds the corner and collapses into the nearest chair. Pressing her palms into her eyes, she tries to calm her breathing. Gradually, the panic starts to recede, and she manages to take in a full breath.

Feeling someone sit down next to her, she lowers her hands from her face. When she sees it’s Morgan she tenses. He sits in silence with her for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll open up without him having to pry. When a few minutes have passed he leans back, assessing her in that particular way he does.

“Why don’t you want to see her, Emily?”

She clenches her jaw at the question, “I have seen her.”

Morgan sighs, “Alright, then. Why don’t you want her to see you?”

Emily stills, before she leans forward and braces herself on her knees. Morgan is patient, letting her organize her thoughts.

Finally, she answers with a shaking voice, “It would be selfish,” she whispers, “for me to be there when she wakes up.”

Morgan looks at her in confusion, “How would that be selfish? If anyone should be there it should be you.”

Emily scoffs, “After what I said to her? What I did? She probably hates me.”

“Emily, you know that’s not true. She doesn’t hate you.”

“If she doesn’t, then she should,” she mumbles to herself.

Morgan sighs in exasperation and stands up, “If you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, then fine.”

The mortification of being called out so blatantly renders her speechless. He waits, giving her the chance to defend herself, to get herself together and be there for you. When she doesn’t, the look of disappointment he gives her makes her hang her head in shame.

—

You wake slowly to the sound of beeping. Gradually emerging from sleep, you lay there, bits and pieces of the past few days slowly coming back to you.

“Emily?” You mumble, wincing in pain when you try to move.

“Hey, just relax. You’re in the hospital.” JJ, not Emily. You fight against the heaviness in your eyes, opening them just enough to see her hovering over you.

Clearing your throat, you try to get your thoughts straight. “Where’s Emily?”

JJ looks behind her to the rest of the team and they share a look that makes your heart speed up. The increasing beeps from the monitor draws their attention back to you.

Your voice shakes, “Is she okay?”

JJ sits down on the chair next to your bed, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “She’s fine, I promise.”

Her words provide some reassurance, but you still don’t understand. “Where is she?” Your eyes dart between the team, waiting for an answer.

Morgan steps forward, eyes shifting. “She’s here,” he says quickly, “She just…had some things to deal with.” It’s obvious there’s more he’s not telling you.

Your heart sinks. Of course. Why would Emily be here? She hates you. She said you were a mistake. You turn your head away, trying to hide the tears building in your eyes. You don’t want to be here. You feel exposed and vulnerable now that you’ve realised what happened between you and Emily is common knowledge amongst the team.

“When can I go home?” You whisper.

The team gives you an incredulous look. JJ utters your name in disbelief, “You almost died.”

You nod as much as your aching head allows. You guess you won’t be going home anytime soon. JJ sees that you’re about to break and motions to the team, who all give you a sympathetic look before filing out of the room.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” JJ asks, voice gentle and unimposing.

You swallow back tears and put on the most convincing smile you can manage, “Nothing, just tired.”

You can see that she doesn’t believe you. “Are you sure?” JJ asks, and you nod.

“I’m fine, really,” you smooth your hands over the rough blanket that covers you, “I think I just need to be alone for a while.”

JJ studies you, trying to discern how you’re really feeling. You try not to squirm under the observation. When she realises she’s not getting anything more out of you, she sighs and gets to her feet.

“I’ll get a doctor to come and check in on you,” she pauses, hovering next to you, “We are all here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, even though you know it’s not completely true. The one person you really need doesn’t want anything to do with you.

You keep yourself composed until JJ is gone, then you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your head into the pillow, you finally allow yourself to feel the absence of Emily.

The tears burn as they fall.

ao3

[divorceblogger]

I think the most difficult thing that armand struggles to come to terms with (re: his feelings about marius) is very much that marius seemingly steps into his life and performs actions that are, at a superficial glance, meant to be liberatory or empowering but are unequivocally very predatory if you start to dig into the meat of their relationship.

Marius rescues armand from starvation and sexual slavery at a point in his life when armand is actively entertaining thoughts of suicide. marius sweeps in, purchases him, and transfers him from abhorrent conditions of existence to a life of material comfort, although it’s not really a safe one, but at this point armand doesn’t necessarily have the ability to have a critical dialogue about safety with himself because he’s so glad to be rescued from slavery that he ascribes divinity to marius. he also receives an allowance and he’s taught swordplay. he’s taught swordplay. but what kind of harm could a child ever cause to a 1500 year old vampire?

And the material reality is that marius is not really interested in empowering armand at all. he actively fosters an unhealthy codependency between them, he withholds information about his nature, he performs sexual acts on him even when armand doesn’t necessarily comprehend that these acts are sexual in nature. he also strategises methods that he reasons are supposed to sexually liberate armand but these instances just contribute to the overall conversation on how he grooms him. armand is 15 years old when marius sends him out to brothels “to learn how to couple properly”. do you remember that he was supposed to be forced into prostitution. marius now offers him the illusion of sexual power by allowing him to experience sexual pleasure instead of offering it to predatory customers instead. but armand also says that he doesn’t enjoy the experiences at the brothels because he craves sexual relations with marius solely, to a point where he feels resentful about being asked to participate in these acts even when he derives sexual pleasure from them. he endures the experiences because his master gives him no other choice, but it’s also in these brothels that he discovers that sex doesn’t have to be associated with pain as it often tends to be with marius.

When he returns ‘home’ from the brothels he’s perceptive enough to understand that marius really sent him to receive a sexual education on marius’s behalf and attempts to replicate these acts on him. he unconsciously takes up the role of a sex worker, but again he’s a child, and it’s horrifying that he thinks he’s harassing marius by initiating sexual relations with him. it’s also not very surprising that when he does display sexual interest in other people marius emotionally shuts him off (because these experiences were never instituted with armand’s interest in mind) and these moments shape up to be very harrowing experiences for armand - he’s been taught to crave marius’s affection and never do anything that might displease him. armand often has to beg his way back into marius’s good graces and allow himself to be subjected to corporal punishment to achieve this. it’s terrifying that one of the first ideas the boys in the villa convey to armand despite the language barrier is that their master will never hurt him.

And the alarming fact about armand’s transformation is that vampirism serves to just further reinforce this abuse, even though, once again, it might seem like an empowering act. his newly acquired powers don’t change his reality - he’s still under marius’s control the whole time. he’s also further isolated from boys his age who share his interests, and his nights with marius are insular and suffocating. the corporal punishments continue. they’re now adjusted to account for his vampirism. “usual brain jarring blow” is a term floated in the book. marius calls armand’s coffin a “crib”. he very seriously asks armand if he’s ever been cruel to him soon after he transforms him. armand’s codependency with marius is in fact further reinforced by the vampiric transformation that marius carries out. so much of armand’s initiation into vampirsm is once again rooted in sexual instruction, once again evoking patterns of behaviour that are associated with grooming. it’s very in-character for marius to teach him the fundamental principles of seducing his victims before killing them. he also advices him to develop emotionally frigid relationships and never reveal his true self to the people he cares for, further establishing marius as the most significant figure in his life, as the person he constructs his entire identity around. how was he ever supposed to turn out well-adjusted?

[hero-israel]

sorry if this is a dumb question and i understand if you don't want to answer but do you have links to posts explaining why israel isn't an apartheid state? i swear i read posts like that on your blog before but i don't know how to refind them

Israeli Arabs have legal equality with Jews. Same restaurants, same pools, same seats on the bus, same voting rights. I would favorably compare the treatment of Israeli Arabs with that of any minority group in any country on Earth.

The West Bank has a military occupation, with (pretty fast) checkpoints and no right to vote about the government running that military. Military occupations are bad and some of us have been against this particular one for decades. The anti-occupation movement hasn't gotten anywhere, they've just been stuck. Being stuck in a military occupation for X more years doesn't make it apartheid, just like being stuck in a bad marriage for X more years doesn't make you divorced. Meanwhile, the 2020 Abraham Accords showed that multiple Arab states were willing to accept this unchanging status quo and deal with Israel as it is. Those two factors - the stagnant, unchanging nature of the occupation, and the clear loss of interest in the Palestinian cause - combined to have the latest crop of awareness-raising college interns at some shifty NGOs try to force change by abracadabra'ing together a new concept of "apartheid" that exists solely for Israel. And it is working, just like "Christ-killer" and "stabbed Germany in the back" worked.

In 2010, Human Rights Watch published an extremely critical report on Israel's occupation of the West Bank. Dragged them up one wall and down the other. Yet there was no accusation of "apartheid" there. In the report, page 33, they cited a lawsuit by the Association for Civil Rights in Israel that had said it was apartheid for the West Bank military occupation authorities to ban Palestinians from driving on Highway 443 after repeated firebombings / shootings against Israelis. The Israeli High Court ruled that it was inappropriate to ban Palestinians from the road, and it re-established their equal driving access - they have had it ever since. The court also said that the accusation of apartheid behind that now-ended ban was dishonest, because the security concerns were not based on race; there were and are no "Jewish-only" roads anywhere, even when WB Palestinians were denied road access, Israeli Arabs could and did drive there. The HRW 2010 report included a long summary of that finding, without challenge. As bad as they saw Israel, they agreed it wasn't apartheid.

Then in 2020 came the Abraham Accords, so while nothing at all had changed in the administration of the West Bank, in 2021 HRW said it actually was apartheid. It really is that simple. The most famous legal convention banning apartheid specifies that it is race-based. HRW instead went with a different legal convention on apartheid, one that says it could be based on national origin if it involves discrimination among citizens of the same country.... and then they up and added their own twist to that, saying they will consider it apartheid if there is discrimination based on national origin AMONG PEOPLE WHO AREN'T CITIZENS OF THE SAME COUNTRY. In a very real sense, HRW declared Mexico is an apartheid state because Americans can't vote in its elections.

In 2022, Amnesty International followed with their own report, saying that not only was the military occupation now "apartheid," but that Israel itself had been an apartheid state ever since it was established in 1948. This moral perversion had the effect of saying Israel literally INVENTED apartheid since in May 1948 it didn't even exist in South Africa yet. It also said that Amnesty International - founded 1961 - had been looking at an apartheid the whole time but never recognized it. To make things even more dishonest, Amnesty said they "are not claiming Israeli conditions are analogous to South Africa," meaning anything that shows how Israel is different from South Africa doesn't count. They're using the South African word for the South African policy but it's actually not like South Africa at all so be quiet, neener neener no backsies.

I shouldn't have to take that seriously. Neither should anyone. Palestinians and their advocates should be ashamed to have to lean on such an obvious bad-faith lie.

Nelson Mandela, who died in 2013, never once accused Israel of apartheid, and instead repeatedly said he supported Zionism and a 2-state solution. Mandela's lawyer, still alive, says the accusation is a lie. Mansour Abbas, leader of the Arab Islamist party that joined Israel's governing coalition in 2021, says the accusation is a lie. And if people want to bandy around NGO business cards, here is the International Committee of the Red Cross in 2017:

“The Red Cross was very familiar with the regime that prevailed in South Africa during the apartheid period, and we are responding to all those who raise their claim of apartheid against Israel: No, there is no apartheid here, no regime of superiority of race, of denial of basic human rights to a group of people because of their alleged racial inferiority. There is a bloody national conflict, whose most prominent and tragic characteristic is its continuation over the years, decades-long, and there is a state of occupation. Not apartheid.”

There's a lot more you can see about the shifty terminology, unreliable sourcing, and longstanding culture of antisemitism and racism within Amnesty International. People who can cite chapter and verse of why the Salvation Army, Autism Speaks, Chik-Fil-A and Harry Potter are problematic should not be shocked.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Angelia has been giving me a brainworm lately, so here's a little angsty... hurt/comfort-y kinda thing?

While deploying (or maybe extracting) from a mission, the airship Angelia and S/O (or maybe S/O's the pilot) are riding in is shot down and crashes, with S/O ending up losing an arm or a leg in the ensuing crash.

Upon discovering the loss of their limb, S/O tries (with... very mild success) to play it cool and lighten the mood with a joke, going: "Hey hon look... we match... hehe..."

But looking in their eyes Angelia can clearly see that they're kinda freaking out and barely keeping it together as now they have to figure out a means of getting out of their situation.

(GFL Short Fic) Angelia's S/O getting heavily injured

I imagine based on recent asks, most people have an Angelia brainworm now. I also may have gone a little overboard in the length of this and instead of an imagine you get an entire ass short fic, but whatever! It's the content GFL deserves! Word Count: 3.4k CW: Loss of a limb, blood, nothing explicit.

Angelia's vision slowly came back to her, accompanied by her ears ringing and body aching. The last thing she remembered was that her, S/O and DEFY were on their way back from a mission in the snowy mountains near the northern borders. And...

The explosion that rocked the helicopter before it came crashing down.

Immediately, Angelia tried to sit up, gritting her teeth through the stinging pain before an arm laid her back down.

Before she could throw a punch at her potential attacker, Angelia relaxed slightly at the sight of AN-94 administering first aid. Or at least what looked to be the remainders of a kit.

(AN-94) "Please remain still, ma'am. The injuries you sustained were not as severe, but we need to be safe."

It was only now Angelia realized that AN-94 had her combat mask on, missing her jacket and parts of her gear torn off, tiny embers illuminating the wreckage of the helicopter's hull surrounding them.

Which meant a skirmish was soon to follow their crash site.

(Angelia) "Where are the others?"

Angelia saw AN-94's eyes glance over to her for a brief moment. Though her expression didn't change, the T-Doll had been under her command long enough for Angelia to know that was hesitation.

And suddenly, what AN-94 said fully registered in her head.

(Angelia) "...What did you mean, not as severe? Compared to who...?!"

AN-94 stoically turned to her commanding officer, hesitating one last time before fully reporting.

(AN-94) "Thankfully, the squad is still functional, despite our damage. AK-12 has sustained the least damage, only superficial scratches, though her gear is now destroyed, leaving her with only a pistol."

The T-Doll sat Angelia up properly, with Angelia wincing in pain but keeping the grunts relatively quiet. AN-94 took the mask off her face for a moment with a click and hiss, one hand going over her knee as she knelt.

(AN-94) "Myself and RPK-16's vests are heavily damaged, but our weapons are intact. AK-15's right arm has been torn off, alongside her gear, but remains functional. Currently she is armed with a combat knife."

That just left one person. And Angelia's heartbeat slowly quickened when she asked about them.

(Angelia) "And S/O?"

(AN-94) "Condition critical, ma'am."

Critical?

Suddenly, all the pain that Angelia was feeling seemed to vanish in an instant, her voice raising in volume unintentionally at her subordinate.

(Angelia) "Take me to them, now."

AN-94 helped Angelia out of the wreckage they were inside, the hull of the helicopter somehow miraculously still intact, even if there were at least a dozen holes she could see through. Snow crunched under their boot and the winter breeze barely affected them as the flames around them roared out, leaving a smoke cloud trailing into the sky.

Laid up against a piece of metal now acting as improvised cover, Angelia found the rest of her squad standing and crouching near S/O.

And the sight of S/O made her freeze in her tracks, the white snow around them tinted red, and their face looking paler than she had ever seen.

A few more seconds of examining S/O told her why.

(AK-12) "S/O's arm was caught between shrapnel, one that would've lodged itself through my head had they not shoved me out the way."

AK-12 reported, a hint of shame in her voice as she did so, turning around to briefly salute Angelia, but not getting out of her kneel.

S/O's right arm was now missing, a red bandaged stub replacing it making Angelia teeth clench at the sight. Her heart felt like it had just gotten stabbed merely by looking at the state S/O was in.

(RPK-16) "AN-94 was treating you inside the helicopter, so we had to treat them out here. We've done what we can, but they need proper medical attention ASAP."

She could see that most of her squad's jacket laid directly underneath S/O, spread out so they could have a flat surface to keep them comfortable on, considering the circumstances.

RPK-16 kept a flame source nearby to keep S/O warm, but Angelia doubted that S/O was feeling the cold at this very moment.

(Angelia) "Why did you not treat them in an enclosed area?!-"

(AK-15) "Ma'am, our top priority is you. And..."

Uncharacteristically, AK-15's voice trailed off, hesitant as her other sisters to fully report what had happened. As she turned around from facing the trees, her hair briefly swayed and touched her own missing arm, though electric wires and metallic frames replaced where blood and bone should have been.

(AK-15) "Before S/O lost consciousness, they insisted that you were inside first before them."

Angelia clicked her tongue in irritation, knowing better than to shout at her squad for doing what was objectively correct.

However, DEFY's members meant more to her than anything else.

Even above her own life.

Angelia knelt into the snow, uncaring of the freezing cold seeping through her torn clothes. Her real hand brushed over their face, S/O unconsciously grimacing at the sensation, her emotions slowly bubbling up to the surface. Keeping them suppressed, Angelia cooly continued talking to her team.

(Angelia) "Were we able to radio for help?"

(AK-12) "We managed to contact Griffin's Commander. They apparently have an outpost not too far from here."

(Angelia) "Within walking distance?"

(AK-15) "No, ma'am. One of their Black Hawks are coming to retrieve us."

AN-94 gently picked S/O up into her arms, carrying them bridal style, but not before putting her combat mask back on, followed by the rest of DEFY.

Everyone prepped their gear, ready for a fight to break out any second as the AK-12 and RPK-16 put back on their coats, AK-15 still looking around and clenching her combat knife's hilt.

Angelia helped wrap AN-94's coat around her, eyes glancing over to S/O for a brief moment.

(Angelia) "Let's get out of here and to extraction. Sangvis are no doubt already approaching."

...

The extraction coordinates was now only a seven minutes away, putting Angelia's mind somewhat at ease. Her squad, despite the injuries, was as AN-94 said, still operating normally.

The same couldn't be said for S/O, looking worse with every second that passed. Before Angelia could have further time to lament about that, she saw their eyes slowly creep open.

(S/O) "N...Ninety-four?"

(AN-94) "Ma'am, S/O is awake!"

Angelia rushed over to S/O's side, concern briefly spilling out onto her expression as she saw S/O faintly smile at them, eyes half open.

(S/O) "Is...everyone-?"

Angelia's hand reached out for S/O's leg, brushing against it and motioning for everyone to keep walking and not waste anymore time.

(Angelia) "Alive, though we all look like shit. You worst of all."

S/O laughed at that, though immediately coughing afterwards causing them to try to look around, and quickly notice something off about themselves.

(S/O) "O-Oh...that's...not good."

Their eyes rapidly darting between their missing limb, and quickly noticing how injured the rest of DEFY was, including Angelia.

She had been walking with a limp, holding onto AN-94's rifle with her uniform all torn apart with blood and new scratches on her body.

Though, understandably, they kept looking at their arm.

(S/O) "Hah, I guess we match now at least..."

For once, Angelia's lets her expression go soft on a mission, her hand grabbing onto S/O's remaining one tightly, not crying, but damn well looking like she was about to.

(Angelia) "Hah...that's...not something I wanted you to be able to do..."

AK-12 and RPK-16 caught up to S/O increasing their pace, getting behind Angelia so they could at least see them smile, even if it was obvious it was forced. AN-94 joined in with a small chuckle of her own, that one sounding the fakest of all.

Despite that, it still put S/O somewhat at ease.

(AK-12) "Plus it's the wrong arm. Ange's got her left arm replaced, remember?"

(RPK-16) "Or did that crash mess with your eyes too?"

S/O laughed again, though this time their voice was getting even shakier as their body trembled, Angelia trying her best to remain calm for S/O's sake.

(Angelia) "H-Hey! Don't push yourself, you need to rest."

(S/O) "D-Do we even have the luxury?-"

(AK-15) "No. Picking up heat signatures behind us."

Angelia nodded at AN-94, moving to pick up S/O in her place as the rest of her squad got into position. Moving their arm over her shoulder, Angelia got to cover behind a thick tree, with AK-15 throwing her a radio before grabbing her knife again.

Angelia instinctively held S/O tight to her chest, her hand's grip threatening to crush the radio.

(Angelia) "Commander, where the hell is that evac?!"

[Commander's Voice] "Three minutes out! Should be near the field according to your current coordinates!"

Both Angelia and S/O turned their heads to the open snowy plains in front of them, littered with a tree every now and then. Meaning they'd get lit up the moment they tried walking out right now.

(AN-94) "Ma'am, S/O. Keep your heads down and prepare to run. We will cover your escape."

AN-94 switched guns with AK-12, grabbing her pistol while AK-12's eyes opened, her pink eyes scanning the environment around them as she readied her sister's rifle.

(AK-12) "Multiple Sangvis units inbound. Counting twenty-five, more than likely more."

RPK-16 flipped her bipod and steadied her machine gun on top of a fallen tree, her voice sounding more bored than concerned.

(RPK-16) "Looks like they're intent on stopping us from going home."

AK-15's eyes narrowed as she got into a fighting stance, ready to leap out as soon as she spotted her enemy.

(AN-94) "Contact."

Angelia held S/O close to her chest as she lowered her head, the sound of gunfire immediately drowning out every other noise in the area.

