#i’m not the worst thing i’ve ever done and neither are you!

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty seven - it was fake

you’d been acting weird ever since sarah all but exploded on you about why jj went awol. you’d barely been over to the house, barely looked at him, barely texted.

he'd freaked you out. he’d hurt you. you werent sure how to react to it.

today was supposed to be good, a group dinner that would smooth everything over, that would make things feel normal again.

he didn’t even let the back door shut behind you before the words were out.

“so that’s it?” jj said, his voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “hooray, unc. now i’m just… done?”

you froze, fingers still on the doorknob. “what are you talking about?”

he stared at you, eyes sharp, like he was trying to piece you together and nothing was fitting anymore. “your parents gave in. we played our parts perfectly, and now you don’t even look at me.”

you turned slowly, face unreadable. “jj…”

“no, don’t do that,” he snapped. “don’t give me that look like i’m overreacting. like i’m fucking crazy.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been pulling away since the second it worked. you don’t text back, you barely talk to me. you’re acting like i’m something you’re trying to shake off.”

“jj, just...can we not do this right now?” your voice cracked like glass, thin and tight and exhausted.

he laughed, bitter and sharp. “too late. you told me to sell it. said it had to feel real. and i did, yn. i fucking did. i gave you everything i had.”

you flinched. just barely. “that’s not fair,” you said, voice rising, finally matching the heat in his.

“isn’t it?” he shot back. “because it sure as hell feels like i was just part of the plan. and now, i’m nothing but the reminder.”

you crossed your arms, jaw tight. “i never promised you anything.”

jj’s breathing stuttered. you stared at each other, chests rising and falling too fast, like you couldn’t get enough air. anger and fear and want all bleeding into each other, all tangled up beneath your skin.

neither of you spoke. and you so badly wanted him to just say what he was really feeling. but he didnt, he just stared at you.

so you said the worst thing you could think of.

“it was fake, jj.”

his face shifted, like a crack forming right down the middle. like something caved in behind his eyes. but it was only there for a second, before his expression hardened, darkened.

“then what the fuck am i doing here, yn?” his voice was sharp, cutting.

you didn’t answer for a second. you couldn’t. your throat felt like it was closing.

you shrugged, blinking back the tears that would have given you away in a heartbeat.

jj wanted to walk out right now. but he couldnt, wouldnt, he wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet. he was still angry. still hurt. and his best idea was to hurt you right back.

“right. because none of it meant anything to you, huh?” he said, stepping closer. “not the nights you stayed. not the way you looked at me like you meant it. not the kiss.”

“don’t you dare put this all on me,” you shot back, taking a step forward yourself, fire in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s been caught up in this, jj. i’m not some heartless person who used you. this isn’t my fault.”

jj’s expression faltered for a moment, but then he snapped, “yeah? feels like it is.”

you ground your teeth, chest tight with anger. “you want to talk about fault? you haven’t even congratulated me on unc, the thing i’ve worked so hard for! you disappeared for twenty hours, and then you came back acting like i’m the one who shut myself off!”

“congrats, bunny." his voice cracked. "you wanted your freedom? to revolt against your parents? your little rebellion before your perfect life at college? well, you’re free. you’re so fucking free.”

“jj—”

“a deal’s a deal, you got your end. we can finally be done now,” he said, his voice cold and rough, like he didn’t recognize it. “go ahead and leave. forget about all this like it never happened. just like you always planned.”

you stared at him, throat burning, chest tight. you wanted to scream. to cry. to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was right.

instead you said, “fuck you, jj.”

it came out low. furious. shaky. and it made jj's face fall, his body go limp.

you didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t stop you from leaving.

her phone

his phone

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - i’m sorry please forgive me

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject t / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

[fangirlfuel]

Coming Back to Us

---

The sound of rain hitting the window matched the rhythm of your tears falling onto the pillow. The house felt unbearably quiet now , just the soft hum of the heater filling the void Oscar had left.

It had started with something so trivial: his packed schedule, your growing frustration with his endless absence, and the unspoken words that piled up like weights on your chest. Words that finally exploded two nights ago.

"Maybe I should just go!" he had snapped, throwing his hands in the air.

"Maybe you should!" you'd yelled back, your voice cracking with hurt.

And just like that, he did.

The regret had set in almost immediately. The way his face fell before he walked out the door was burned into your memory, but your pride had kept you from calling him back. Now, two days later, your pride felt more like a noose tightening around your throat.

You were startled by the sound of keys jingling outside the door. The clock read 11:47 PM. Your heart skipped a beat.