Flashes of light rapidly blinked across the forest, with branches and tree bark splintering from stray shots, splashes of snow and dirt shooting up into the air as DEFY engaged Sangvis T-Dolls.

AK-12 and AN-94 picked off their targets with precision shots, each bullet blowing apart armored helms into scrap metal and electronics as they hid behind cover, the trees giving them cover being thick enough to not get shot through as easily.

Though their enemy was using the cover to their advantage as well, being able to hide from RPK-16's suppressing fire. As one of the Sangvis T-Dolls appeared around in their flank, aiming its gun at Angelia, its head was quickly torn apart by a knife that cut through its electronic wires and promptly kicked into the floor by AK-15.

Angelia could see in the distance a small shape in the skies approaching their location, making her heart race faster. She helped S/O up, thankful to see them still awake but hating she had to put them so close to danger.

(S/O) "A-Ange-...!"

(Angelia) "Not a damn word, S/O! Keep your head down! Where's the enemy anti-air?!"

AK-12 ducked mere moments before a stray rocket flew over her head, soaring into the open fields and igniting the area and leaving a black scorch.

(AK-12) "Think we just found it! Ninety-Four!"

AN-94 nodded and peeked out of cover with her pistol, attempting to scan where the trail of smoke was before a hail of concentrated gunfire forced her back down.

(AN-94) "Not down yet!"

RPK-16 gunned down several of the T-Dolls with a hail of her own, but unable to find which T-Doll had fired the rocket.

(RPK-16) "Can't find them either. Fifteen?!"

Some of the Sangvis Dolls attempted to charge AK-15, quickly resulting in their death as she threw a knife through one of the cores in their chest, and then with one hand grabbing another Doll and using it as makeshift cover as bullets ripped through its armor.

(AK-15) "Negative!"

(Angelia) "Our ride is about to get shot down again if we let them go-"

(Cheery Girl's Voice) "FLASHBANG OUT! EVERYONE LOOK AWAY!"

Knowing immediately whose voice that was, Angelia dove with S/O to the ground, covering their ears and bracing for the explosion herself, eyes closed and teeth clenching.

Everyone in DEFY took cover seconds before the flashbang went off, disorienting the Sangvis T-Dolls.

As another rocket shot out towards the helicopter, a bullet quickly intercepted it, making it explode midair before more gunfire erupted from within the forest.

After a few more shots, the forest became deathly still, the only sound now being the embers catching onto the trees and snow shifting as the members of DEFY looked around for any more targets.

Angelia moved off S/O, checking to see if they were alright before helping them stand up again, her voice calling out into the trees.

(Angelia) "UMP9? Is that you?"

The twin-pig tailed brunette stuck her head around the trees, her yellow outfit sticking out sorely amongst the snowy background. And yet, no one had even seen her before they heard her.

That quickly changing as she waved her hands eagerly at Angelia.

(UMP9) "Ange! It's so good to see you all again!"

Looks like it's time for T-Doll Funfact number...9? I wanna say Nine, can someone double check that for me? : Angelia is the main backer of Squad 404, regularly deployed as Black Ops mercs for her, alongside Griffin.

(AK-12) "...Friendly contact signatures confirmed. Squad 404."

DEFY's members lowered their weapons as HK416 and UMP45 emerged from the trees the Sangvis Units were originally hiding behind. HK416 crossed her arms and stoically shrugged while UMP45's signature smirk was still across her lips as they approached.

(UMP45) "Looks like we came just in time.~"

Her voice soft and playful, though her gaze still sharp, looking around the environment herself to scan for anymore threats.

(RPK-16) "We thank you for the assist, it was looking a little dire there.

(HK416) "...Hey, is that...?"

Both 404 T-Dolls' eyes trailed over to S/O, noticing how badly injured they were before seeing the rest of the squad.

(UMP9) "W-We need to get you guys home, pronto! G11! GET YOUR BUTT UP HERE!"

In the distance, G11's head poked out of the snow, with her weapon next to pop out, only muttering something inaudible in response. Despite her usual sluggish pace, she did thankfully hasten herself upon seeing the state they were picking up Angelia and the others.

Triple checking they wouldn't get shot down again, Angelia and S/O made it onto the helicopter first, followed by DEFY, then lastly having 404 join them, their extraction taking off and flying back to a safer location.

UMP9 and HK416 were quick to apply real medical attention to S/O and Angelia, with UMP45 taking a seat next to AK-12 and G11.

(UMP45) "Heard you guys got dinged up pretty bad. Though, didn't expect it to be that bad."

She couldn't help but stare at S/O's missing arm, only having seen S/O with both a few months ago.

(S/O) "Agh! W-Would've been worse if not...for you guys...!"

(Angelia) "You really pulled our asses out of the fire. Thanks."

(HK416) "I-It's nothing, ma'am."

(UMP9) "Yeah! This one is on the house!"

(G11) "...So that means no dinner?"

S/O smiled at the comment, with Angelia pulling them near her, tightly at that once the 404 T-Dolls finished.

(Angelia) "That one is on me, G11. Same goes for you girls too-"

Angelia turned to her own squad, a dry smile forming.

(Angelia) "You made the best out of a bleak situation, and saved the two of us as well."

(AK-12) "Naturally.~"

(AN-94) "Of course, ma'am."

(RPK-16) "I think Fifteen here would have punched every one of them to death before we lost either of you-"

(AK-15) "Give it a rest, Sixteen..."

(S/O) "I think...we all could use that right now..."

...

A few hours later, S/O was taken into emergency care to get them fully stabilized while the rest of DEFY had repairs on them, Angelia wanting to be with her squad until then.

After seeing them off to a temporary dorm before getting a proper ride back home, she went to visit S/O.

The medical room they were in was far from advanced, resting on a rather traditional bed than anything that screamed "medical", but it was comfortable enough for them.

But her attention was immediately brought to the cast S/O was in, their arm bandage resting on their side. Or at least what was left.

Angelia grabbed a nearby chair and sat on the side where their arm remained, smiling sadly at them.

S/O returned one of their own, their hand silently lifting before Angelia took it out without hesitation, both their remaining hands holding each other tightly.

(Angelia) "Doing alright, S/O?"

(S/O) "Hah...warm bed, and a pretty woman next to me. Think I'm doing better than I imagined..."

Their eyes slowly traced over to their right arm, smile quickly fading.

(Angelia) "...Y'know, I lost my arm and leg doing something similar."

(S/O) "In a crash?"

(Angelia) "No just...being out in the field. Barely a time they deploy without me. Think by now losing a second piece of me would be enough to ward me off but...-"

Her eyes closed, sighing out loud. No use trying to sugarcoat it.

(Angelia) "...Basically, I'm saying that recovery is going to fucking suck."

(S/O) "Hah, I mean, I could've guessed..."

Angelia scooted closer to S/O, her grip growing tighter and voice going barely above a whisper.

(Angelia) "I should never have put you in harm's way like this..."

(S/O) "You can call me a dumbass if you want Ange, but...if it means saving you or the other girls, I'd lose my other arm in a heartbeat."

Angelia grimaced at that as her voice grew shaky, but she did not let S/O go.

(Angelia) "Okay, you're a dumbass."

(S/O) "Hm...Says the one wanting the rookie taken care of first instead of the commanding officer."

Angelia's eyes slightly widened in response before quickly regaining her cool.

(Angelia) "You heard that?"

(S/O) "Truthfully, I was drifting in and out when you asked what was going on, but I already knew what face you were making."

S/O grunted in pain as they tried to shift, going off balance as they instinctively tried to balance themselves using their right hand. Angelia caught them before they could fall, helping them sit upright.

(S/O) "I...I can't stand to see any of you all in pain."

Angelia scoffed before her eyes trailed down, blinking away tears that were threatening to form.

(Angelia) "And how do you think I feel?"

S/O tugged Angelia's hand to bring her closer, allowing them to rest their forehead against hers. The gesture made her blush slightly, but she closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, both of them leaning to each other.

Even though it was a small eternity before S/O pulled away and opened their eyes, it still felt too soon.

(S/O) "I promise, Ange. I'm not leaving you. Even if I have to end up looking as badass as you."

Finally, a genuine laugh came from Angelia as her metallic hand moved to cover her mouth, revealing a glimpse of the energetic young girl she used to be.

(Angelia) "Is that what you call me? I'm barely holding together as it is..."

(S/O) "Okay, how about beautiful? Charming?-"

(Angelia) "Psh, just shut up already..."

There was no venom to her words as S/O hugged her closer, the blush on her face getting brighter signaling to them how much their words affected Angelia.

Taking a deep breath, Angelia pressed a soft kiss against S/O's forehead before moving to stand.

(Angelia) "...Thank you. I should let you rest now."

(S/O) "T-Thanks...PT begins in a week for me, by the way."

(Angelia) "I'll be there. Don't worry. I'll also have the girls bring you some dinner-"

(S/O) "Aw, why can't you?"

Though they were teasing, Angelia could hear a bit of genuine disappointment in their voice.

(Angelia) "Don't be too greedy. I got a lot of paperwork to fill because of you but...I'll see if I got time."

Angelia teased back, shooting them a smile over her shoulder before opening the door, stopping before taking a step out.

(Angelia) "...I love you, S/O."

(S/O) "...I love you too, Ange."

[tocomplainfriend]

Oh no

TW - racism and Slavery, power dynamics

really meh. IDK why they went mecha with the cherubs. The energy of the fight and how much it lasted was really lacking. I'm annoyed still by the "GUYS STOLAS IS SO SAAAAAD" bullshit. Why is the thumbnail so bad? I thought it was fake.

There is not an understanding of classism or power dynamics or anything.

Blitz was right, Stolas is a privileged asshole that constantly reduced their relationship into something sexual and belittled blitz, in remarks of him as a lower / IMP. Stolas did a scenario where Blitz job depended on them having sex. The series is creating a scenario where Blitz needs to love Stolas back because Stolas is so UWU sad baby that 'loves' him.

The main reason i hated the re-write of Stolas and blitz meeting-is because is exactly this: (something I've been aware of for a while.)

This exact situation of white slave owners making the kids of their slaves play with their white kids (I originally got introduced to this idea for a long form criticism of the Princess and the frog Story from Disney). IDK why would you make a scenario where there is inequality to the imps and how they suffer racism- if you just want Stolas to be in the right and Blitz in the wrong

I do not care if Stolas is sad and his life (even tho better because he is rich and has a literal book that gives him powers, vs being an IMP that could die, suffer from property and any possible scenario they are exposed to- or be a slave servant to the richer people because they were born imps.) he doesn't get to freed from all his wrong doings. No matter how depressed he is, his power is still higher and over Blitz. And creating a terrible scenario for blitz or any Imp for that matter.

They are really going for the plot line of But Stolas is a good rich privileged person.

Also, a scenario where the discriminated x privileged... There is the direct connection to the "what about everyone else".

If a non discriminated against person with big power is not bigoted to the person, the one they fell in love with. Does only that one discriminated person get saved from their social situation? Does everybody else still suffers because they don't happen to be the one. But what if the privileged person still discriminates against those people, but not their "special one".

Also... if you get a scenario as the discriminated one where you get to be saved from your situation, that's fucked. This person loves you if you say yes to them then you don't have to deal with being poor and as oppressed by the system but only you! Your entire group of people lives in the same conditions as you... If you say no, then you'll go back to being oppressed. This person on power hold power over you still. How much can you wight in with your own problems and boundaries, if the other one can throw you away into your old way of living. Can you leave the relationship? If you leave, you can get all the things you did with the privileged person cause maybe they don't hate you for being from a certain minority group, but the system over all hasn't changed. Can your group of people only get better life conditions by loving the pre-existing group in power? Those that person even like you, or do they like the power they hold onto you? Or maybe they like your race for your race more than you as a person.

Just a thing in the writing of this kind of story.

Also, character can have flaws, but they need to be recognized as flaws in writing.

Stolas are constantly victimizing himself (just like any sad privileged asshole would). He can't take the fact that if blitz is angry at him is for a reason, because he doesn't see his treatment of his as a bad thing. Cause in Stoals pov he enjoyed having power over blitz and calling him an IMP and forcing his romanticized view of the situation on to him- But Blitz was pulling a fast one to get money, This rich guy who he got gifted to as a slave playmate now is holding his job over his head in exchanged for sex, the same guy constantly does sexual advances towards him even when he explicitly says he doesn't want that (remember all of Loo loo land episode?), he gets call plenty of imp based "petnames" (“My impish little play-thing”) from a guy that can literary buy imps as slaves any day, suddenly he has to reciprocate his romantic feelings because he is sad, and apparently he wanted something more even thought he made it entirely empty and sexual all this time.

Stolas fake apologized, got fairly screamed at and victimized himself.

And apparently calling him out is bad for Blitz to do? Victim blaming.

I think by the last episode, they are going to kick Stolas out of the castle, technically putting him in a similar social position to imps with nowhere to go. Even if it doesn't magically work that way. -and Stolas is going to be "more sad and more in the right, so Blitz has no ground to complain now, right!?" ...

The way all of this episode and series is written tries so hard to delete any negative feeling against systemic problems, classism related issues, etc. if it's against a character the series wants you to like. If it's Stolas then he did nothing wrong, the power dynamic doesn't exist... if it is Mammon then he is a terrible person holding his power over others' capitalism sucks... oh but not Stolas tho! If it is Ozzi there is no power dynamic over a disabled imp, constant searching for appreciation from someone he fells is above him (like he tried to get with Mammon, because Ozzie is a good highly privileged person. No bad things to look out for! Fuck capitalism, but I'm one of the good rich people, no criticism is possible!

All that bad stuff could that people in my position of power is awful! But I would, could never do that! Because I'm a good one! Hmm

If you don't see the problem here, you may be a problem or may be justifying something terrible.

Also, funny enough about the short of Millie and Sally... I can't believe you only get content of a female character AND MILLIE IN SPECIFIC in extra side content that Viv didn't even care enough to write herself... and also the short gave me nothing new about her, I got more for Sally (and finally something normal! More than a line and she gets to have a character).

I hope there is a better episode for her.

[sidekick-hero]

Love from the other side

(steddie | rated: M | wc: 6.2k | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking | AO3)

"Steve, we've got a major crash on the Interstate. Multiple vehicles involved. You're on triage duty. Patients will be arriving in five minutes,” Robin, the head nurse in the ER, tells him in a calm voice. She's Steve's best friend, but even he's sometimes surprised at how calm Robin can be in critical situations. He's seen her fret over the prospect of asking out a girl she likes, and her freak-out before her first date with Nancy is now something of a legend between them.

But ask her to handle a crisis and she's cool as a cucumber.

Steve sighs and nods. That means it's going to be a long night. He's already been on for ten hours, two more and he could have gone home to his cat and his warm, soft bed. But they're understaffed as it is, and with so many new patients in unknown condition coming in, he'll be here for at least another five hours. Maybe more.

He makes his way to the triage area of the ER and braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally makes it home, the sun has already risen and he's dead on his feet.

He stumbles through the front door of his apartment and is greeted by Garfield, his tabby cat, who continues to weave through his legs as he takes off his shoes, almost tripping him. He meows pitifully at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, you poor thing. You'r treated worse here than in a shelter. Warm and cozy and dry with a human to open your tins and feed you."

Garfield meows again, this time more demanding, emphasizing the urgency with which he wants food.

Throwing up his arms, Steve relents. "Fine. Heaven forbid I get to change into something comfortable first."

As soon as he places Garfield's bowl in front of him, Steve is all but forgotten as the cat digs in. "You're welcome," he says to his beloved little freeloader, not expecting a response. He's talking to a cat, after all, but it still helps make the apartment feel less empty.

And there's no one to judge him for it. Not since Robin moved in with Nancy and he had to find a one-bedroom apartment that he could actually afford on his own.

It's not that he begrudges them their happiness, far from it. But coming home to an empty apartment and talking to his cat instead of another human being got old pretty quickly. Worse than that.

It has become lonely.

"Pull yourself together, Steve, and stop whining," he chides himself, still talking out loud.

Steve sighs. He can see himself ending up a hermit with twenty cats who never leaves the house. Deciding it's best to just go to sleep before his thoughts turn any more self-pitying, he bends down to scratch Garfield's head and tells him, "I'm going to bed."

Garfield continues to ignore him as he sips the milk Steve has placed in front of him.

Steve is off for the next two days and spends the time mostly sleeping, doing laundry, and stocking up on food after realizing he didn't even have a slice of toast for breakfast.

He also goes over to Robin and Nance's for dinner, since he's not a hopeless hermit yet. Between the three of them, they go through three bottles of wine and end up swapping stories and inside jokes until his stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

It doesn't make coming back to an empty apartment any easier.

His next shift is another night shift, and it's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. So far, the worst he has had to deal with is a nasty cut on a drunk frat boy's forehead after the guy fell through a glass door. Steve's still surprised he didn't hurt himself worse. Head wounds bleed like crazy, though, so he looked like he had been attacked by a serial killer when his equally drunk buddies carried him to the emergency room. Seeing that only one deep cut needed stitches, while the other, shallower cuts on his arms and face would be fine on their own, had put Steve in a surprisingly good mood.

So good, in fact, that he carelessly remarked to Carol, the other nurse on duty with him, "Looks like a quiet night for once."

You could have heard a needle drop in the silence that followed his statement, and Carol looked ready to murder him. He had just violated the most important rule in any hospital.

Never, under any circumstances, say the "Q" word.

"Fuck. Oh God, I didn't mean..."

"Too fucking late, Harrington." Carol huffed before stalking off, probably to complain about him to her boyfriend, who was also the hospital director's son.

Less than twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.

A dance floor at a local club had collapsed, resulting in several dozen serious casualties, all arriving on stretchers, crowding the triage area as Steve worked on autopilot. Assess, prioritize, assist.

In the midst of the chaos, another ambulance arrives and he goes over to talk to the paramedics about taking the patient to St. John's instead because they are at capacity, which really means they were past capacity an hour ago.

One look at the patient tells him there is no time for that,

The man on the gurney was only a few years older than Steve and had a gaping wound on his neck. He was white as a sheet and there was too little blood around a wound that looks like it hit a major artery.

"What the fuck?" He can't help but ask and the paramedic shrugs with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, man. Found him like this and whoever called it in left before we got there."

Rolling their new patient in with hurried steps, Steve wonders if there was anything they could do. The wound needed surgery, and they needed to get blood and other fluids into the man as quickly as possible. Judging by the slow and shallow breathing and the sluggish pulse, his system has already started to shut down.

They lost him before they even got to the operating room. Steve doesn't even hear about it until hours later, when everyone who had been on the dance floor has finally been taken care of and a bone-deep exhaustion replaces the adrenaline-fueled energy in his body. He's not proud of it, but he's too tired to spare the news more than a brief burst of sadness.

Over the next weeks, seven more patients with gaping neck wounds come into the ER while Steve’s on shift, all drained of too much blood to make it past the first ten minutes under their care.

Whispers about a killer roaming the streets of Hawkins have started circulating as the number of victims rises steadily and Steve has started to sleep with a baseball bat under his bed. Just in case.

It’s early Tuesday night, four hours into his twelve hours shift, when another one comes in, this time a young girl around Steve’s age with long strawberry blonde hair and a pretty face. On her neck Steve can make out a gaping wound, just like the others had shown.

But this one is bleeding, profusely.

And the girl is awake, looking up at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” he reassures her over and over as they make their way inside, ushering her to get surgery immediately. When he gives her his warmest reassuring smile she even tries her best to smile back.

Steve hopes she makes it.

She does. Against all odds, considering that the last two dozen victims with similar injuries have all died, she makes it.

Her name is Chrissy Cunningham, and when Steve reads the name on her file, he remembers her. She was a year behind him, a cheerleader. They never really talked much, but he remembers that she was kind and talked to him after everyone else on the team and the cheerleading squad had stopped doing so.

He's glad that she survived, and he promises himself that he will check in on her as soon as his shift is over.

If it hadn't been Chrissy, if it hadn't been someone he knew, he probably never would have met Eddie.

At the end of one of those weird in-between shifts at four in the morning, Steve changes into a pair of sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before heading over to the observatory area where they had to put Chrissy for now because a whole wing of the building is under construction due to some asbestos in the walls. She's already in stable condition, only needing fluids and antibiotics because they have no idea what bit her, so they're letting her sleep it off for now and hopefully find a room to put her in the next day.

The halls of the hospital are quiet at this time of night, especially outside the ER, and it's almost eerie. It feels like no one is here but Steve and the thought makes him shiver. All this serial killer talk is really getting to him, he thinks.

Reaching the area separated only by screens, he sees a figure standing by her bed. He can't make out much, but it appears to be a man, judging by his height, and he's leaning over the bed, talking softly to Chrissy. The man, if it is one, but the deep timber of his voice makes Steve think it is, is not wearing scrubs, but jeans and a hoodie, and Steve is pretty sure he's not hospital staff.

Suddenly, he remembers that something - or someone - must have inflicted the injury on Chrissy's neck.

"Hey, who are you, and what are you doing here?" he shouts as he runs over to the bed, and the figure turns to face him.

It is a man, with wide, dark eyes in a pale face framed by equally dark, messy curls.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man curses and bolts, moving faster than should be humanly possible. One moment he's staring at Steve like a deer in the headlights with his big bambi eyes, the next his shoulder slams into Steve, knocking him to the ground as the mysterious figure disappears from view.

He pushes himself upright and rises from the ground with a determined effort, because even though the guy doesn't look like it, it feels like he's been hit by a brick wall. When he regains his footing, he shakes off the impact and makes his way over to Chrissy to check on her.

She's awake, but too weak to sit up, though she tries.

"Shh, hey, don't strain yourself Chrissy, it's all right, he's gone. You're safe," he reassures her, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving too much and aggravating her wound.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head slightly. Just when he wants to reiterate that yes, he's really gone, she continues. "He's safe. He saved me."

"What?" Steve asks, taken aback by her statement. He can tell that even the few words she has spoken have taken a toll on her, draining what little strength she has regained, but he can't help it, he needs to know what she means.

"He...saved me. Pulled him...off. Off me. Would have...killed..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering shut and Steve lets her be.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down next to her to keep watch, just in case her savior decides to come back.

The next day Chrissy is more lucid. She's also in her own room and has already given a statement to the police when Steve comes in for his shift.

It doesn't matter though, he still has to ask her what happened, needs to know who the strange man was who continued to haunt Steve's dreams after he came home sometime in the early morning.

"I don't know who he is, Steve. He just showed up while Jason...while he," she is visibly shaken by having to remember the events of last night and Steve thinks he should tell her that it's okay, she doesn't have to tell him. But he doesn't. It feels like she needs to say it as much as he needs to hear it.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Chrissy continues, "While Jason was biting me. Mauled me, really. I think he would have torn my throat out if this man had not shown up. He slammed into Jason, ripped him off of me, and they both went down. There was a struggle, I could hear it, but everything hurt so much I couldn't move my head. It went on for a while, I don't know how long. Time was really weird. And then the guy was looking down at me, telling me to stay still, that he was going to call an ambulance, and that I just had to hang in there. He pressed something against my neck and it hurt so much, but the pain kept me there, y'know? So I wouldn't float away and never come back. He told me to stay with him and I did. Until we heard the ambulance. Then he told me he was sorry, but he had to go. And then he was gone and the paramedics took me away."

Chrissy looks very pale after telling her story, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced than when he first entered the room. But before he can let her rest, he has one more question.

"What was he doing here?"

To Steve's surprise, the question makes Chrissy smile. "An apology, because this is no way for a lady to be left in the lurch."

Steve has no idea what to do with this information, so he just takes Chrissy's hand and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be out of here in no time, Chrissy. We will take good care of you, I promise."

"I know. Thanks, Steve."

He turns and walks away, leaving her to get back to sleep, knowing that it will be a long time before he will be able to do the same.

What the fuck is going on?

They find Jason Carver, or what is left of him, the next day. It's all over the news. No one knows why he attacked his girlfriend or who killed him. The reports leave out a lot of the gruesome details, just saying that he was torn to pieces when they found him.

Steve, of course, can't let that be all. He has to know what happened, so after his shift he sneaks down to the morgue to take a look at what is left of Jason, a guy he only knew in passing, since Steve had already left the school when Jason became captain of the basketball team, taking Steve's old position.

What he finds is a body that is badly mangled, just like the news said. There are deep wounds, chunks of flesh missing, his right arm torn from his shoulder. Though it's hard to swallow, it's not the first time Steve has seen a body destroyed almost beyond recognition. What makes him recoil from the dead man in front of him is the fact that Jason Carver's body is already decomposing as if he'd been dead for several days, maybe weeks, instead of not even 48 hours.

Steve leaves the morgue even more confused - and frightened - and heads home with the image of Jason's tattered, rotting body burned into his eyelids.

Over the next three weeks Steve sees four more victims with the same torn throats and bloodless bodies. None of them can be saved like they saved Chrissy.

He doesn’t see the mysterious man again.

It's late June when Steve's life changes forever.

The sun has only set an hour ago and the air is still warm as he walks home from his shift. Robin and Nance's car broke down the day before, and they live on the outskirts of town, so Steve gave them his car until theirs is fixed in a few days. The weather is nice and he doesn't mind walking the three miles to his apartment.

He's almost home, maybe ten minutes away, when he hears someone whistle.

There's a man standing at the entrance to an alley a few feet ahead of him, and since he's the only one around, Steve assumes it must be him whistling at Steve. The guy is hot, there is no way around it, about Steve's height with an athletic build and a haircut that reminds him of the 80's, his blond hair styled into a mullet.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing out here all alone?" The man asks as he gives Steve a slow look. It's supposed to be seductive, Steve thinks, but it just comes off as sleazy. Which is a shame, because the guy has a pretty face, long lashes, full lips, delicate features. Steve's also going through a bit of a dry spell lately, but he's not desperate enough to hook up with a slimy sleazeball like that.

"None of your business, really," he replies, walking a little faster than before. Something doesn't feel right, he thinks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet thing. I just wanna talk, I swear." Steve is almost past the guy when their eyes meet and he feels himself freeze. "Why don't you come closer so I can smell you better?"

Even as he thinks, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" he feels his body turn toward him and his feet propel him forward. He feels himself panic, but it's a distant thing, like an itch under his skin that he can't reach no matter how hard he scratches.

When he's in front of the stranger, so close that their chests almost touch, the man leans in and sniffs Steve's neck like a dog at a slab of meat. He hums deep in his chest and Steve feels the wet touch of his tongue against his skin. It's enough of a shock that he can get his body to react, to fight back, but it's no use. The moment he moves, the man growls menacingly at him.

With his feet still rooted to the ground, Steve feels like he's underwater, his senses dulled and his limbs heavy, weighed down by the tons of water around him. He fights it with all his strength and it takes all he's got to put his hands on the man's chest and push him away.

It's not even close to a hard push, but the man clearly didn't expect Steve to fight back at all, so he stumbles back a bit anyway. Unfortunately for Steve, it only makes him angrier.

"Looks like you got some fight in you after all. Too bad I don't like my food to fight back," he snarls, and before Steve knows what's happening he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, darkness surrounding them on all sides.

He struggles against the hands holding him down, but it's no use, their grip steely and unyielding.

The once pretty face has turned into something twisted and ugly, a grotesque imitation of a human face, and when the thing in front of him opens its mouth, all Steve sees are teeth. Long, sharp teeth.

Steve screams, but not a sound comes out of its mouth.

As those teeth sink into his neck, the face of the man who saved Chrissy's life pops unbidden into his mind. Steve has seen it in his dreams more than once, and it's strangely comforting to think of it now, in what Steve is sure will be his last minutes alive. As if this is all a fucked up dream and Chrissy's mysterious savior will come for him, too.

White hot pain races through his body from where the thing that looked like a man sunk its teeth into him and it's only that pain that makes him believe what he sees next.

One moment he's in mind-numbing agony, almost wishing for death to come and end his suffering, and the next the oppressive weight of that thing is gone, its teeth no longer in Steve. With nothing holding him up, he crumples to the ground, his head dazed and his body shaking like a leaf.

To his right he hears the sounds of a viscous battle. Growls and snarls, flesh hitting flesh, flesh hitting brick, the sound of bones snapping. He's too weak to even turn his head, and part of him is glad for that.

The fight seems to go on forever and Steve feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness. His heart has stopped pounding and his pulse has slowed to about 60 beats per minute, which is good. Not too slow, his system is still going strong. It was cardiac arrest after immense blood loss that had killed the other victims, but so far that doesn't seem to be Steve's fate.

At least not if the wound on his neck that is still slowly bleeding is taken care of soon.

He doesn't dare press his undoubtedly dirty palm against it yet. Hell, he's not even sure if he can lift his hand that far. But something has to be done about the bleeding, sooner rather than later.

As if his savior had heard his thoughts, there is a final, stomach-churning sound of flesh and bone ripping, followed by silence, the fight finally over.

And then there he is, as if his mind had conjured him, the man who saved Chrissy. The man with the big brown doe eyes and the pale skin and the messy curls. There's blood on his face now, and... other things Steve doesn't want to think about.

Steve is safe now, he feels it deep in his soul. He doesn't know how he can know that, how he can trust a complete stranger to keep him safe, but he does. His eyelids flutter shut, the tension finally draining from him completely.

A cool hand on his cheek and a warm, deep voice, tinged with what sounds like fear, pull him back.

"Hey, no, no, no. Steve, you need to stay here with me, okay? Stay with me, sweetheart."

"You know my name," Steve mumbles, fighting the heavy rocks that weigh down his eyelids as he looks at the pretty face in front of him. His eyes dip lower and there's more blood on the man, his clothes torn and his skin exposed. "You're hurt."

"You're very observant, Stevie. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital. You'll be as good as new in no time." He smiles at Steve and Steve is helpless not to smile back. There's the tease of a dimple forming in his cheek and Steve lifts his hand with Herculean effort to touch it. When the man notices the gesture, the dimple forms fully, deep and alluring. A cold hand catches his before it reaches its target and Steve whines in protest.

The man chuckles fondly. "Here, lemme help you," he says, bringing Steve's hand to his face, the dimple still waiting for Steve to touch it. The skin is soft under his hands and cold too, like it's a winter night and not the end of June.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, Stevie. It's faster than waiting for an ambulance. Just close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

Steve feels himself lifted from the ground into strong arms and instinctively turns his head into the man's chest, enjoying the vibration of his soft laughter at the gesture against his cheek.

Then they're moving, and fast. One second he wonders how someone covered in blood and other unspeakable things can smell so good, and the next the lights of the hospital burn bright and painful in his blurry eyes.

"He needs help, now," he hears the man say to someone, his voice firm and demanding. It makes Steve shiver in his arms. And then he's placed on a gurney and his savior leaves with the whisper of cold lips on Steve's forehead.

It's only much later, when he's recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, that Steve realizes two things.

He doesn't even know the name of the man who saved him.

He never heard a heartbeat as his head was pressed against the man's chest.

Steve is released two days later and Robin insists that he stay with her and Nancy for a while. There's really no arguing with his best friend when she's got something on her mind, so he doesn't even try. He's too tired anyway.

His sleep is shit, plagued by nightmares of sharp teeth and blood and bodies being torn to pieces.

He also dreams of the mysterious man, and while these dreams aren't nightmares, they're still confusing, even unsettling, because they leave him feeling hollow. Like he has lost something. Which is ridiculous, the man was never his, he doesn't even know his name.

As he spends the next week at Robin and Nancy's, being pampered and doted on, he has no idea how close he is to learning the name of his savior. That and much more.

After finally convincing his best friend that he can manage on his own, that he needs to go home, that Garfield misses him even with Robin or Nancy stopping by to feed him, it is both daunting and a relief to see Robin's car drive away from where he stands in front of his apartment building.

The nightmares haven't stopped, and he admits that the prospect of being alone in his apartment scares him, but he can't live on his best friend's couch forever. Besides, even there, the nightmares would wake him up shaking and panting, waking Robin and Nancy more than once in the middle of the night. Alone in his apartment, he won't wake anyone with his whimpering and screaming.

Garfield is already waiting for him when he comes through the door, weaving through his legs and meowing at him. Surprised at how much he missed the tabby menace, Steve leans down and takes him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

"Hey baby, sorry for leaving you alone for so long. But Aunt Robbie told me that she and Nancy took good care of you, playing with you and petting you. Probably spoiled you rotten, huh?"

Garfield meows again and pushes his head under Steve's chin, rubbing against him and purring like crazy. Steve smiles into his fur, thinking that he's glad to be home, even if it's still empty except for the purring cat in his arms.

He puts Garfield back down and makes him something to eat before heading to his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and change into something more comfortable. When he pushes open the door and steps inside, he is too stunned by the sight that greets him for any real reaction other than a sharp intake of breath.

On the floor is the man who has taken over most of Steve's dreams and many of his waking thoughts as well.

The man lies still and Steve can see dark stains on his clothes and he just knows it's blood. It could be someone else's, but somehow Steve is sure it's the man's own. Within seconds, he's on his knees next to the unconscious (please just be unconscious) figure, his knees smarting from the way he just fell onto them on the hard and cold tiles.

The man is on his stomach, his face turned to the side, away from Steve, so he moves to turn the man over. He's surprisingly heavy, a dead weight under his hands (no, no, no, not dead, just unconscious, his mind chants), but Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he finally manages to turn the man onto his back.

"Oh God," Steve groans as he can finally assess the damage. There are wounds all over his body, deep gashes on his thighs, his torso, his arms, even his face. "What happened to you?"

"Ten against one. Not...fair," the man replies, his voice barely audible and his eyes still closed. Steve has to lean in to make out the words, but him talking also means the man is still alive, though Steve isn't sure how much longer.

Taking the man's wrist, Steve looks for a pulse to see how far his system has already shut down, but... there is no pulse to be found.

He remembers not hearing a heartbeat when his cheek was pressed against the man's chest, so he presses his ear to where the man's heart is, waiting for the sound of its faint beat.

Nothing.

Steve leans back and searches the man's eyes, half-open now and clearly alive.

"How... you can't be alive. You don't have a pulse, your heart isn't beating." He is stammering, but it's a lot to take in. It shouldn't be possible. It's not like he wants the guy to be dead, but for all intents and purposes, he should be.

Bloodied lips pull back into a faint smile. "Sweetheart, not even the most beautiful sight like you could make my heart beat again. Although it really tries for you."

Despite everything, the way this guy flirts with him while he lies in his own blood brings a crooked smile to Steve's face.

"There, that smile? If it could, my heart would be beating out of my chest right now." Steve can tell the man is trying for levity, but he's fading and fast.

"As charming as you are, you're also bleeding all over my bathroom floor. With no pulse or heartbeat. And I don't even know your friggin' name! So forgive me for asking, but what the fuck?"

"Sorry for the blood on your floor, I tried to patch myself up, but I must have passed out. Embarrassing, really. Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I'd get out of your hair, but... well, you know. I don't think I can move." The words start to slur halfway through, and those beautiful brown eyes keep disappearing behind heavy eyelids. Steve has to do something, quickly, before his savior dies.

"Eddie," the man croaks, his voice barely audible. Steve wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the intent way he stares at him.

"What?"

"My name. Eddie."

"Eddie. Okay." Steve nods his head, the hand still wrapped around Eddie's wrist grabbing his hand instead, squeezing it gently. "Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital now."

It looks like Eddie tries to shake his head, but gives up halfway, exhausted. "No. They can't help me."

"But they can! Someone needs to sew up your wounds, and you've lost too much blood, you need a blood transfusion and fluids and - why are you laughing?"

"You're right, I need blood, but not the way you think."

The image of sharp teeth flickers behind his eyelids, a gnarled face snarling at him. The feeling of those teeth buried in his neck, white-hot pain shooting through his veins.

"What... Eddie, I don't..."

Eddie's face turns toward him, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath, as if smelling the air.

"Come closer so I can smell you better."

Two different voices growling and snarling, not just one.

Strong arms lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, carrying him nearly three miles. "It's faster than waiting for an ambulance."

"You're not human." Steve whispers. It's not a question.

Eddie answers it anyway. "No, I'm not."

"You're... You're a..." He can't say it, can't even think it.

"A vampire, yes." Eddie says it for him and everything falls into place. The neck wounds, the drained victims, the sharp teeth and the inhuman strength and speed.

"You want my blood." Steve has no idea why he's stating the obvious instead of running as fast as he can, but something tells him he's still safe with Eddie.

"So observant." Eddie chuckles, but it sounds wet and weak. "Yeah. But I won't take it, don't worry, Stevie."

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows.

Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life.

Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently.

Eddie wants his blood.

"Would it help you? My blood, I mean." That's the only thing he's not sure about. The most important thing, at least.

It looks like an inhuman - invampire, Steve thinks - effort, but Eddie manages to shake his head firmly.

"Steve, no."

"Would. It. Help?" Steve insists.

Eddie, the stubborn asshole, presses his lips together and refuses to look at him. That's answer enough for him.

Still holding Eddie's hand in his, he lifts his other hand to Eddie's mouth and presses the inside of his wrist against the closed mouth.

"Come on, Eddie. Drink." Another shake of the man's head only strengthens Steve's resolve. "Eddie, please. You saved my life. Let me do the same."

The stubborn ass continues to refuse, so Steve does the only logical thing. He stands, grabs his razor, and slides the blade across his wrist, just deep enough to draw blood from the otherwise shallow wound.

He presses the wrist back against Eddie's lips and this time he feels the man tremble.

"Please drink. I want you to. Let me help you." Moving his wrist and smearing his blood over Eddie's full lips, Steve pleads again, his voice breaking. "Please, Eddie."

It's the last please that does it, and the next thing Steve feels is the white-hot pain of teeth sinking into his wrist. Still smiling through the pain, he squeezes Eddie's hand. "That's it, you're doing so good. Take what you need."

And Eddie does. He drinks and drinks and drinks until the world goes fuzzy and black spots start dancing in front of Steve's eyes.

"Eddie," Steve slurs before everything goes dark.

When Steve comes to, he's in his bed.

His wrist is wrapped tightly in a pristine-looking white bandage, and he's wearing his pajamas. He has no idea how he got here or what happened, everything is kind of blurry. Steve tries to sit up, but almost immediately the world starts spinning and he groans in protest.

That's when the door to his bedroom opens and his mysterious savior walks into the room with a bowl in his hand.

Eddie, his mind supplies. His name is Eddie and he was dying the last time Steve saw him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, his voice full of worry and he gets a sad smile in return.

"Stevie, I'm the one who should be asking you that." Eddie sits down next to him on the bed but doesn't touch him. He looks tense and Steve wonders why. Though most of what happened is a blur, he remembers holding Eddie's hand and Eddie calling him beautiful.

"I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You were the one bleeding all over my bathroom floor. What happened, how are you even standing, how long was I out?"

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve's cheek in his hand. "You saved my life, Stevie. That's what happened. And you almost got yourself killed, you self-sacrificing idiot. So even though it saved my life, I have to ask you, beg you if I have to, to never do anything so stupid again."

Steve puts his own hand on top of Eddie's hand on his face and looks him in the eye as he tells him, "You saved my life first and risked your own as well. So I guess the pot is calling the kettle black here."

He's rewarded with a dimpled smile. "Fair point. Now that we're even, can you promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

"I dunno. Can you promise not to try to save me again if I'm in danger?" He knows it's a low blow, but if it helps him get his point across, he's not above playing dirty. Besides, part of him really wants to know. The needy part, the scared part.

"You know the answer to that," Eddie says, brushing his thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, and Steve realizes he's so much closer than before. "But I don't care if it keeps you safe."

Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes darting from Eddie's to the other man's lips and back again. Licking his own lips, Steve asks, "And why is that?"

Eddie's lips are only a breath away from his own, and he tastes his answer as much as he hears it.

"You know that answer as well."

Before Steve can say anything else, Eddie's cool, smooth lips seal over his and every thought in his mind is forgotten. There's only Eddie.

Later he'll ask about the other vampires. About all the dead people in the emergency room. He'll ask who Eddie is, why he's running around town saving people, and who hurt him so badly.

But all that can wait, at least until Steve is done drinking down the delicious sounds falling from Eddie's mouth.

This is a little birthday gift for my dear friend @yournowheregirl. Alice, I know you love vampires so I tried my best to give you some. Time ran out on me but I still hope you like it 💜

I hope you had the best birthday ever because you deserve nothing but happiness.

Edit: I forgot while posting to say that this is heavily inspired by a wonderful podcast I highly recommend, Not quite dead. Give it a listen folks!

[ploppythespaceship]

Uglies - Movie Thoughts

On a whim, I decided to start re-reading the Uglies series a couple months ago -- so imagine my surprise when I found out it was getting a movie! Said movie is now out, and it was interesting to watch with the book being so fresh in my head.

Overall, it's... eh. It's not a complete train wreck, the way most critics seem to want you to think, but it is fairly bland and uninspired. It's a very watered down version of the book. It also has the misfortune of feeling like yet another a Hunger Games wannabe, despite the original book pre-dating that series by several years.

Spoilers for everything under the cut.

What I Liked

Based on reviews, I seem to be in the minority here, but I thought the cast was pretty good. People seem to hate Joey King as Tally, but I thought she was fine. Brianne Tju is easily the best in the cast, stealing the whole damn movie as Shay. Laverne Cox also gives an excellent performance as Cable, though I do think she should not have been given that role for other reasons (which I'll get into later).

I've also seen complaints that the characters aren't ugly enough. They talk about how ugly they are and point out their specific ugly features, when they don't actually appear that ugly. And I think everyone complaining about that is completely missing the point. The "Uglies" aren't actually ugly -- they're just normal people, who've been conditioned to think their imperfect features are hideous.

I was honestly unsure how the Pretties would be visualized -- in fact, I wondered if the book would just be fundamentally unadaptable because of it -- but they did a fairly good job. I think leaning on CGI and unnatural affectations was the right way to go. All the Pretties have this uncanny quality to them that suits the story perfectly.

The overall production design was solid as well. I like how Uglyville is all gray concrete and muted tones, while New Pretty Town is shimmering golds. Then upon reaching the Smoke, all the colors of nature finally come through. I do think that could have pushed that last one a little bit more, but it still works well.

Apart from that, I don't really have much to shout out. It's competently written, well-performed, well put together. I know it doesn't sound like I have much praise, but it is a competent movie.

What I'm Mixed On

By far the biggest change from the book is Peris becoming a Special. And I'm torn on it. On the one hand, it does make him a bigger part of the story -- he's honestly not much more than an inciting incident in the book. It gives him and Tally a unique arc that's probably the strongest through-line in the story. On the other hand, the Specials as a concept are so under-cooked (more on that later) and the actor is so bland that it still doesn't quite land the way it's supposed to.

What I Didn't Like

The pacing of this movie is by far its worst issue. We are flying through this plot. There is no time for anything to breathe, for characters to develop meaningful connections, for the bigger moments to feel earned. Some things do make sense to condense -- Tally's journey to the Smoke would have been incredibly boring without her internal monologue, so condensing most of that into a montage makes sense. But I do feel we lost too much. That's where a lot of Tally's characterization comes out, where we can see her bravery and ingenuity -- none of that comes across in the movie.

A lot of important beats are rushed. Tally agreeing to help Dr. Cable is over in a flash. It feels like Tally's in the Smoke for all of fifteen minutes. Tally and David barely interact, so their relationship has no real stake. Everyone is kidnapped by Special Circumstances, and then rescued immediately after. I almost think a 5-6 episode mini-series would have worked better -- but that might have introduced the opposite problem, where everything takes too long.

The movie also has frequent montages that don't really work. It seems like they were trying to show the passage of time, but it just makes everything feel even shorter.

The beginning of the movie has an exposition problem, as well. It opens with a montage explaining the entire setting... before leading into several scenes that also explain the setting through dialogue. We get fed the same details about the surgery and the Rusties and the flowers at least three times at the start, and it gets grating.

As already mentioned, Tally is pretty severely underwritten. In the book, she has a distinct personality and a unique presence. In the movie, she's just the main character because she happens to be the main character. Her intelligence and resourcefulness are pretty much gone.

I also think changing her motivation for going to the Smoke did her a disservice. In the book, Tally goes to the Smoke so she can have her surgery, and because she's convinced herself that Shay needs her help. In the movie, Dr. Cable tells her that the Smokies have a weapon, and she will be saving lives by helping to find them. I think giving her a more selfless motivation robs her of her character arc. She always comes across as someone trying to help, who wants to best for other people, rather than someone who had to consciously learn that.

The Specials are barely even a presence. I'm not sure they were even directly called Specials. People who hadn't read the book would never realize that there was an entire separate status of person here. You never see their disturbingly beautiful faces or their terrifying strength. Considering how pivotal the Specials are to the overall story, especially in the later books, it's really odd not to see them properly established here.

Like I said, Laverne Cox gives an excellent performance as Dr. Cable... but I think they should have thought twice before casting a trans woman. It's not necessarily that there's a trans woman in the villainous role, but that there's a trans woman in the villainous role who specifically wants to force people to have surgeries to brainwash them. Like... did the optics of that really not occur to anyone? At all? I think Cox could have played David's mother, instead.

[inlandempir]

post on one of the dev forums for disco elysium, titled "THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD". text version beneath the cut

There's been a lot of art and tech talk so far, it's all kinda dry or saccharine. I think it's time to juice it up by throwing in a proper essay.

THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD

The world of No Truce! (we do have a proper name for it, but we’re shy) is not what you’d call “a generic genre world”. It is not pseudo-medieval stasis, as Forgotten Realms was, nor is it Fallout’s campy barbarism with guns. It is also not a Harry Potter/Batman/vampire fantasy world, which is basically “our world with a secret/special world within it”. Neither is it the tech-obsessed ‘punks’ of steam and cyber. It’s a modern fantasy world, a fantasy world in its modernity, which roughly corresponds to the middle part of our XXth century. Now that kind of thing opens up an array of new possibilities. It is a world with a promise of non-staticness, meaning, things appear undecided — they could go one way or the other. It is close enough to our own world for things to have meaning in it, it is a proper frame in which to explore themes relevant to our own society such as bigotry, power relations, politics, bureaucratic apparati, geopolitical relations, philosophy, ideology, religion et cetera. A pseudo-medieval world is not a proper frame for truly exploring themes of, for example, sexuality, for it lacks 1) a proper concept of sexuality, 2) an actual idea of societal progress and 3) a clear ideological dominant, which would be the place where values come from. All you can do in a static, societally unstructured world is give out-of-place shoutouts to present day communities for cheap popularity (“this is exactly my sexual orientation, how did they know?!”).

We find the ideological dominant missing because the western world is traditionally culturally critical of ideological dominants – critical of both state and religion. Anyhow, a classic fantasy world would feature two main ideologies – the “good” and the “evil”, of which the former is selfless and compassionate, but the other one is selfish and cruel. The attempts to overcome that have given us the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is an asshole and pessimism rules the day. Unsurprisingly, Grittywelt is also static as hell and meaningful change is foreclosed from it. It is a “protection from false hopes”. As such, it is heavily unrealistic. Much more realistic would be people living in super gritty conditions, but not looking the part, that is, not really noticing the abnormal harshness of their conditions, because they don’t have much to compare them to, and being hopeful towards the next day, because surprise! This is how you do it. Survive, I mean. Being depressed is a luxury. In a way, I’d say we’re trying to create the obverse of the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is empathizable, sort of a hero of their own story.

The modern era is also a fitting vessel for anachronisms – do we not have actual cyborg limbs and donkey-pulled carts operating in the same world at the modern era? Capitalism can also contain little feudalisms in a way, in which a single man or single family controls the entire economy of a town or a village and profits from it. And at the same time, it can also contain little socialist utopias, scientist villages, in which everything is provided by the State. Aside from being a basic feature of reality (anachronism is nothing more than time failing to fit the stereotype about it), it is also a lovable creative tool, allowing for a plethora of what-if-scenarios. Imagine a modern world, only without television; imagine a modern world in which there never was a global war, imagine a world in which fossil fuels are less available. Now, if you will, imagine one which has forgotten its antiquity, and one, in which there is not just water between the continents, but something worse as well — an anti-reality mass we call “pale” (also more on that later). Now imagine one, which has a legitimate and operative “religion of history” in place, which seeks for people it deems special enough to be the “vessel of progress”. (This is not an alternate history thing, by the way. An alternate history takes place in our world quite recognizably and has no more than one divergence point from history as it happened.)

One might ask, why would we not create an even more modern world, if we wanted to maximise our possibilities? Well one of the answers is that it would have destroyed the necessary element of escapism, another is that we cannot create a good alternate Information Era because we ourselves fail to understand the Information Era (More precicely, we have the information era in its infancy and it works via radio relays). We are too close to it and it is too new to understand it, it is “in progress”. The third reason would be that technology is not a fascinating subject for modern science fiction. It’s become a natural part of our reality. We don’t believe it’s going to save us anymore – it has failed to deliver for too long. I am of the belief that the themes of science fiction today are societal, political and psychological (one could maybe add aesthetical to it, for we also love the world for its beauty). All fantastic or sci-fi elements are means for best exploring those themes.

I have filled my page. That’s all for the time being. Thank you for reading.

Martin Luiga Writer

[pizzabox-box]

Haha hi good morning I woke myself up with this one I was thinking about it so hard. I may look back on this in four hours and have regrets. Hi Peppino I'm taking you up on your offer...

Noise and Doise broke apart and stumbled to opposite sides of the arena. Noise winced as he realized he was one good hit away from collapsing. That was his fault - he hadn't taken his intruder seriously until he had gotten critically wounded. Fortunately, the Doise was in a similar condition. Noise was certain that was because he had been using bombs instead of -

He spotted the rock barreling down towards his head just in the nick of time and jumped backwards. The projectile burst into a cloud of blue-gray dust from the impact, almost blinding him. He barely saw his assailant lunging towards him, narrowly avoiding the final blow. Two figures, completely covered in blood and dust, rolled out of the cloud, trying to get and stay on top of each other to finish the other off. The observers could barely tell them apart - in fact, even Noisette wasn't sure who her Noise was!

Suddenly, one of the figures was yanked off the stage by an unseen force, and with a sickening crack, his neck was broken and he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Immediately, the uncanny tendrils that had covered the studio started to recede, releasing their captives and returning the set to its former glory, if slightly color shifted.

Noisette stepped forward, a little nervous. "Theo?" she asked, shakily. The remaining figure turned to her and sighed with relief. "Noisette, are you all right?" he exclaimed, rushing up to her. Noise and Noisette hugged, and Dougie Jones ran to his master's side and started to heal him. The rest of the cast also gathered around him, generally asking about his well-being. Noise assured them all that all he needed now was a shower, a change of clothes, and some fresh makeup, and he'd be ready to start filming again.

However, the little Noisy was acting slightly odd. He tried to call attention to the body that was lying in the dust not three yards away. Noisette picked the little creature up and hugged him. "Aww, are you worried he's gonna hurt daddy again?" she asked. "Don't worry," Noise reassured them, "I'll make sure nobody ever sees that - that - THING, ever again!" The two decided to return home to get cleaned up and recover, and left the set, with a squirming Noisy in tow.

Later that night, Peddito returned to the studio. Something still felt off about the whole situation. He inspected the blue-gray, bloody corpse carefully, trying to see if Doise could have POSSIBLY faked his death - but no. The body was real, and stone-cold dead. So what felt so wrong? He looked up - and if he could have died again, he would have from the shock.

Standing in front of him was another phantom. He wore the same clothes he had in life, permanently tinted the color of Doise's stones, cape and costume. Under his mask, his face was completely blacked out. Peddito couldn't see his expression, but he could hear him as he asked, "What... happened? Why does my head hurt so much... who are you?" Peddito tensed up and took a fighting stance. "Don't play dumb with me, Doise! You might have followed me into the afterlife, but I'll make sure you burn - "

They were interrupted by a Noisy loudly climbing in through a window. The wee beastie ran straight towards the body and started rubbing against his face, looking straight at Peddito. The phantom gently but swiftly scooped the critter up, exclaiming, "No, don't mess with that! He could still - " he stopped short. If he had had blood left to run cold, it would have. "No," he muttered, barely able to get the word out, "it can't be!"

Pulling the fresh yellow suit on, Doise laid Noise's extensive collection of makeup on the bathroom counter and looked in the mirror as he put on his disguise, laughing triumphantly. The cast, the crew, the bosses, the wife, even Peddito - he had tricked them ALL!

Blind Man's Bluff

OH THIS IS GOOD. Send shivers down my spine, dang! Doise you sneaky little motherf- Oh, Peddito you got tricked, all of you got tricked actually, oh the poor Noisey...

If you're willing to continue to continue the story I'm willing to read more 👀 It has a really interisting premise

Glad that my work inspired others! :D

He doesn't regret anything.

Conveniently your story also answers this ask that has been laying in my inbox for a while.Double thanks! :D

[aftonfamilyvalues]

how women on here are reacting to the boxing situation is the final straw for me with radblr tbh.

like imagine this scenario for a second: people are making false claims about you that you not only can easily disprove with a simple, uninvasive test, but you've ALREADY DONE said test in the past so you'd just need to ask them to publish the results. you can debunk these claims with the same amount of effort required to push a button.

but you don't. you have Literally The Easiest Option In The World to prove you're right and you don't do it.

and yet because women have created their own OC for this guy in their heads who is a female with androgen issues they'd rather defend their self-made blorbo as a way to peacock about how "yes all women" and/or "not racist" they are than do 2 seconds of research and critical thinking to realize "hey maybe this situation that fits literally all the criteria for the dude being a male, including the fact that he's been previously disqualified from competing in the women's league TWICE yet shows up for the Female Olympics anyway, means he's actually just a liar and cheater"

i'm open to having some sympathy for him if his parents (tried to*) raise him as a girl but like. he's a fucking adult. he took a sex test. he knows who he is now. he's making his own decisions. one of these decisions is choosing to hide who he is.

*idc how misogynistic his parents are in believing "no vagina??? but no penis. no penis = female. because female = non-male.", if they knew he had a male-specific dsd that coloured how they raised and treated him, even if they tried to hide it. the act itself of hiding it from him and trying not to raise him that way makes their treatment of him already inherently different from how they'd raise him if he were actually female.

link here

im going to try to go about this in the most respectful way possible.

i cant say i agree with everything youre saying here. theres still a lot of misinformation about this and i cant say a slatz tweet is very satisfying for me given the racist and homophobic things ive seen from her. but, if what you say is true, that this boxer is an intersex male who was assigned female at birth, i think its completely unfair to treat her entirely as a man. the community tends to regard itself as a place for intersex women too, those with this particular dsd were not spared misogyny just because they unknowingly had xy chromosomes. learning they are biologically male with a dsd doesnt mean they have a desire to completely restructure their lives and identity around being men, i think thats kind of insane to expect.

that being said, i think there needs to be a reevaluation of fairness in sports and how intersex people fall into it. what advantages or disadvantages do intersex women carrying a y chromosome have over those that dont? what male charactistics (bone density, for example) still exist in these women? do they pose a danger to other women in their sport? what about other intersex conditions? at what point does it become unfair? unfortunately it could lead to their exclusion, and if that happens will there be another place for them? theres a lot to consider and things will have to change as we learn more. its not really a black and white situation in my opinion.

[hisunshiine]

—i must be favored to know ya [5/7]

Part 5 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut, 🗓️ rating: M 🗓️ wc: 5,665 🗓️ warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, again Kim Seokjin MEDDLING, drunk feelings in a good way, nudes, misinterpretation of messages, drunk feelings in a bad way, arguing, saying hurtful things  explicit sexual content: making out in the club, potential exhibitionism/voyeurism, shower sex  🗓️ an: Sorry if this one is angsty y’all! We’ve been slowly building to it, and it had to come to a head at some point, right? Plus, we only have the weekend left! Hospital Vocab: 🏥 A MICU is a medical intensive care unit that deals with less critical conditions such as pneumonia, infections or other problems that require intensive monitoring but don't necessarily require emergency. 🏥 The NICU is a nursery in a hospital that provides around-the-clock care to sick or preterm babies.  🏥 Gastric refers to the unit of Gastroenterology, which cares for issues with the esophagus, stomach, small intestine, colon and rectum, pancreas, gallbladder, bile ducts and liver. 🗓️ summary: “I must be favored to know ya.” Having Jungkook in your life is so much sweeter than you ever thought. It would be great if you could just tell him, but showing him is as good as it gets for now…until you slip up and let the cat out of the bag. But it turns out, you aren’t the only one who has feelings for him, and you definitely aren’t the only one who wants to ride him. When your biggest fears come to light, knowing Jungkook the way that you do might become a thing of the past. 

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe @bbtsficrecs @jk97bam it's not letting me tag you (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

“Doctor Cho to room 324, Doctor Cho to room 324.” A nurse's tired voice plays over the loudspeaker as Jungkook follows Jimin into the staff locker room at the end of their shift.

“Bro, why was today so tiring?” Jimin drops effortlessly into the chair across from his locker, as if all of his bones and joints have given out.

Jungkook reaches behind his neck to fist at his scrub top, pulling the polyester material over his head. “It was tiring because we had to change Mr. Lee’s sheets four times today. Why are we working in the MICU again?”

“Because we wanted to take time off next week after the wedding, so we picked up this shift instead of enjoying our usual Friday off,” Jimin reminds as he toes off his sneakers. 

“Next time, tell me to check who I’m covering for. I forgot Sara works the gastric rounds, and while I don’t mind a little incontinence, Mr. Lee is not a small man and four times is more than a little, you know?”

Jimin nods as he finally begins to remove his own scrubs before heading to the showers in the back of the locker room with his small shower pouch in tow. Jungkook follows his lead, towel thrown over his shoulder, his own pouch in hand.

“You know what?” Jimin asks as he steps into one of the small shower stalls. “I think we should go out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop—you know they have the best music and drinks.”

“Mmm, I don’t know…I’m still covering Sara’s shift tomorrow, and if Mr. Lee is still having bowel issues,” Jungkook steps into the privacy of his own stall to step out of his boxer briefs and into the water, enjoying the heat as it envelops his body, “I might not be at my best if I go out tonight.”

“C’mon, man! We should go out because of Mr. Lee! We can invite the teachers, it’s summer break for them anyways, and the four of us always turn up on Fridays. We can invite the whole crew.”

Jungkook makes sure to scrub his hands extra before washing the rest of his body with his green Italy Towel to exfoliate his skin. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask for, man.” 

The two continue their shower routine, meeting again in the locker room to change into clothes to go home in.

Jimin grabs his phone as soon as he’s dressed. Jungkook follows Jimin’s movements as he paces back and forth with the phone on speaker, dialtone echoing through the room. 

“Hey, Jimin,” Taehyung answers the phone, sounding as if he just took a bite of food.

“You’re on speaker. Tae, we’re going out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop?”

There’s a pause before he answers; Jungkook assumes Taehyung is swallowing his food. “Let’s do CakeShop, it’s a bit more cozy. You’re on speaker too, Hoseok and I are grabbing a late lunch.”

“Hey, Jimin!” Hoseok’s voice filters through the mobile.

“Sounds good. Ready at 11?”

“Yeah. I’ll text Woo Shik, see if he can reserve a table. See you later, I’m eating right now.”

Taehyung’s annoyance at his meal being disturbed rings loud and clear as the phone clicks, and Jimin throws the phone into his open backpack. “Can you call your girl? Let her know we’re going at 11?”

Jungkook’s movements stutter as he rolls deodorant on, raised arm freezing in the air. “My girl?” He eyes Jimin from his peripherals, trying to read his face.

“Yeah, she’s like, your best friend. Joined at the hip all the time, sometimes I wonder whether you or Yoongi is her actual brother.”

“Oh, haha, yeah, I’ll—yeah, I’ll call her once we get out of here.”

“Cool, so let’s go, see if we can catch the hyungs before they leave.” Jimin closes his backpack, lifting it over his shoulder. Jungkook follows suit, carrying his bag by the small handle at the top instead as they leave the room. 

“Hyung!” Jimin spots Seokjin as he leaves one of the rooms across from the nurses’ station. The jovial man smiles as he passes a clipboard off to the Resident shadowing him.

“Hey, you guys off for the day?” Seokjin asks as he checks his watch.

“Yeah, we’re headed out to CakeShop tonight at 11 if you and Joon want to come with?”

“I don’t think I can swing it. Joon’s covering the NICU the rest of the week, so I doubt he’ll be down to go.”

“No worries, just wanted to extend the offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’ll have fun Sunday, right? Open bar at the reception and all.”

“Definitely.” Jimin wraps an arm around Jungkook’s neck and begins to tug him down the hallway. “See ya!”

Seokjin just shakes his head, watching as the two men head out.

“What’s got Jungkook so happy?” SoHee appears at Seokjin’s elbow, holding a binder to her chest.

“Oh, he’s probably off to go see his—uh, probably hanging with one of our friends.”

“One of your friends? He must be a pretty cool guy if Jungkook is that excited to go hang out.” SoHee says, a smile on her face as she watches both men bounce happily around the corner, her eyes focused mostly on the tattooed, floppy haired one until they’re finally out of sight. 

“Yeah…she’s pretty cool. They’re like best friends—spend every waking moment together when not working.” Seokjin glances at SoHee, searching for a reaction. He’s not doing it to be mean—in his mind, it’s more mean to string someone along when your heart belongs to someone else.

“Oh. I didn’t realize the person was a ‘she’. Do you, uh, think that they like each other? As more than friends?”

Seokjin makes eye contact with SoHee, trying to express more with his eyes than his response gives. “If you hope to date JK, you have some pretty fierce competition, and she isn’t afraid of using her feminine wiles.” 

—————

The lights in CakePop glow a harsh red as the fluorescent, buzzing tubes shine across Jungkook’s face. You admire the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw and the way his hair frames his face as he orders a round of drinks from the bar. He chose to wear jeans you’ve never seen him in before: baggy as hell with large cuts horizontally going up the back of them. With a white sleeveless tank and white, tiger-print long sleeve covering his tattoos, his look is complete with a new chain earring he’s showing off. 

Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok dressed up as well, each one showcasing their different style but just as handsome. They sit at the table reserved for your group, chatting as their heads bob to the music. He’s busy paying for the tab when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You look over your shoulder at the man who’s sidled up close to you while your attention is elsewhere.

“No, but thank you,” you reply as loud as you can over the music without drawing too much attention to the rejection. You watch as the man’s eyes bounce from you to Jungkook as you take a step closer to him.

“Oh, this you?” he asks, understanding morphing through his pupils. You don’t know how to respond, since it’s very much so complicated, but Jungkook saves you the trouble.

“Yeah, she’s with me.” Jungkook’s arm wraps itself heavily around your waist, fingers on the meat of your hip as he tucks you into his side. He eyes the man, who is slightly taller than him, but seems to deem him as not a threat. “C’mon, babe,” he says into your ear, “our drinks are ready.” 

You smile up at him, moving to grab your drink as he takes the small platter that holds the other four drinks over to the table. His hand never leaves your skin, transferring from holding your hip to holding your hand as he navigates through the dancing bodies and back to your group of friends.

“Finally! Let’s down these and get on the dance floor!” Hoseok says. As the P.E. Teacher at the school you work at, he’s really fit. You know he also works at a dance studio in the evenings and during the summer, so as far as this scene goes, Hoseok was ready to show off his moves. The others agree, so you throw your drink back before excusing yourself to the bathroom. Best to pee now, instead of breaking the seal later. 

“We aren’t waiting for you!” Taehyung teases as he adjusts his thin, silky red shirt, the opening around his neck unbuttoned and angled to show off delicate collarbones and a thin gold chain, but you know that it would be easy enough to find the four of them in the crowd; eyes often gravitate to watch them when they’re together as a group. Especially with Jimin in his all-black outfit, baggy jeans and combat boots put together with a leather jacket, and Hoseok in ripped jeans, jean jacket, black tee and sunglasses? There was no way you could miss them. Jungkook might be the one you’re fucking night after night, but the rest of the guys are also great to look at. Being the only girl out with them tonight will be fun. 

In the bathroom, you see a few texts from your brother, on your lock screen, but you ignore him, because it doesn’t matter. Jungkook is going home with you tonight, so there’s no need to make it weird. You know he’s only looking out for you, in the way that Yoongi does, but tonight you just want to shut your brain off for a while.     

Washing your hands, you check yourself out in the mirror, loving how your jeans fit your ass and your shirt shows just the right amount of cleavage. If you’re already getting hit on so boldly at the bar, you can only imagine how the rest of the night is going to go, and your self-confidence excites you. It’s twisted, but you feel good knowing other guys are showing their interest in you, in front of Jungkook. It’s like…showing Jungkook that you’re a good catch, if others also want you. Plus, having Jungkook step in and turn them away, saying you’re with him is a huge turn-on and confidence boost for you. In a way, you feel like Yoongi’s concerns shouldn’t matter too much because Jungkook already claimed you once tonight to someone else. Do you really need to do more? Your thoughts go quiet as more women filter into the bathroom, talking loudly. 

“But did you see the one in all black? He’s so hot.”

“Okay, but the one with dance moves? In ripped jeans? Even hotter.”

You laugh to yourself as you fix your hair before heading to the door.

“I’m set on the one in white. I’m taking him home if it’s the last thing I do.”

If they had been paying attention to you, they would have seen the stutter in your step and the way you almost miss the handle to the door, but as luck would have it, no one notices the almost stumble as you head back into the dark of the club. 

As you expect, finding the group is easy, but pushing through the onlookers is slightly difficult, as some of the women do not want to move to let you through, thinking you’re simply another fan of the men dancing to the grooving house music. Once you find a break between bodies however, Jungkook spots you and reaches his hands out to you, pulling you through in time to the rhythm. He’s face to face with you, hips moving with each beat that thumps through the speakers as you settle into the space created by the disappointment of the gravitating spectators.

He drops one of his hands, allowing him to spin you around with the one still holding onto you after a few moments and then stepping into your space so you’re able to meld your body into his and face the other guys in the group. You wind your hips back into his pelvis and Jungkook catches every beat, hands resting on your hips as you work him. You want to see his face, see if he’s watching you or not, but when you feel his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly in response to a rather suggestive body roll, you guess you know he’s paying attention to you more than anything else. 

Typically, when the songs change, you also change partners, liking to spread the wealth that is your dancing among the others, but tonight, Jungkook doesn’t let go, and you don’t try to leave him. The others don’t seem to mind, spending their time choosing random people from the crowd to dance with or weaving back and forth to get drinks from the bar. Eventually, the group of girls from the bathroom comes near, you turn to face Jungkook, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I’m staying with you tonight, right?” you ask on tippy toes, mouth ghosting the shell of his ear tipsily to ask something you already know the answer to, but wanting to lay your claim. Your teeth nip lightly at the earlobe without the new chain earring, and you leave a soft kiss where the lobe meets his neck just so the other girl can see. 

He responds in kind after a shiver races down his spine, pulling you closer as the heat from his mouth spreads lower through your body. “You better be—I’ll kidnap you if I have to.” He bites your neck playfully, causing you to squirm in his hold but he doesn’t loosen his grip on you, just apologizes for the bite with a tongue-wetted kiss that promises so much more to come when you get home. Turning back around in his hold, you watch as Taehyung looks between you and his friend, and can only smile knowingly to yourself when it dawns on him what must be going on. Now that Yoongi knows, you don’t really care if the others find out or not. 

Jimin returns to the group with drinks for you and Jungkook fisted in his hands, and you thank him before drinking half of it in one gulp. “Slow down, baby, we have plans for tonight, so we shouldn’t drink too much more, okay?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide and pleading when you look over your shoulder at him, and it’s almost heart-stopping how good he looks, tongue swiping his bottom lip and messing with his lip piercings. It should be illegal for him to ask for anything from you while giving you that look.

“Yeah, this is my last one,” you promise, and he smiles as he finishes the beer Jimin gave him. 

“I’ll get you some water, okay? Can’t have my baby with a hangover tomorrow.” 

Your mixed drinks are more potent than his beers, and it’s cute that he’s thinking of taking care of you. You feel warmth in your chest at his consideration and actions, not to mention his use of the claiming endearment leaving you all hot and bothered as he heads off the dancefloor towards the bar. 

“What time are we staying ‘til?” you ask Hoseok, who eyes his watch.

“Probably not much longer, it’s almost one. Thirty minutes sound good?”

“Yeah, I think I can do another thirty to forty-five minutes.”

Hoseok nods, but his smile then turns mischievous. “You and Jungkook sharing a taxi tonight?” He takes both of your hands, swinging them as if going to draw you in to dance with him, and a part of you wants to pull away; as if you can’t dance with Hoseok because you have a boyfr—or because you have plans to fuck someone in an hour or so and it would be disrespectful. Right?

“We always share a taxi, Hobi,” you answer coyly, evading his question and not stepping closer to him, politely declining to dance. 

Hoseok just grins wider, hips swaying to the beat as he steps away from you, dropping your hands. “She’s all yours,” he says over your head, and a moment later you feel the heat of Jungkook as he envelops you back into his body. 

“Here, make sure to drink all of it,” Jungkook places the bottle of water into your hand as he turns you to face him, the lid already twisted off for you. His voice drops, in volume and in tone, as he adds, “Only good girls get what they want tonight.”

You have to hold yourself back from responding with a “Yes, Daddy,”—the alcohol making you much more submissive to the younger man—so you bring the bottle to your lips instead, making sure you hold his eye contact as you wrap your pout around the rim and swallow the first gulp. The water is so quenching, you close your eyes as you take subsequent swallows, a little bit leaking from the corners of your mouth to run down your cheeks, neck, and disappear between your breasts.

“Woah, careful baby, I want you wet, but this water is for drinking,” he says as he pulls the water bottle back slightly from your mouth to slow the flow down, and you’re grateful, but also now horny as your eyes take in the way he’s looking at you. “Fuck it,” he intones mostly to himself, before dipping his face down into your chest. His tongue traces the path of the water back up to your neck where he keeps his mouth to suckle at your sensitive skin.

Neither of you cares that you’re in a packed club, that people are watching, that your friends—who didn’t know until tonight that there was anything more between the two of you—are watching and are also close enough to hear the sound you let out, the cross between a whimper and a moan as you cling to Jungkook’s shirt, hands fisted near his waist wanting him closer.

“Maybe we should get those taxis now?” Hoseok says aloud, mostly to Jimin and Taehyung in an attempt to pull their eyes away from the sight in front of them. The two just nod, and Hoseok pulls out his phone and opens his app. He can’t help but look up every few seconds though, not when you’re pressing your chest into Jungkook’s as he kisses you openly, his tattooed hand grabbing at your ass as he grinds into you in time to the music. 

The sounds Hoseok can hear from you between the music pounding out of the speakers have his dick jumping—as if straight out of his favorite porn flicks—but you’re Yoongi’s older sister, and apparently have been fucking the youngest in the group and Hoseok is now putting three and four together to realize the friend with benefits who he’s been fucking seven nights a week (per his text messages) is you.  

The crowd surrounding their group is beginning to stare now too, and Hoseok feels mildly uncomfortable—not because you have your tongue in Jungkook’s mouth (no, the sight is quite hot)—because the women who were circling like vultures all night are staring daggers at your head. Despite you two dry-humping on beat, Hoseok can see the annoyed looks on some of the other dancers' faces, so he’s more than happy to unceremoniously pull your mobile device from your back pocket (the one without Jungkook’s hand all over it) so he can order your taxi to keep you and Jungkook from getting arrested for indecent exposure.

He hates being the person to interrupt the two of you when the taxis are about to arrive, but the shine in your eyes is full of gratitude as he leads your group outside. He suspects it’s because you were probably in need of oxygen, and a small part of him assumes it’s because you were just caught acting like a couple of young teenagers. Hoseok hands you your cell phone back as you all stand at the curb, and you smile sheepishly at Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung, as if to say ‘Surprise! It’s me!’.

Jungkook still has his arms wrapped around you, lips kissing your neck and exposed shoulder—any place his mouth can reach from his spot behind you—and when the first taxi pulls up, Jimin has to pull Taehyung along to go with him and Hoseok. 

“But, can I go with them? I wanna watch some more,” Taehyung doesn’t sound like he’s joking at all, and only decides to climb into his taxi when Jungkook shoots him a glare that you can’t see.

“Be safe, text me when you all get home!” you say as they settle in the backseat. They all give you skeptical looks, knowing you’ll probably be too busy to even see the messages, but they’ll do it anyway. Your phone alerts you that your taxi is also there, so you wave as you lead a seemingly lovesick, doe-eyed, muscle bunny to another car pulling up behind the first. 

Climbing into the vehicle, you’re practically sitting on Jungkook’s lap the entire ride home, where he’s quietly feeling you up the whole way to his apartment. His hand is between your thighs, pressing into you in a way that makes the seam of your jeans press against your clit. He feels the way you roll your hips as he leaves wet pecks on your neck and whispers dirty things into your ear.

“Wanna fill you up when we get home,” he murmurs, “can’t wait to feel you wrap around me.”

Your breathing is shaky, and the taxi driver asks if you’re okay as he speeds down the road.

Your back is against the cold shower wall, Jungkook’s strong arms hold your legs at the knees as he thrusts inside of you. His body pins you in place, your hands clawing at his back as you try to find purchase against his slick skin. You bounce on his hardened cock as he drills it deeper inside of you, hips rutting for friction against his pelvis, your swollen clit aching for more.

“Fuck, baby, you’re perfect.” Jungkook’s mouth moves against your collarbones as he speaks, switching between biting and kissing from the pleasure your walls give him. The pain as he marks you only makes you wetter, makes you crave him more. 

“Jungkook, feels so good,” you whine out, tangling your fingers into the wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. “Love it,” you chant out, repeating the phrase several times. “Fuck me, baby, don’t stop, love how you feel.”

Jungkook’s brain can barely handle the way you’re sending all of his senses into overdrive. The feel of you sliding up and down, so slick and warm on his cock as you tug at his hair, your words flowing through his mind, that you love it, love it, love it, so close to saying you love more than just the way he fucks you, maybe you could even love…him?

“Fuck, baby, keep saying it, don’t stop, you ride me so good, fucking love your pussy.”

“Love your cock, fuck Jungkook, love how you fuck me, need more, need you deeper.”

Jungkook lets your legs down one by one so he can turn you to face the glass of the shower, allowing both of you to feel the hot water streaming onto your bodies as he enters you from behind. Your hands lay flat on the glass as he begins to pound into you, the clapping of his thighs into your ass echoing off the walls of the bathroom, mixing with your breathy moans as he reaches that spot inside of you. 

“Tell me you love it, tell me how good my cock feels, splitting your pussy open like this,” Jungkook’s voice is whiny as he begs for your praise, secretly seeking more than he asks for. When he wraps his tattooed hand around your waist, fingers dipping between your legs in search of your clit, you give everything he’s hoping to hear and more as you climax. 

“Oh, fuck, right there, Jungkook, fuck, fuck, I love you, don’t stop, please don’t stop, you feel so good, Jungkook, fucking love you, you make me feel so good.”

His head—the one currently buried deep inside you—loses all senses as his other head processes your words, and he’s losing himself as he empties inside of you. Your legs shake, wanting to give out if not for his strong arms holding you up. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers as he kisses the back of your head. “My perfect baby.”

Drying off, you shiver slightly as Jungkook walks out of the bathroom to grab some clothes for you both and leaves the door ajar. Your phone sits on the sink counter, a little foggy from the steam, but you can still see messages waiting for you. You click through them each one by one, not bothering to respond since it’s much later than the time they were sent, and all of the senders are probably deep in an alcohol-induced sleep. You glance at the time, noting it's now almost 2:30 AM. 

You’re glad the three men made it safely, but kind of hate the way Hoseok refers to you and Jungkook as teenagers. Were your actions at the club tonight…immature? What did he mean by that? Did he think you weren’t smart enough to make sure to use protection? Jungkook’s young, but he’s not that young! Plenty of people under twenty-six have children. Would it be so bad if you and Jungkook were to become pregnant, based solely on your ages?

Then there’s Taehyung, pointing out yet again how ‘young’ Jungkook is—and why is he sending you thirst traps? You know it’s harmless, he’s just drunk and wants your attention, but it still makes you upset that he feels that your choice was wrong because of age. 

Are you some old crone or hag that can’t fuck with someone younger than you? What makes this age gap so bad? You just want someone to make sense of what they’re saying to you, because the way you’re interpreting it, they think you and Jungkook are too different in age to be together. Your biggest fears come to light in the messages across your screen, from your own friends no less, just when you’re coming to terms with the one fact that should be the only one that matters: You want to be with Jungkook. You want to date him—want him to be yours, for real.  

Jungkook returns with a large black shirt for you, his own lower body covered with a clean pair of red Calvin Klein boxer briefs. You pull the shirt over your head, and in the dark, you hear his phone chime with a text message. 

“Who’s even up at this time?” he mutters, and you have to agree, It’s late, but you assume it’s a message from one of the guys; he probably texted them each back and one wasn’t asleep just yet. Your head and arms are pushed hurriedly through the holes, and you see Jungkook barely get a chance to glance at his phone before he’s setting it down next to yours and instead grabbing your towel to finish drying your hair.  

The action is sweet, warming your heart and you know that this is the moment. It’s time to tell Jungkook exactly how you feel, regardless of the post-sex high and in spite of being still tipsy on alcohol—you’re sure what you want to say will come out how you intend. How hard can it be to tell someone you like them? But his phone chimes again and you can’t help but to glance down at it. The sight makes your blood run cold. SoHee, clearly shirtless, sending a booty call text at 2:33 AM. 

To YOUR Jungkook. To the same Jungkook who you just professed your love to while taking raw backshots in his shower; the same Jungkook who just finished emptying his cum inside of you. 

Your thoughts run wild; did he send nudes to her too? Did he take one when he left the bathroom to get clothes for you both? You want to scroll through the thread, see for yourself that he isn’t sending nudes to someone else, when he’s been fucking you every night, calling you his baby, his princess…No. Your eyes prick with tears at the thought, the alcohol still running through your veins making your ability to think logically about this situation a bit cloudy.

“Seriously, Jungkook? Fucking me and texting other bitches back to back? While I’m still here?” you scoff, shaking your head as you step away from him. 

“What?” he glances down at his phone, seeing the screen lit up with the message from SoHee. His eyes take in the picture and the message, growing wide in fear. “No, baby, it’s not what you think—” He picks up the phone, wants to show you the truth but you don’t let him speak.

“Jungkook, do I look stupid to you? I can literally see the messages and can still feel the ache between my thighs from you. This might work on girls your age, but please, do not insult my intelligence.”

“Girls my age? What are you talking about?”

“You! I’m talking about you pulling a stunt like this!” 

“Baby, c’mon. You’re just drunk, I promise you, this is nothing.”

His words only add to your ire. He’s downplaying what happened, but you know what you saw. It was right there in front of your eyes, but he’s trying to placate you and you can’t stand to feel like this. Like you can easily fall for some bullshit just because a hot, younger guy is showing interest in you. It’s exactly what people expect, right? That older women put up with shit because they’re afraid no one will want them, that they’re past their expiration date for romance.

“Don’t ‘you’re just drunk’ me! I literally just told you how I feel about you, to then see that picture and message! I honestly should’ve expected something like this from you, I chose to fuck the youngest in the group, what did I expect?” You say this last part more to yourself than to Jungkook, but he hears you just the same. 

“Hold on. What are you even fucking saying right now? You chose to fuck the youngest in the group? What, would you have decided to fuck someone else, like Jin or Namjoon? Because they’re older than me?”

“They probably wouldn’t be sending nudes to other bitches at 2 AM after fucking me in their shower and inviting me to stay the night. Maybe my coworker was right about you.”

“That’s not what the fuck even happened! God, you know, you’re so stupid sometimes, I swear. I’ve always wanted you, but you’re the one acting immature, like you’re so great because you’re older than me? Age doesn’t fucking matter, our age gap isn’t even that big! But you’re acting like you know more because you’re older than me?”

“Jungkook,” you sigh out, bringing your finger to your temples, “you don’t fucking get it, you’re too young to—”

“Don’t you even finish that fucking sentence.”

“Seriously, Jungkook. You can’t possibly feel—”

“Are you actually trying to tell me how I feel!? You’re certifiably insane.” Jungkook laughs, but there is no humor in his tone. He paces out of the bathroom, fingers raking through his hair as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. “You know what? You’re the only one who has ever worried about our age difference. Because of what other people say, right? Because I’ve never said anything about it. Not negatively, at least. I’ve…” Jungkook’s voice cracks as he tries to express how he feels to you, but he’s so disappointed that he can’t look at you. “You know I’ve literally been here for you, for anything you fucking needed. My age never mattered when it benefitted you. Your coworker doesn’t know shit about me and you. But apparently her opinion matters more than hearing me out.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Actually, I can’t deal with this right now,” he says, adding your name to the end of his sentence like a finality. He turns towards your discarded jeans and shoes. You can see him opening his phone, KakaoTaxi open on the screen. “I have to get up early for my shift, and I really think I should sleep alone tonight.”

“Jungkook, wait,” you start to speak, to try and take back what you’ve said, but for Jungkook, it’s literally and figuratively too late. He walks you back into the bathroom, passing you your jeans from where he’s picked them up off of the floor.

“Your taxi will be here in less than five minutes. Text me when you get home safely.”

Jungkook drops the phone back on the counter and disappears out of the bathroom, and you don’t bother trying to follow him. His phone lies abandoned next to yours, and you can’t help yourself. You swipe sideways to his messages and scroll up through the thread with SoHee quickly, but there’s nothing in it from Jungkook showing he’s sent nudes, barely any messages sent from him at all. 

You blink away the tears that are forming, step into your jeans and grab your phone. His phone chimes from the Taxi notification, and you don’t bother to say goodbye, since you don’t see him on your way through his apartment to his front door. You linger, closing the door slowly but he never appears, and you’re hit with a sobering moment of reality of what your future could look like without him in it. The way home is quiet and lonely at this hour, the roads a sea of black, white, and grey, and you aren’t sure if Jungkook will ever color your doorstep—or your life—again.

stay tuned for “i kiss your waist and ease your mind” coming 8-?-2023!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[wardenparker]

If You Were Mine, pt 2

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12.5k   Warnings: Food/alcohol, references to smoking. The love is requited they’re just idiots, there’s only one bed, dake dating, wedding date, Javier Peña dances like he fucks and I will not be taking criticism, Bad Timing Tía, dealing with the ex, fingering, hand job, unprotected sex, vaginal sex.  Summary: The day of Danny’s wedding goes much, much different than either you or Javi expects it to -- and so do your meetings in Washington. Notes: Find part 1 HERE! Also this gif has me hypnotized so if you need me I’ll be right here staring at my laptop screen for the rest of time...

Danny's wedding is two days later, and that Sunday morning when you get up and get dressed for church, it's getting dressed for the wedding as well. Barely able to look Javi in the eye since hearing his confession on Friday night, you're quiet in the truck on the way to downtown Laredo. Javi looks far more handsome than a man in a plaid shirt and jeans ever should, and your black dress might be a tad too dressy but you pair it with flat shoes and don't overdo anything else so you won't end up looking too out of place. You've already made up your mind to be there for him today and to not give anyone any reason to question the two of you — you just want one more day of things being good between you before you have to head to Washington.

Sitting in the truck beside you is pure torture. Rubbing his hands on his jeans as he wonders why you have just…avoided him. He hates that things have changed, but he doesn’t know how to bridge the gap.

When the church comes into view Chucho shuts off the radio like the priest is going to come out and chastise him for listening to rock music, but you just sit back and tap your fingers on the strap of your purse. "Remind me," you murmur, leaning over to Javier as Chucho parks the truck. "Danny is your mother's younger sister's only boy, right?"

“Yeah.” Javi nearly startles, hearing the first words you’ve said to him in two days. “I was a teen when he was born.” He turns his head but you are looking down at your purse.

"Okay. Just wanted to make sure I had it right." Your hand moves from kneading your purse to gently squeezing his before Chucho looks over at you both and declares it time for wedding bells with a sly wink.

“Pop.” Javi groans, rolling his eyes at how unsubtle his father is being. Lord knows there will be plenty of jokes made around him today, but hinting that you could be married to him soon hurts.

"It's okay, cariño." Your hand on his squeezes again and you smile as you shrug your shoulders. "I don't mind a little teasing. It's a happy day." Without any further comment, you slide out the driver's side door and accept Chucho's hand to climb out carefully, leaving Javi bewildered in the truck.

The bittersweet sound of an endearment makes Javi sigh, climbing out to the truck slowly. “It’s okay.” He murmurs as his father walks ahead. “I’m just going to tell everyone.”

"No." Standing in front of him blocks his way, and you put your hand firmly on his arm. "You're not, Jav." This is what you spent all of yesterday deciding, and the very firm conclusion you came to might embarrass him, but it's a gesture. A glimpse, if he wants it. "You wanted to pretend. To see what it would be like if you were mine and I was yours? Then that's what today is going to be. I won't be inappropriate or anything, but...what's stopping us from just enjoying today?"

His jaw unhinges and immediately heat blasts over his face like he’s been tossed on an oven. Or he’s finally died and been sent to hell. “You— you heard me?” He rasps out, mortified that you had heard him pouring his heart out like a fucking idiot.

"We were in no condition to talk about any of this with how upset we both were that night." Maybe you should have told him yesterday, but it's too late for that now. Either way, you take both of his hands in yours and offer him a smile. "If you truly don't want to see what we could be, then you're at least going to get your wish to pretend."

He closes his eyes, wincing at the way it sounds when you voice it out loud. “Muñeca…” he murmurs helplessly.

"Javi, it's—" You could say that it's okay, but it's not really. It breaks your heart to think that he isn't willing to try, but you know he's been through unimaginable things. Things he will probably never speak about because they're too painful to ever remember that viscerally. "I won't kiss you or anything. I'm not going to force this on you. But at the very least it's Danny's day. We can smile and dance together and chat with your family and not cause a fuss on somebody else's big day." And if you hang on to this feeling for yourself on the cold or the lonely days, that's between you and the universe.

“I—okay.” He nods, opening his eyes and tries not to look like he’s attending a funeral. You know, you know everything he said and he hates that. Hates that you agree with him, knowing that he’s right and it’s the best damn thing for you.

"Okay?" Waiting until he nods again, you slip to his side and slide your hand into his to lace your fingers together. If nothing else, you can walk into the church together.

Your hand is warm, soft in his and he can’t help but squeeze it gently. “You look beautiful, muñeca.” He murmurs quietly. “But you always do.”

"When I bought this dress I got it because I thought you would like it," you admit, turning to smile at him as you walk up the steps together. "I'm glad I actually got to wear it for you."

“Couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Javi admits, remembering the op you had worn it on. “It’s why Ruiz got punched in the fucking mouth.”

You snort — barely covering your mouth in time to muffle the sound at the door of the church. "Seriously?" That split lip had been pretty nasty if you remember it correctly, now you're finally finding out how he got it, it's even better.

“Yeah.” Javi huffs, flexing his hand in yours. His fist had hurt like a motherfucker for three days, but it had been worth it.

"Javi the Big Bad Protector is kind of a turn on, not gonna lie." You murmur, quickly changing gears to smile politely to the ushers welcoming everyone into the wedding.

“He was being an asshole.” Javi grumbles. “Someone had to shut him up.”

"Mi guerrero." It's barely even a tease. Javi is absolutely a warrior, and his battles are more varied than anyone would know.

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. Guiding you down to the bench where you will sit through the ceremony. “Shut up.” He murmurs, letting go of your hand and touching your back very close to your ass as you start to slide into the bench.

"Yes, Daddy." You tease on a whisper that only he can hear, knowing that he'll hate it but that your tone and the smirk on your face will make him laugh.

He nearly chokes on his own damn spit when he hears you call him ‘daddy’. Grunting as he swears that if God strikes you down, you will deserve it. “Brat.”

"Ooo, don't tell me you like that?" There's a delighted gasp on your lips that turns into a giggle under your breath as he sits down next to you. "I had anticipated the complete opposite reaction."

“Shut up.” Javi glares at you. “I— I don’t like it.” He hisses quietly, even though that’s a bold faced lie. He’s never been called that before and he doesn’t know if he likes it or just like you saying it.

"Okay," you snicker quietly, glancing at him again and nearly erupting into more giggles. "Daddy."

“I swear to God.” He huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Nuh-uh." Wagging one finger at him, you cross your legs and point up at the altar at the front of the church. "Be nice. We're in His house."

“You’re the one calling people ‘daddy’.” He reminds you.

"Not people." The deep frown on his face is a mask for his amusement, and you shift closer to him in the pew with an unapologetic grin. "Just you."

“You’re annoying.” He hisses quietly. “And God is going to strike you down.” He’s joking, trying to hide how much he’s enjoying the banter.

"Maybe." You shrug, knowing you've done a whole lot of shit in your life that God should have already stricken you down for. "It would be a very interesting story."

He rolls his eyes but shifts slightly, throwing his arm on the pew behind you to wrap around your shoulder.

A few people who enter stop to say hello, telling Javier that they're glad to see him and they'll catch up with him at the reception, and a few others wave their greeting, but soon enough the assembled friends and family are on their feet again for the arrival of the bridal party and the wedding is under way.

Weddings are always a sensitive subject, especially with family. It never fails that people will recount how Javi just never showed up. Right now, he’s not concentrating on that. He’s tuned into the pressure of your thigh against his, the causal way you lean into his side with his arm still around you, your hands softly laying on his thigh like you are the couple you are pretending to be.

At one point your head tips, leaning slightly on his shoulder while you listen to the old priest pontificate on the duties of the couple to each other and to God, and even though you won’t let yourself go so far as to imagine marrying him it’s still nice to be a little bored with someone you care about. It’s homey. Domestic. And it makes you smile as you continue to sit there and hold his hand.

He doesn’t know when he had linked his fingers on his other hand with yours, but his arm is stretched out across his body while her other hand is curled around you. Almost protective as he curls around you on the bench and watches as Danny straightens proudly.

You might say it is, but this pretending isn’t just for him. Sure, your not-so-subtle ulterior motive might be to show him what he’s missing, but it’s also so that when you do have to move on - from the DEA and from him - you have these memories locked up to think back on on a rainy day. Maybe it isn’t really that good of an idea, but it’s the one you’ve got. And as the ceremony drones on and you curl into each other more and more, you can’t help but think how right it feels.

When Danny is repeating his vows, Javi leans his head against yours and sighs softly. He’s had one instance where he imagined marrying someone and he couldn’t do it. Until right now.

Squeezing his fingers gently in yours, you can’t quite make yourself look at him during these moments. Promising yourself that you wouldn’t go so far as to imagine you and him up at that altar isn’t much of a promise at all when your mind starts to wander.

Sighing softly, Javi hums when the entire church laughs, a response to the happy couple giggling as Danny lunges forward to kiss his bride before her own vows are said.

“So sweet,” you whisper without realizing it, sounding more than a little misty right next to his ear.

“They are.” Javi turns his head and his nose brushes against your temple where you have lifted your head up slightly.

“They really are.” The moment of tension hangs between you like thick jungle air, tugging on you with determination, but you don’t close the space between you no matter how much you want to. Kissing him is a torture you won’t put yourself through when you know it’s only make believe.

When the vows are finally done and the kiss starts, he hates having to pull away. Standing and clapping with the rest of the church as they turn around with nothing but hope and love in their eyes.

The church’s rec hall is ready and waiting for the influx of guests with bright decorations, cold drinks, and lively music. Chucho has been swept up in the celebratory mood by friends while you and Javi stroll behind at a leisurely pace. Your hand is still in his when you walk in, and right away people are calling it to him and coming over to say hello.

“Javier!” Danny’s mother, his tía, rushes over and smothers him in a hug, as if she didn’t run into him at the hardware store nearly a week ago. Apparently, even though Chucho had told her that he was coming, she hadn’t believed it until now.

She is beaming through happy tears, pulling Javi into her arms and regarding him with the same love that any mother would. "We're glad you could come, changuito."

Javi nods seriously and doesn’t pull away. “Of course, tía.” He murmurs quietly. “I can’t believe Danny is married.”

"He should still be in diapers," his aunt laughs happily, wiping a tear before it can hit her cheek and offering you a smile when she turns her head slightly. "But I hear you're next, eh? This is her?"

He can’t answer that, just nodding as he reaches back for you. Saying your name as he introduces you to his aunt. “This is Gloria, my tía. She is my mother’s sister.”

"I'm so glad to meet you." The hug you offer her is genuine, and the woman is smiling so broadly that she just might break apart if it gets any wider. "You must be so proud."

“Rosa looks so beautiful doesn’t she?” Gloria puffs up proudly as she turns towards the small crowd around the bride and groom. “So good for my Danny.” She hums as she eyes you and Javi. “Like you are for Javier.”

"I try to be." And that is, despite the slight ruse of the day, the honest truth. You have always tried to be there for Javi and be a good partner as well as a good friend. Sometimes bullshit would happen like your stupid moments of jealousy, but it never stopped you from caring about him with your whole heart.

“You are the first woman Javier has brought home.” She informs you proudly. “Lorraine was already here but we knew she wasn’t the one for our boy.”

“Sometimes it takes a few tries to get something right,” you offer, squeezing Javi’s hand gently. “But that’s life, right?”

Javi sighs and rolls his eyes. “I was gone.” He reminds his aunt, knowing this conversation would be repeated a hundred times before the end of the reception.

“And now you’re home.” She aims a wink at him that has you smirking before patting his shoulder. “You kids go get something to drink. I have to make the rounds.”

He huffs in amusement as she hustles away. “Kids.” He shakes his head. She will always view him as a kid despite being closer to forty than twenty.

“You’ll always be a kid to your family.” But the prospect of a drink does sound good, and you nod toward the table laden with bottles and surrounded by coolers. “Shall we?”

“Fuck yes.” Javi groans. The reception might be in the church reception hall, but there is no lack of beer and tequila for the guests. “Please.”

Your peel of laughter makes a few heads turn but you just ignore them, walking with him to the other end of the room and pulling out two bottles of cold beer. The whole thing is cozy and welcoming and you can’t find it in yourself to be upset about your decision to play pretend on a day as phenomenal as today.

As soon as everyone is in the room, the music starts. A mix of speakers and live instruments fill the hall and immediately the tías, abuelas and other women crowd into the kitchen to start bringing out platters of food. Javi knows about ten of the distant cousins had been drinking and cooking the meats out back on their grills during the ceremony so that it would be hot.

Plenty of people come by to make their observations or to unsubtly check you out, but you just smile and greet each of them in turn, keeping close to Javi and sipping your beer. Everyone is nice, despite the few Nosy Nellies, and you’re mostly content to sit and chat until the music makes your ears perk up. I Wanna Dance with Somebody is one of your all time favorite songs. “C’mon,” you insist with a grin, grabbing Javi’s hand. “No one can sit down when Whitney sings. It’s impossible.”

“I don’t–” Javi grunts, wanting to protest but you are pulling him up out of his chair before he can get too far into his grumbling. He sets his bottle down as he groans as he stands up straight.

“I know you can dance.” You remind him, having been to enough clubs together over your months as partners to have seen it a few times. On the rare occasion Javi isn’t working, he moves on a dance floor about as well as you assume he fucks — which is to say extremely well.

“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.” He grunts, dutifully following you and he wonders if this is going to bite him in the ass.

It’s an energetic song, one that doesn’t leave you lingering in each other’s arms too much, so you thought it would be safe. Rocking back and forth with him, spinning around – all of that should have been perfectly fine. You just forgot, in a moment of madness, how much you like having his hands on you.

The beat is one that it is easy to move to. The other couples jostling about on the floor makes for him to move closer, pull you into his arms as you both move. Confining you together for the song as Whitney croons about dancing with someone who loves her.

It shouldn’t have been seductive in any way. It’s a light, joyful song. But the crush of every other guest who had the same impulse as you means one of Javi’s arms is wrapped tight around your waist as you move together, and the rhythm you’ve found is a much more silky smooth than you anticipated.

You are pressed against him, nearly grinding against him in a way that makes his breath catch. His fingers dig into your hips and he pants in your ear, not from the vigorous beat, but from trying to control his cock.

It’s the sound that makes your eyes tick up to his. His head is right beside yours and that proximity is a challenge all on its own, but it’s his breath that makes you find his eyes. It’s worry, or else it’s an attempt to check in with him, but what you see is that his deep brown eyes have turned almost black and his cheeks have pinked to the point of blush.

"Muñeca..." He grunts quietly, watching your eyes as they shift back and forth between his own and your damn gaze drops down to his lips. Making him lick them by force of habit.

It’s a bad idea. Truly. Probably a horrible idea. But your other hand has a mind of its own when it comes up to touch his cheek and ends up cupping his jaw in an unbelievably intimate gesture. “Javi…”

The soft plea in your voice breaks him. Smashes through every barrier he has attempted to erect to stay away. All it takes is a call of his name and a hand on his cheek and he is throwing away every vow he had made towards you. Lunging forward and capturing your lips with his and he molds you against him.

Blissfully unaware of all the tittering and the many watchful eyes, your whole reality has narrowed down to Javier as you cling to him. His kiss is as firm as his hold on you, promising luxuries and indulgence in the same breath that it threatens to break you apart to be worshiped piece by piece. It’s a kiss you can’t help but get lost in, and you surrender to it completely.

Javier had never been one for grand, public gestures. His intimacies – his dalliances – were always kept discreet, both for the sake of the women he was with and because he had been raised to not kiss and tell. Right now, he doesn't care about that, simply closing his eyes and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

The sound of a throat clearing doesn’t phase either of you, but being nudged almost makes you fall over as you had seemingly forgotten about everything but each other. “You’re still in a church, mijo.” His tía, Gloria, chides in an amused whisper. “There’s kids around.”

He clears his throat and drops his hands from your waist, eyes slightly shocked as he takes a step back. "Sorry." He murmurs quietly to his aunt.

“No one would notice if you needed to sneak away,” she teases before drifting off again, and as nice a woman as Gloria is, you could curse her for her timing.

Swallowing, Javi manages a small smile, knowing that he would not be able to sneak away with you. Kissing you shouldn't have even happened. "We're good."

“Maybe we should get something to eat.” The way he moved away from you made it feel like you burned him or forced him, and you can’t stand the thought of that.

“Of course, muñeca.” Javi is grateful to have something to focus on and his hand burns on your lower back as he turns you towards the tables laden down with food. You feel like you ought to apologize or something, but you don't want to. That kiss was every bit as perfect as you always knew it would be and you hate that he seems to regret it.

"Gloria's arepas are the best you will ever taste." He murmurs quietly. "But steer clear of her tamales." He warns. "They will give you heartburn and gas for a week."

"Maybe I want that," you joke, but steadily bypass the large bowl of tamales. "Get the dog back for farting on me every night."

“I don’t know what Pop is feeding him, but the smell is brutal.” Javi chuckles. “Oh, grab one of those.” He points to a small plate with a few pastries left. “You won’t regret it.”

"What is it?" Never one to turn up your nose at sweets, you immediately snap up one of the goodies for yourself and one for him.

“It’s some kind of yucca thing.” He shrugs and grins at you. “Never learned the name but they are fucking addictive.”

"We're gonna have to learn if they're as good as all that." The table of food is laid with all manner of Mexican and Texan home cooking, along with a few classic Southern staples and one dish that it seems like no one is willing to touch so you bypass it all together. An empty table along the wall is as good a place to sit as any and you head in that direction with Javi at your heels.

He had grabbed two fresh beer bottles as you had passed the drink table. Setting them down when you choose a spot and set your plate down. “I’ll grab some napkins.” He offers, realizing you both forgot them.

There is a little tittering around you at the table when Javi walks away - friends or family or just acquaintances who must have seen what happened on the dance floor or just heard that Javi has finally brought a girl home to meet the family. You ignore them dutifully, popping the bottle caps of your cold beers with the lighter from your purse, and sit back at the table to wait the mere thirty seconds it will take him to get napkins. Provided, of course, that he doesn't get sidelined by anyone on the way.

Javi grabs the napkins, turning around and heading back towards the table. Shaking his head as he watches everyone around you watching as if you are a fascinating creature.

“So you really haven���t ever brought a girl home.” When he comes back to you there’s an amused smirk on your face and nothing more. “You’d think I had a tail or something.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "I don't get it." He grumbles. "You would think that I was some kind of socially inept virgin or something." He knows why they are watchful. They've only ever seen him with Lorraine and couldn't possibly imagine him with anyone since he had never spoken of a woman.

“Or just a commitment-phobe.” Which you know is the real case. Javier flits from partner to partner like a hummingbird.

"Hmmm." Javi shrugs and picks up his bottle of beer. "There's that too." He acknowledges.

“It’s not the end of the world,” you shrug and pick up your fork, not wanting to give him the entire girlfriend-at-a-family-wedding experience, which definitely would have included some teasing about a ring. Instead, you’ll eat. Eating is safe.

"It's what happens when you don't show up to your last wedding." He tells you, taking a sip of his beer. "Elated that his fiancée finally had that stubbornly absent period that had you considering walking down the fucking aisle in the first place. Convenient that it was the night before we were getting married. Isn't it?"

"Marriage isn't for everybody." According to the people that knew him best, it was Lorraine that wasn't for him, but you aren't going to pick at an open wound. Instead you press your thigh against his while you sit and eat together, offering him a moment of grounding and comfort. "It's better that the two of you didn't drag yourselves through an angry marriage or an even worse divorce."

“And god forbid…kids.” Javi grunts. He would have never wanted to put a child through that shit.

"So you did what was best for you. Maybe it didn't seem nice at the time, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than the alternative." After all, Javi isn't a bad guy. Just a little unconventional in his methods. It's part of what you like so much about him. That the only person's expectations he bows to are his own.

“It’s for the best.” Javi shrugs slightly and picks up an arepa to take a large bite if it. “She’s here, by the way.”

"Oh?" That has you looking around the room instantly, as covertly as you can. "Where?"

He chuckles, not missing the instant curiosity that overcomes your features. You want to know what his ex looks like. “Over by the dessert table.” He hums. “The blonde in the flowery dress.”

"Interesting." She isn't what you would have guessed for him at all, but again, this is the woman that everyone says was so wrong for him. "She looks so..." You cringe apologetically. "Boring."

That comment catches him off guard and he snorts back a laugh. “That’s new.” He admits. “But kinda. You’re right. She wanted me to give up being a cop. Work for her daddy.”

"You could never give up being a cop." You shake your head, not able to imagine him doing anything else. Javier Peña was born to put bad guys away, no matter what form he did it in. "Like it's a damn good thing that Chucho has your cousins basically running the ranch, because you're a crime fighting guy to the bones."

“She hated it.” Javi shrugs. “I get it. It’s not an easy life.” He could have respected if she hadn’t been able to handle it. It was trying to change him that bothered him so much.

"That's for damn sure." It's also part of why you had never held onto a relationship long enough for it to be considered long-term. "Every guy I've ever dated has fully expected me to quit my job and get pregnant immediately. They want to turn me into a perfect little housewife. Now I'm not saying I'm against being a housewife, but it's just not for me."

“I don’t think any man would be happy to have his pregnant wife chasing sicarios, muñeca.” He murmurs. “I would chain you to your desk.”

"Who says I want kids? Who says I even want to get married?" You do, but for the sake of this exercise you're willing to be theoretical with him. "Having a conversation about it, or deciding together – that's different. But informing me that I will be living how they want me to with no other option because 'the man knows best' is just intolerable." It earns him a raised eyebrow from you. "If you tried to chain me to my desk, I'd knee you in the balls."

“I would take the pain if it meant you were not running across rooftops in the communas while you are pregnant.” He jokes, although he is kind of serious. “Limit it to one ball though. I would need the other if you wanted a second baby.”

He seems not to be entirely terrified of the topic, so you humor him with a smirk as you eat your arepa. "No running across rooftops if you ever knock me up, and you only get kicked in one ball instead of both. Got it. See? That's a compromise."

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, trying to ignore the thought of what would go into knocking you up. “So generous.” He grumbles sarcastically.

"It's fairly realistic, considering how stubborn we both are." You point out, enjoying the way it makes his cheeks turn pink to talk about. It's nice to know you aren't alone in the daydream even if he will never let it come to anything.

“You would try or threaten to shoot me within a month.” Humor seems to be a safe place to stand, especially when he can still feel your lips on his.

"I would not shoot you." It makes you laugh to imagine, though, and you manage to pull yourself back from the thought of getting pregnant to just being pregnant. "Unless the hormones get to me. Then I can't be held responsible."

“No gun when hormonal.” He hums, leaning back and grinning. “Got it.”

"It might finally get those CIA fuckers in line though." A thought which makes you fully guffaw. "An armed and pregnant DEA agent would be just enough of a pain in the ass to make them avoid me."

Javi laughs with you, aware that you would be given a wide berth if that were the case. “Escobar would be scared of you.” He jokes. “He would just– turn himself in.”

"In that case I need to be pregnant and on a plane back to Colombia immediately." The two of you giggling together is such a catharsis that you lean back in your chair and throw your whole self into laughing. "It would be studied in academy texts for years."

“They would be sending knocked up women to all the investigations.” He predicts. “Duty station of choice if you’re squeezing out a kid.”

You snort, taking a sip of your beer as you conjure that image in your mind. "But you have to be kept around your husband while you're there, and your husband isn't allowed to do a goddamn thing to help you ever. They need pregnant women who are at their maximum level of frustration."

“They are required to leave their dirty underwear on the floor.” Javi adds. “Especially when she’s too big to see her feet.”

"Tripping on dirty underwear sounds like the actual fastest way to make anyone mad." It earns him another snort, though, and you have to put the rest of your arepa down because you're laughing so hard. "There's wiretaps in everything so the second they hear your voice start to rise or worse...if you actually want to spend time with him? He's instantly sent to a poker night with his boys or something."

“He has to get drunk at the bar and come stumbling home to piss in your favorite potted plant.” Javi snorts. It’s good to see you relaxed, happy and laughing. Even better that it’s with him and he doesn’t want the moment to end.

"Nooo!" You frown instantly, pouting dramatically to make him laugh. "Not my plants!"

“Your favorite plants!” He insists, grinning and shaking his head. “And of course it dies a painful death.”

"Murphy's gonna fuckin' kill my plants." This time the pout is real, but you still chuckle through it, knowing that it isn't the end of the world. "If I ever get back to Colombia, I'll be starting from scratch."

“You will.” Javi predicts seriously. “You are going to go back. I know it.”

"Hopefully we both get to go back." It would be the nail in the coffin of any prayer of a relationship with him that you could have, but at least he would be happy. He would still be in your life, and you would both have your work, and you would make it okay as long as he got to be happy.

“That would be good.” You’re a damn fine agent and they would be lucky to have you back again.

"You deserve to be there." More than anyone else, Javi deserves to be in that fight and everyone knows it. "But just in case I can't go back with you, you gotta tell them about our pregnant agent plan, okay?"

“I will.” Javi’s already made up his mind. If he has to cash in every favor he has, he’s going to send you back to Colombia.

"Javier." An ice cold voice from behind you says his name like he's about to be sent to the principal's office, and you nearly jolt in your seat from the interruption of the surprisingly soft moment you were just having. To your surprise and amusement, the figure standing over your shoulder is a boring-looking blonde with a very curious look on her face. "Didn't expect to see you here."

“Lorraine.” Javi nods and sits up, halfway rising out of his chair but then he decides to stay seated. “I could say the same.” He admits. “How have you been?”

"Never better." She tips her nose up, giving you the distinct impression that she's lying. "Randy and I were just getting the kids ready to go home, but I thought I should at least say hello." Lorraine bristles slightly, casting an eye down at you. "Since the odds of seeing you at a wedding are so slim and all."

Javi takes the barb, accepting that out of everyone, she has the right to say something. “Apparently it’s just my own that I have an aversion to.” He jokes before he introduces you to his ex.

"Yes," she sniffs slightly when you put out your hand to her in the only polite gesture you can muster in the moment. "The girlfriend. I heard."

The venom in her tone surprises Javi, considering she’s gone on to marry Randy and have two children. Who are currently playing with his cousin’s kids. He watches as you shake hands and he feels the need to curl his arm around your shoulders. “Word travels fast, apparently.” He hums.

“It’s all over town.” She barely puts her hand in yours, weakly bent wrist and fingers as floppy as a fish snatched away as quickly as possible.

“People like to gossip.” He shrugs causally. “Wouldn’t be the first time people have talked about me.”

“You never give them reason not to,” she snipes, before standing up straight as a post again, like the stick inside her ass just reset itself.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Her prim Church Lady Holier-Than-Thou bullshit almost has you careening up out of your chair but you keep your voice down to a hiss. This is somebody else’s big day and you’re not here to ruin that. “Did you seriously come over here just to say ‘hey I still hate you’?”

Javi unwinds his arm from around you, dropping it down to your thigh to squeeze it. “It’s okay, muñeca.” He reassures you softly. He doesn’t want a scene at his cousin’s wedding. He flashes her an apologetic look and his eyes slide towards her husband and children. “Seems like things worked out.” He points out. “You look….happy.”

“No thanks to you.” Lorraine looks you over, clearly turning up her nose when her appraisal is over, and huffs. “Anyway, I heard you’re not staying. That’s for the best.”

“It depends.” Javi is annoyed with her tone, but he grins, lacing his fingers with yours. “I think she likes the idea of a hometown family wedding.”

“I want whatever you want, mi guerrero.” However doting it might have sounded by accident, the soft sentiment and wistful tone in your voice is honest. If he decides to take the chance, you would drive in with him wholeheartedly.

It's not to annoy Lorraine, who used to plaster herself to Javi's side and beg him for kisses when they were out on the town, but simply because he wants to. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. "I love you." The words are said because they are true and you have heard them. You know how he feels because of his confession.

The stiff, priggish huff from above you makes no difference at this moment. All that matters in the soft, warm press of his lips and the way his words warm through you completely. If it’s the only time you’ll ever hear them like this, you’re going to savor them forever. “I love you, too.”

Javi hums, nudging his nose against yours before he pulls back. His heart thumping in his chest as you smile at him. When you finally look up again, drifting back to reality on the gorgeous feeling of lightness, Lorraine is nowhere in sight. "I think we annoyed her," you giggle softly, wishing you had the freedom to steal another kiss.

"I wasn't trying to do that." Javi hums, even though he is grinning back at you. "Not really. It's just a...perk."

"I would have thought it was the other way around." One hand finds his cheek softly, but you don't let the feeling linger. The last time you touched him even innocently, it had set you on fire.

He hates when you pull away, wanting to lean into your touch and chase your fingers on his skin. "Do you want to leave soon?" He asks. "Since we have ruffled some feathers?"

"Only if you do." A glimpse of a blonde walking out the door says that Lorraine is leaving, and people will always gossip no matter what, but if Javi is enjoying himself then you'll stay here forever. "This is your family, we can stay as long as you want."

"We can leave." Javi hums. He's full and the gossip is going to ramp up. He would rather not make you endure the entire saga of his canceled wedding.

"We should let your dad know." Especially if he wants to go home. Taking the truck means Chucho will either need to call you to come pick him up later or he'll need to get a ride from one of his numerous friends.

Javi nods, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stands. "I'll go let Pop know."

There are several rounds of goodbyes, ultimately, and Javi's family showers you in affectionate hugs and dozens of cheek kisses before sending the two of you on your way. "They love you," you hum, not dropping his hand as you stroll out of the building into the later afternoon sun.

"It's because I'm not around." Javi snorts as he guides you towards the truck, keys in hand. "They remember the boy I was."

"You're still worth loving." And the idea that he would think anything different is utterly ridiculous to your mind.

"Maybe." Javi doesn't dwell on it, moving to open the passenger door for you and watching you as you approach it.

"Definitely." And you're not going to get in the damn truck while he's being self-deprecating. "You're a better man than you give yourself credit for."

He rolls his eyes, not believing you, but he figures this is something you are going to be stubborn about. "Yeah, okay, sure." He huffs after a long moment. "Will you get in the truck?"

"One day you're going to believe me," you promise him, relenting and climbing into the cab.

"Perhaps." Javi sighs. "Or perhaps you will believe me."

"Nope." There are very few things in the world he could ever do to make you lose respect for him or stop loving him – and they really are things that Javier Peña would never do. "We're both too stubborn for our own good. Deal with it."

"Whatever you say." He rolls his eyes again, lips trying to suppress his grin as he closes the door to walk around the hood. You are just as stubborn as he is, but he doesn't mind you believing in him.

The drive back to the ranch is mostly quiet. The radio plays while Javi drives, and halfway down the long road from downtown out to the house, you take a chance on slipping your hand over his on the gear shift. He accepts it wordlessly, like he has the rest of today, but the warmth that runs through you is inescapable.

It's only when you are pulling back up to the ranch that Javi pulls his hand away. Hating the loss of your warmth, he looks over at you once the engine is cut. "Hell of a day."

“Not too bad, hopefully?” The idea of the exercise, of acting like his girlfriend all day, was never to tease or taunt him. But just to give you both a moment of warmth in the midst of everything that was seeming to go wrong.

"No, it was a pretty good day." He admits, staring at you as if he is making a decision. Fighting himself once again.

“And now we have some time to do whatever we want.” Although you wonder what that would be. He could suggest almost anything and you would agree.

"Muñeca." His jaw clenches and he takes a breath. "I– I don't know what's going to happen in D.C." He reminds you. "But, we have tonight."

“Are you…” Sitting there in the cab of his father’s truck, you can practically feel your jaw hit the floorboards. “Are you…suggesting that we evict MacGyver?”

"Unless you want the dog to watch?" He asks, lifting a brow in amusement.

You practically climb over the center console, fusing your lips to his greedily and letting one hand cup his cheek as the other finds its way into his hair with the depth of the kiss. He could invite the entire town to watch and you wouldn’t care.

Javi groans your name against your lips, immediately crushing you against him and his hands turn greedy. Pulling you out of the truck and pressing you against the side. The neediness is only matched by how giddy you feel, and the second you’re both out of the truck you’re pulling him toward the house. “Can’t get in trouble for fucking while we were both suspended.”

"Fuck it." Javi is already unbuttoning his shirt when he has to take his hands off of you. Dropping it on the front porch.

When you come together again it’s like an explosion. One that scatters clothing and moans to the wind and sends both dogs skittering in confusion. Pieces of furniture or doorways in the way are staging areas that you will be pressed against on your way back to the bedroom and nothing more.

At the entrance to the bedroom, Javi licks into your mouth desperately, his cock grinding against you. "Muñeca." He murmurs, kissing along your jaw once he can tear his lips away from yours. "I love you."

“I love you, too.” Your dress lays discarded in the hallway somewhere, your shoes and purse and Javi’s shoes and belt along with it. There will be no doubt of what the two of you have gotten up to when Chucho gets home, but neither of you is even thinking of that right now. Right now Javi is steering you blindly toward the bed and your hands are trying desperately to open his jeans before he manages it.

By the time that the back of your knees hit the bed, his hand has abandoned his jeans. Certain that you would take care of freeing him from the tight confines of the denim, he plunges his thick fingers into your panties, twisting his hand and finding your folds.

“Oh shit—” He swallows your moan completely, adding one of his own to it when you finally manage to pop the buttons on his jeans and get your hand inside. His cock is a s hard as your pussy is wet, making both of you cling that much tighter to each other as you topple backward into the mattress.

"Fuck your cunt is hot." He groans, pushing his fingers deeper, pushing them up inside you to curl up. It's just as hot and tight as he had imagined, several times while he was inside another woman, but he wouldn't tell you that.

“Jesus—fuck—oh my god, Javi—” You knew he would be good. Dozens of women didn’t hang on his every fucking word and expression for no reason. But to feel it is something so utterly different that it has scrambled your mind almost immediately.

"So sweet." He nips your jaw and pumps his fingers into your heat slowly. "Jesus Christ, you feel so good. Imagined this cunt. How you would feel around me."

“Imagined how good your cock would feel.” With one hand around his length, the long strokes you make up and down have his veins pulsing gorgeously. “Jeans don’t leave a goddamn thing to the imagination.”

"Fuck." He hisses, rolling his hips forward. "They are comfortable."

“Drive me fucking crazy every single day.” You pump his cock eagerly, every thrust of his fingers making you nearly grip too tight.

"You fucking drove me crazy." He moans. "C–constantly visiting Gabby to get you out of my head."

“Named my favorite dildo Javi,” you admit with a smirk, twisting underneath him to unclasp your bra. “Still not as good as this cock is going to be.”

"You don't know that." He smirks and ducks his head down to bite your nipple and then sucks on it when you pull your bra off. "Could be horrible at fucking."

“Doubtful.” The way you gasp and undulate under him is practically making the windows fog and you couldn’t give less of a shit. “Very fucking doubtful. I’ve seen the cock drunk looks on the typists’ faces the next day.”

He chuckles and hums as he sucks on your breast again. "I didn't care about them." He reminds you.

“Neither do—fuck—I.” That tongue of his is going to be the death of you. Clever with words but cleverer with pleasure. “Was so fucking jealous, though.”

"They weren't you." He coos, kissing up your chest and then pressing his lips to yours. "No one was you."

The fluttering that carries through you is so deep and so true that you stop altogether, caressing his cheek with your other hand. “I love you, cariño. Since the day we met, I think. There’s just…there’s no one in the world like you.”

"Can't account for taste." He teases gently, nuzzling in your hand. He closes his eyes and sighs softly. "I love you."

“I love you.” As many times as he says it, you will repeat it back to him, reminding him that he is not alone in this feeling. That he never has to be alone again. “And no piece of shit bureaucrat is going to stop me.”

He hums and then starts to tug your panties down. Wanting to touch you. “Fuck–fuck, need a condom.” He needs to be inside you but he's not bought condoms in forever and he damn sure wouldn't trust any that were in this room.

“I’m safe.” The idea of stopping now, when he has your panties halfway down your thighs and his cock out for you to drool over, is absolutely unacceptable. “Thank god for birth control, right?”

"Best invention ever." Javi groans, rushing to kiss you again before he pulls away to his knees so he can strip off your panties and kick off his jeans.

If you giggle at his enthusiasm it’s only because it matches your own. The erratic way your heart is beating says everything needs to: whatever comes next, this night is just for the two of you. It’s probably less suave than he would have imagined, sliding between your thighs. Need making him impatient and fumbling. It had been a long time since he had been so emotionally connected during something like this.

The first kiss of pressure when he slides the head of his cock through your dripping folds and begins to push forward is ecstasy. There is no thought for who else either of you may have touched, no moment of claiming or possession. It is togetherness in the purest sense of the term that has you gasping out loud, moaning his name into the Texas sunset. It feels like you’ve finally found the missing piece of you when Javi fills you completely, and your arching back brings you up to press as much of your body against his as you can manage.

Every second inside you makes his breathing ragged. Now because of the physical act, he’s had sex, great sex. It’s because it’s you. It feels like home. It’s the only way he can describe the way his entire body simultaneously lights up and goes numb to all but the slightest sounds you make as your eyes flutter close and the most delicate whine rips from your parted lips.

“Javi…” Breathing his name again, you wrap one arm around his shoulders and the other braces on the bed beneath you. Like this you can meet every thrust and ply kisses from him with every roll of your hips.

“Fuck, muñeca.” Javi groans, holding you closer as he starts a pace that isn’t quite frantic but enthusiastic.

“So f—fucking perfect.” Already there are beads of sweat down your back and along your forehead, the movements of your bodies eager and fierce as you come together.

His teeth snap together as he pushes into you harder, enough to make your body jolt and a perfect little squeal erupt from your chest.

“Fuck!” It’s good – so good – it’s perfect – the way he feels buried in your pussy, but you need more. You need to be branded by every inch of him so that you can return to this night over and over again in the years to come. “Let me—on your back, baby. Wanna ride you.”

He groans, nodding as he steals a last kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “You knew this was going to happen when we danced.” He pants, accusing you of planning this, but only playfully.

“Hoped.” You can admit that as he sprawls out on his back, giving you the chance to admire him before you straddle his hips and line yourself up to sink down on him. “Honestly thought I was being well behaved for not choosing a slow song.”

“Slow would have been better,” he groans, grabbing your hip when you reach down and wrap your talented hand around his cock. Lifting up so you can take him again. “Driven me crazy.”

“Then we’re even.” Another whine tears from your throat as you sink down on him, but there is no adjustment period this time. Your cunt is slick enough to take three of him and you’re not about to lose this moment to anything. Encouraging his other hand up to your tits, you start to move with the kind of enthusiasm that has sweat beading on your skin all over again.

You look like a fucking goddess. Or maybe a siren. Either way, you tempt him to reach for more. His hands squeeze and hold you like he is afraid you will slip out of his grasp.

“Dreamed about this.” It all comes tumbling out of your mouth as you bounce on him, tight walls of your pussy welcoming him deep inside you every time. “Riding you on the fuck—file room floor. Getting you to bend me over your desk and claim me.”

“You– you like that kind of thing?” Javi groans and twitches deep inside your cunt when you clench around him.

“Not before you,” you admit, looking down at him as you roll and twist your hips. “Now I want it so bad.”

He groans again, hisses slightly at how good it feels when you do that. “Why?” He gasps out.

"You. Would shout it from the f–fuck–ing rooftops." The moan that escapes you is loud enough that you're grateful no one else is home. That, and the fact that you've never been this fucking chatty during sex before. Chucho would find out a whole lot about you if he was home.

He chuckles, more like gasps in amusement as you slam down on his cock again. Groaning your name as he watches you bounce on him. “Fuck, fuck baby.”

"So fucking good." His hand on your hip grips you tightly and you never falter in your pace, working you both toward an end that is going to leave both of you rattling.

“Jesus Christ.” Javi hisses, throwing his head back into the pillow as his hips jerk up. “Fuck baby, you– oh fuck.”

"Didn't think you were the only good lay at the embassy, did you?" You tease, breathless and moaning at the way his cock seems to drill all the way into your belly when you slam your hips down to meet his again.

"You– fuck, you develop a reputation?" He asks, smirking up at you and moaning again when you roll your hips.

"CIA fucks tried." Not that you had let them anywhere near you. They weren't Javi, first of all, and they didn't give you an ounce of respect. Kind of like the guys from Milgroup who tried to get in your pants before they knew you were an agent. "Only wanted you."

He hums, proud of that even though it wasn't fair how much he indulged. Right now they don't matter, nothing matters but you and he lunges up to kiss you.

It catches you off guard enough to send you tumbling to the mattress again, and Javier is above you again before sliding back inside you so easily that the wet pull of your cunt is barely an echo of the way all your nerve endings set off one by one. You were already so close to cumming that your legs were beginning to shake, and the look in his eyes says you're about to be pounded in the mattress in the most breathless and loving way possible.

There has always been an edge to his fucking, a roughness that normally presents itself in the bite of his teeth or harshness if his grip. This time, he uses the sharp snaps of his hips to make sure that you feel every inch of his cock pummel your pussy as he stakes his claim on you.

It's exactly what you said you wanted -- this feeling of being claimed – and you simply let go. He can have you any way he wants as long as he is still fucking you and you won't have a single thing to say about it except to ask for more.

The muscle in his jaw and neck strain as he rocks into you at a pace that keeps your moans breathless and ragged. Hissing again at how good it feels to be inside you.

"Oh fuck — oh fuck, Javi–" His name barely makes it past your lips as your hands tighten on him and you let out another, tighter cry. The air is full of the wet slap of skin on skin and your body is pulling tight as a bowstring. "I'm gonna cum baby, fuck."

“Yes.” Javi groans. “Yesssss.” Feeling your body start to buck and tremble under him and he keeps driving into you. Wanting you to cum for him.

It doesn't take more than another three or four strokes before your vision turns white and stars spark behind your eyes, a long moan pouring from your open lips and his name following after it like he has just fucked it out of the depths of his soul with the last thrust.

Right when you clench down on him, Javi's entire body stiffens. Unable to do more than just tumble over the edge after you and thrust deep, feeling the purest pleasure he has ever known wrack his body as your orgasm heightens his own.

"Holy hell." When you can breathe again you're immediately reaching to wrap your arms around him, pulling Javi close and keeping him there with no thought to having his weight pressing you further into the bed.

Humming, Javi's body relaxes and he sighs as he turns his head to snuggle into your neck and kiss your pulse. "Like that?"

"I'll..." You swallow the bittersweet reality of it as you lie with him in your arms. "I'll never forget it." You can promise him that. Even if tomorrow comes and he wants these moments kept in the folder in his mind meant for daydreams, you will never forget a single second of it.

He groans quietly and shakes his head. "Hard to ever forget."

"I won't say it again if you don't want me to, but...I love you, Javi." The pretending was worth it. You don't regret the decision for a second. But putting your feelings back on the shelf is going to be harder than you had originally thought, and you already knew it was going to be difficult.

"I love you too." Javi pulls back and reaches up to caress your face gently and kiss you one more time before he starts to pull out of you gently.

“Bet you didn’t have this on your Bingo card for having me stay at the ranch.” Laughter is good, it keeps you from sinking down or thinking too much about how this really might be a once in a lifetime experience.

"No," Javi can admit that, rolling onto his back and wishing that he could have a cigarette. Chucho didn't allow smoking in the house and he didn't want to put on pants and go outside. He opens one arm and offers you a place to snuggle up. "I don't think you expected it either."

"Expect? No." His open arm is beckoning you and you curl up against him happily. A cigarette would be fucking perfect right now but you're not even sure where you dropped your purse even if Chucho did allow it inside. "But a girl can hope."

"It's hard to resist you." He admits, looking up at the ceiling as his arm closes around you and his fingers start to map your skin gently. "Hardest thing I've ever fucking done. And I failed."

“Can’t say I’m upset about it, honestly.” If you even claimed it that would be a horrible lie. His soft touches are as tantalizing as his rougher ones, and it is making your skin tingle.

“I gathered.” He hums, smirking slightly. “If I could move I would be having a cigarette right now.” He admits, laughing at himself.

"You and me both," you hum back, feeling a tiny bit embarrassed with how your mouth ran away with you.

“We have D.C. in a few days.” Javi thinks out loud as he watches the fan spin lazily.

"I know." It will mean going back to being coworkers. Leaving this day – this night – behind you and being professional again. You've already gotten suspended for fucking one partner. You don't need to get in trouble for both.

"If I get fired, I've decided that I'm going to come back here." He announces softly, turning his head and looking over at you. "What will you do? Any plans?"

“I have no idea.” And considering you’re pretty certain that you’ll end up getting the boot, you should probably think about it. “Could see if the Marshals will take me back. Or try local PD wherever I end up, I suppose.”

"You know....Pop likes you." He ventures, not daring to look over at you while he broaches the subject. "And MacGuyver is in love with you too. Poor boy would be missing all the love you shower on him. And the scraps you slip him."

It isn’t as subtle or smooth as he thinks it is, the way he lays the idea out for you to consider, and you turn your head to watch him inspect the ceiling instead of actually looking at you. “Are you asking me to stay, Jav? As in stay with you?”

He swallows slightly and opens his mouth a few times, half sounds coming out before he closes it again. Sighing as he rolls his head to the side to meet your gaze and nodding. "Guess I am." He shrugs one shoulder and shoots you a self deprecating grin. "If that's something you would want if you get fired."

“Alright,” you manage to swallow an almost giddy sound and nod, holding yourself to just a broad smile. “If we get fired, I’ll stay.”

"Alright." He nods back at you and tries to smother the pleased look on his face. "If we get fired, we will get into Pop's hair."

“I don’t want to ruin the mood…” you sigh despite yourself. “What if only one of us gets fired?”

"If you get fired, you have a place here then too." He promises, frowning slightly as he tries to imagine what he would do. "If I get fired..." he shakes his head. "You have Pop's number." He grunts. "If you need anyone to talk to when you're on a stakeout."

“If I get fired, you want me to keep living with your dad?” It’s sweet, actually, the way he twists the situations and tries not to overstep. It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, but the way he says it is sweet and almost tentative.

"He's old and he snores way too loud when he's in that damn recliner...." Javi jokes, his hand sliding up and down your back. "But I know he would love the company. Especially if you keep making that one recipe."

“He grows so many damn leeks in his garden, I don’t know how he wasn’t making potato leek soup for years already.” Chancing it, you place a kiss on his shoulder and just let yourself smile. “I don’t want this to be the end either, Jav…I just don’t want you to feel like you have to offer me a place here.”

"I know I don't." His brows knit together and he shakes his head. "That's not why I'm offering. I– if you don't want to stay, you don't have to."

“I want to be with you,” you clarify, and lean up on your arm in his bed. “Fired or otherwise. Long distance or right in the same bed. Fuck, I’d go back to Colombia as a civilian if you asked me to. But only if that’s what you really want.”

"I don't know what will happen, muñeca." He admits softly. "But I don't want to go back to pretending that you are just my work partner."

“Then we will figure it out.” The lines in his face crease when he frowns, all except the slight crows feet by his eyes, and you trace them with your finger without realizing really what you’re doing. “We’ll see what the big bosses say, and we’ll figure out what it means for us.” You shoot him a sly smirk. “And the dog is going to have to learn how to sleep elsewhere again, because leaving the door open isn’t gonna happen anymore.”

"Oh yeah?" The frown slides into a grin that is slightly mischievous. "Why is that?"

“Because,” you pretend to roll your eyes, like you’re sighing over him not getting your joke even though he’s teasing. “As much as I love MacGyver? I’d rather we have the freedom to fall asleep naked, exhausted, and smelling like really good sex.”

"Really good sex." He grunts, his hand coming down to squeeze your ass. "So I need to tell Pop not to poke his head in and check on us during the night anymore."

“Probably for the best.” You snort, not realizing he had been doing that at all. “Unless you want your dad to get an eye full.”

"Might excite the old man into having a heart attack." He chuckles. "Damn near stopped my heart."

“All respect and love to Chucho, but that’s not a view of me I want him to have.” Javier, however? He could tie you up naked to enjoy the view and your only question would be if he was ever going to join you.

"Then I suggest we share a shower before pop gets home." He hums. "We could always sneak out to the back porch to smoke a cigarette naked. No one workin' today."

“Depends.” Sitting up again, you stretch your arms over your head and sigh out happily. “Do you need a little longer? Because I was going to suck your cock in the shower.”

"Fuck." Javi groans, and his cock twitches slightly. "Cigarette, shower, then another cigarette."

“You’re on.” The giggle that floats out of you is easy and free, and you glance back at the shut door guiltily. “And we should probably pick up the mess we made on our way in.”

"Less Pop knows we stripped in the house, the less shit we get." He admits, patting your ass in appreciation and watching you sit up.

“Then get your ass moving, Peña.” You grin and shake your own a little when you get up. “I’m gonna track down my purse.”

"You know you were never actually my boss, right?" He grumbles as he stands up and stretches, scratching his ass before he follows you out of the room. "Being bossy doesn't mean you're the boss."

“Oh, I know I wasn’t before this.” When you smirk at him over your shoulder, it’s devilish. “But we’ve crossed over, cariño. The rules have changed. Girlfriends are always the boss.”

"Great." He scoffs, shaking his head and trying not to smirk. "That's just fuckin' great."

******

"Agent Peña, how much do you know about the Cali Cartel?" The question hangs in the air thicker than cigarette smoke, with Spencer staring down his nose at Javier like a headmaster with an exceptional yet naughty pupil.

Javi shifts in his seat, slightly exhausted from the night of hotel sex that you and he had indulged in. Since you both had to pay for your lodging, he had booked a room that had a jacuzzi tub in the middle of the room and a mirror on the ceiling over the bed. It had been a good fucking night. "I do." He nods, looking back at the man in confusion. He had been brought here for a disciplinary meeting was the working assumption.

"How much?" Spencer prompts again, leaning forward in his chair. If Peña is going to be useless to him then it doesn't matter. But if he has his nose in as much information as people seem to think he does, then Javier Peña may still be an asset to the agency.

Javi shifts and repositions in the chair and stares at the bureaucrat. "Run by Gilberto and Miguel Rodriguez, Cali is estimated to produce over eight percent of the cocaine in the world." He tells him conversationally. "Less violent than Escobar, at least publically. The ‘Gentlemen of Cali’ have legitimate businesses that cover their less than legal enterprises and I'd put their operation at about..." He bobbles his head. "Twenty billion dollars per year."

"Have you had dealings with them? Run-ins? Good information? Things that can be worked with?" Information is its own kind of currency, and Spencer isn't trying to sound greedy for it but that definitely is what he is.

"Their second in command – at least as much as you could call him that – Pacho Herrera, was involved with Escobar." He senses that Spencer wants what Javi knows and pounces on that. "I've still got plenty of connections that deal with him." He shrugs. "Personal ones, you know?"

"Ones that will only work with you." Spencer nods in understanding. Sometimes that is the way criminal informants operate. Everyone in law enforcement understands.

"That's right." He agrees, leaning back in his chair slightly. Waiting for the man to offer the opportunity. From the tone of the meeting it was coming.

"When you're reinstated we'll need you to initiate contact again right away." To the bureaucrat, of course, there is no question. Peña will take the job they are prepared to offer him because he would be an idiot not to. And Javier Peña is many things, but very few people have ever considered him an idiot. "Station Chief is a little different than you're used to but the hours are better and the office is comfortable."

His brow arches in surprise and he waits another minute before he speaks again. He can see Spencer getting impatient, wanting his answer in the affirmative. "Under one condition." He says finally.

"Depends on what it is," the man chuckles, fully expecting a negotiation for an absurd salary jump or some kind of provisional luxury that would be out of the question. He could whittle it down to something doable and they would both consider it a win.

Javi says your name and waits for recognition to register on Spencer's face. "She comes with me to Colombia, and the disciplinary letter is removed from her file."

"Jesus." He sits back, rolling his eyes a little and huffing. "What does this woman have that seems to make all our agents lose their minds over her?" Spencer shakes his head, ready to say no when he sees the dead serious cut of Peña's jaw. "Why her?" He asks instead. "Why not get Murphy back?"

"Murphy’s going back to Miami." Javi reminds him, knowing that being home is the best thing for his and Connie's relationship. "He’ll be happy where he is and she's a good agent." He insists. "Better than Murphy, better than me."

"She's a liability." He reminds the agent on the other side of his desk. "Too emotional. Too sentimental."

"It won't be a problem." Javi assures him. "She's going, one way or another, so you might as well get an agent out of it."

That makes Spencer hesitate, and he looks up from the papers in front of him to level Peña with a stern expression. "You know there is a hard and fast fraternization rule if you're her superior, don't you?"

"Doesn't count if the relationship was established before the promotion." Javi answers, calling his bluff.

"You'll have to provide documentation." This is going sideways just a little and Spencer pulls tight on the reins to make sure he doesn't lose control. "If you can do that, it's all clear."

Javi huffs in amusement and nods. "Fine." He shrugs, the tickets to Texas and the pictures that you had taken on the ranch of the two of you should suffice. "She retains agent status, then?"

Spencer sighs, longer and more irritated than it should be, but it is what it is. "As long as she treads carefully. You're responsible for her now, Peña."

"She should have just gotten a slap on the wrist the last time and you know it." Javi stands and rolls his shoulders back. "We done here?"

"My secretary has your paperwork. Sign it and tell her where to mail your tickets to Colombia. You're back in that embassy in a week," He flashes a murky, insincere smile. "Enjoy the rest of your vacation, Chief."

Nodding, Javi doesn't offer the man his hand, just turns to walk out of the office to find you sitting in a chair on the other side of a very bored looking secretarial desk. "You're up." He murmurs, not wanting to tell you about what had just happened until after you are out of this building.

"Don't sound so excited about it." You try to laugh so that you don't seem nervous, but pass him into the office with a deep exhale. "Sir." It's reflex to close the door behind you, but you don't sit until Spencer waves his hand at the chair that Javi was just occupying.

"Sit." His original plan had been to give you your walking papers, kicking you out of the DEA, but that had been changed by Javier Peña. "This shouldn't take long."

"Yes, sir." You knew it. To keep from deflating, you sit up in that chair as ramrod straight as humanly possible and fold your hands in your lap. You're getting fired. You knew it.

Despite his assurances that it wouldn't take long, Spencer spends several moments shuffling papers and scribbling furiously. He will have to have your records put back and he pulls out the disciplinary letter out of your file to be shredded. "When did you start fucking Peña, agent?" He asks, not looking up as he continues to write. "Before or after you returned to the United States?"

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. You swallow harshly but make sure that your face doesn't change whatsoever. "After, sir."

Spencer finally looks up, watches you for a moment and then nods. "Peña said the same." He tells you. "Relationships between a station chief and an agent are frowned upon, but..." He shakes his head and sighs. "It can't be censured if it happened before a promotion as was just pointed out to me." He stares at you, jaw clenched before he shoots you a bland smile. "Pack your things, agent." He tells you. "You're going back to Colombia."

"Thank you, sir." That is a whole lot of news to take in all at once, and you have to hold yourself up by sheer force of will so that you don't just deflate with relief on the spot. "Immediately?"

"As soon as your tickets can be purchased." He nods before he points at you. "It's your last chance." He warns you. "Peña put his own ass on the line for you. So if you fuck up..." He shrugs. "He can't save you."

"I understand, sir." Life by the book is going to be an interesting way to live with Javier Peña beside you, but it's an adventure you're excited to take.

______

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[gojoscalico]

Turn Back Time || f o u r

Summary: You were never sure when it started to fall apart but it did. 10 Years later and now you're facing him again. Will it reignite the feelings you both once had for one another? Or will you both end up walking away from each other once again? Word Count: 1859 A/N: WARNING!! This chapter does mention graphic violence. Also there is no flashback this story! But I promise more of the past will be revealed. Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @thefictionalcharacterssimp @picievi <-Previous Next ->

In a desperate attempt to protect Shoko you had found the nearest thing you can outside of the pavilion and swapped out their position using whatever time was left to make sure that you weren’t crushed by the roof caving in. In a slight second, you saw a piece of shrapnel positioned in a way that it would pierce a vital organ. You focused your technique to protect it. A technique that you had mastered while fighting overseas. Fuck. It still hurt as it tore through your skin. You held your technique, protecting the organ and keeping the rubble from caving in all while bleeding out, keeping yourself awake. Fuck. You were slowly going unconscious but you tried your best to stay awake because as soon as you closed your eyes, your technique would be released and you were unaware of how long it was going to be before anyone was going to rescue you. Fuck. “Sa..Satoru…” You let out in desperation followed by a cough of blood. Shit. But you knew no one was able to hear you. How long has it been? You were only sure of one thing. It felt like forever. You were unable to concentrate on what was going on outside. One unfocused second and you were dead, you knew that. 

You smiled as you thought about dying. You chuckled to yourself a little, closing your eyes for a second since they were starting to feel heavy. You just wanted one thing before dying and it was seeing Satoru’s face again. You just wanted an opportunity to tell him how much you loved him. You imagined  his face until suddenly you felt the pressure of the rubble subside. You opened your eyes weakly smiling as you saw Satoru’s horrified expression,“T-Toru…I–” You coughed up some blood. You felt relief taking over your body as you released the technique that held the rubble up. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” You slowly close your eyes as you know that once you release the technique protecting your organ Shoko has seconds before you bleed out. You took one last breath in before closing your eyes. It’s all up to you now.

You slowly opened your eyes looking around at your surroundings. You were in a makeshift tent for ones who were injured during the attack. “Y/N! You’re awake!” You sat up wincing at the pain radiating from the right side of your abdomen. You placed your hand where the shrapnel had been. It was gone and you were no longer in critical condition but it was still slightly bleeding. “Sorry, I used up what I could to stop the bleeding but I needed to reserve more energy into healing whoever else was hurt. After I get some rest–”

“Shoko, I need to fight.” Shoko glared at you, “ABSOLUTELY NOT.” You were startled by her sudden change of tone. She had never once raised her voice at you. No matter how stupid the things you were planning, she always handled everything with a cool attitude. “Please…my students…” Shoko let out a deep sigh as her eyes teared up, “Y/N…Satoru and Suguru they got it…okay? And besides we got promising students this year…they’ll be fine. So please…don’t die.” You looked down at your fingertips as you watched tears streaming down her face. You patted her head with a gentle smile, “Okay…sorry. Why don’t I help you dress wounds until you can heal them.” Shoko sighed as she used whatever was left of her energy to heal your wound so you can help her.

Hours passed and the tent was full of students who have reached their limit in fighting the special-grade curses that had attacked the school. You sat next to one of the kids who watched as his friends were being treated. “We almost had him Sensei…and now look at Megumi and Nobara…they fought so hard and I couldn't even–” You smiled at the pink-haired kid pointing at a black-haired boy and the brown-haired girl,who had an uncanny resemblance to Shoko in her younger days, next him who was unconscious laying on their beds, currently being treated by Shoko, “You’re Yuuji right?” You interrupted as he nodded, “Listen, you’re only a kid. A new sorcerer at that…no one expects you to know the hows of being a sorcerer yet but you held out pretty well until an adult, who by the way has more experience than you, came. And your friends, they're in good hands…Shoko is the best there is.” You watched as he slowly wept. You remembered that feeling of facing a special-grade and watching as your friends nearly lose their life. You delicately placed a hand on his head, patting it, “You did well Yuuji…Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Sensei…thank you.” You giggle as he gets up with a slight blush. You watched as he sat on a chair in between his friends. He was adamant in waiting until they had woken up before he could rest. The dedication the three of them had reminded you of the bond that Suguru, Satoru and Shoko had. Suddenly you were filled with the need to protect the three of them. From anyone and anything that threatens their peace. Just as you did 10 years ago. Lost in thought you didn’t notice that Shoko had sat down next to you. “The black-haired kid is Satoru’s kid, you know?” You tilted your head in confusion, doing the math in your head that the kid was way too old to be Satoru’s kid even if he had him at fourteen. Shoko laughed as she saw the confusion on your face.

“I don’t know if you remember the Riko case…” You nodded, “The assassin that was after her… he had a kid he wanted to protect from the Zen’in clan. He told Satoru about him before he passed and he protected him…and has been like a father to him since.” You looked down playing with your hands as you fell into deep thought. Satoru had changed from the arrogant and selfish man into someone who will watch someone’s kid after he had put him through a near death experience. Especially since that someone had nearly pushed Suguru into a dark place if you hadn’t helped buy time for Satoru to heal himself and save the three of you. Sometimes you had always wondered how different life would be for all of you if Satoru hadn’t gotten there in time to save the three of you. But he did so there was no point in dwelling in the past. 

“Hello…?” Your train of thought broke as you noticed someone had been waving their hand in front of you. You looked up to see it was Satoru, your eyes meeting those beautiful cursed eyes. You felt a sudden relief to see that he was only covered in scratches and dirt, nothing life-threatening. “Woah why are you crying?”

“Huh?” You finally noticed the blurred vision as the tears dropped down your cheeks. You weren’t even aware that you had been crying since the moment you met his eyes. Embarrassed, you started to wipe them off but they continued to fall. “Th…This is weird…why am I crying suddenly?” Satoru gave you a tender look as he lifted you up from your seat and pulled you into a hug. “I’m okay princess…” You were shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor towards you but you started to cry harder as you hugged him tighter, digging your face deeper into his arms, “I guess I am just happy that you are okay…I wasn’t sure if you were going to be…and I…I” Your tiny whimpers turning into sobs as he affectionately patted your head, “Shh…It’s okay…I’m okay why don’t you just take a deep breath.” You nod as you take a step back and take three deep breaths to calm your nerves down.

You weren’t ever this emotional until after you had thought you lost Satoru. You remember seeing red until he had walked in pulling your asses out of a deep battle with Toji. “I’m sorry…” Satoru shook his head, “There is nothing to be sorry about…I’m just glad that you’re okay and you were able to save Shoko and help her with the people here.” You smiled as you looked around, “I made the right choice then…prioritizing Shoko was ideal since she would’ve been a greater help to the people than I would’ve been.” You looked up to see Satoru’s pained expression. “Stop doing that…weighing your worth with logic. If I had to choose between the both of you I would’ve chosen you. Not because you would’ve been a better help but because I…still love you and I would always choose you over everyone.”

Your heart dropped hearing those words come out of Satoru’s lips. No. “No…Satoru I…,” You hesitated unsure if you should continue this charade of denying your true feelings for him. But you were aware that if you had asked him to, he would destroy the world for you. But that wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to show the Gojo clan that you love him because he was Toru. Not because he was Gojo Satoru. “I…don’t love you anymore…,” Your heart broke as you saw the broken-hearted expression on his face, “Besides I shouldn’t be your priority…they should be,” You stated as you pointed at Yuuji, Nobara and Megumi as you walked away. Satoru watched you walk away. Your shoulder slumped as they did when you were hiding the fact that you were crying. He knew whatever it was you said, you didn’t mean it. Which meant you had still loved him too.

He followed you outside the tent to see you facing Riko. Fuck. You stared at Riko who had a bewildered look on her face. You notice her gaze move through you as she softens her gaze and runs past you into Satoru’s arms. “Babe!” You turned around to see her in Satoru’s arms. His eyes locked into yours. “Riko…what are you doing here?” You were unsure why you weren’t able to move your feet no matter how much you willed it to do so. Somehow you stood there as if whatever it is you just heard was not real. Riko couldn’t possibly be dating Satoru. Right? I mean she was just a kid when you all met her. But your heart clenched as you realized that you guys weren’t kids anymore. “I heard about the attack and I got worried so I raced towards the school as soon as I could. I’m glad you’re okay.” “I'm good, princess…see?” Gojo replied as he flailed his arms around. Princess. Somehow a nickname you once adored suddenly you hated again. You chuckled to yourself as you bit the inside of your cheek trying to stop any tears that tried to escape turning around but somehow still stuck in place. Of course he moved on. You were still frozen in place but as soon as you heard Satoru and Riko’s footsteps get farther away from you it was like you were free to move again. Fuck.