When the door opened, Oscar stepped inside, rain dripping from his jacket. His hair was a mess, and dark circles shadowed his normally bright eyes. He looked just as exhausted as you felt.

Neither of you said anything as he closed the door behind him, hanging his jacket on the rack before turning to face you.

"I couldn't stay away," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I know we’re not perfect, and I know I’m not always here, but walking out that door was the worst thing I’ve ever done."

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as you took him in, his trembling hands, the vulnerability etched across his face.

"I don’t want to lose you," he continued, taking a hesitant step closer. "I love you. Even when I’m halfway across the world, you’re all I think about."

The dam broke. Tears streamed down your face as you rushed into his arms, your fists clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was your lifeline.

"I’m sorry," you whispered against his chest. "I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean them."

His arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head. "Neither did I. I was frustrated, but that’s no excuse." He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there.

For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other as the rain continued to fall outside.

"I’ll do better," he promised, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I’ll make more time for us, no matter how crazy things get. You’re more important than any race, any podium."

You shook your head, a bittersweet smile forming on your lips. "I don’t need you to choose. I just need you to let me in, to let me be there for you, even when it’s hard."

Oscar nodded, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "Deal."

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. "We’re such a mess."

"Yeah," he agreed with a small smile. "But we’re our mess."

He tilted your chin up and kissed you, slow and sweet, as if to seal the promise between you. When you finally pulled away, the weight that had been suffocating you was gone.

"Come on," you said, tugging his hand toward the couch. "You look like you haven’t slept in days."

"I haven’t," he admitted with a sheepish grin, letting you pull him down beside you.

As you curled up together under a blanket, the storm outside faded into the background. The ache of the past two days lingered, but it was overshadowed by the warmth of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

You were far from perfect, but together, you were enough.

---

A/N

Hey there, lovelies! I hope this little piece tugged at your heartstrings just the right amount. Remember, every relationship has its storms, but love, real love, finds a way to weather them. Sending you all the hugs and warmth tonight! xx

[itzsyds]

calafiori x reader they have a massive argument about the fact that reader and one of her friends have a argument about something and riccardo takes her friends side and not his own girls and reader and calafiori eerily at each other in shouting and arguing and she ignored him for ages and she lick herself in her room crying and riccardo is in the guest room and neither can sleep with out the other and hearing her sobs he realises how wrong he was and severely appolagises fluff at the end

Riccardo Calafiori x Reader

Louder Than Words💓

—

Listen guys sorry for the inactivity from me today! I have been going through life very fast & getting requests done ASAP! I’ve been having fun with them so dw but got a couple more on the inbox which I cannot wait to write✍️

—

—

FLUFF & ANGST- A fight with one of your closest friends spirals when Riccardo takes her side instead of yours— leaving you heartbroken, betrayed, and locked behind your bedroom door. The house turns cold and quiet. But as Riccardo listens to the sound of your muffled sobs through the wall, something breaks in him too. And for the first time, he realises that silence can hurt louder than any argument ever could.

—

The fight wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like that. Not that day.

It had started as something small— a disagreement with your friend over plans, over boundaries, over something she said that hurt more than she knew.

You’d tried to handle it quietly.

Calmly.

But things escalated. Words were thrown, tempers rose, and by the end of it, you were both barely holding back the floodgates.

You hadn’t expected Riccardo to get involved either. But he did. It didn’t go down well.

As when he did… he didn’t take your side.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” he had said, arms crossed in the middle of the living room. “You always take things too personally.”

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening. “Are you serious right now?”

Riccardo sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m just saying, maybe you overreacted. You didn’t even let her explain.”

“Explain? She insulted me. She belittled me in front of everyone and then acted like I was crazy for calling her out. And you— my boyfriend— you’re defending her?”

“I’m not defending her. I’m just trying to see both sides here.”

“No,” you snapped, voice rising, “you’re trying to play neutral when you should’ve had my back.”

The air turned sharp. The argument snowballed.

“Why is it always about you being right?”

“Why is it so hard for you to just support me?”

“Because sometimes you don’t see how emotional you get!”

And that comment did it. You flinched like he’d struck you.

Your voice dropped, quiet and broken. “You really think I’m the problem.”

Riccardo faltered. “That’s not what I meant.”

But it was too late. The damage had already been done at that point.

You turned on your heel and stormed down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind you. The echo rang out like a thunderclap.

—

That night, silence filled every corner of the house like smoke.

You locked yourself in the bedroom. Curled up under the covers, your pillow soaked in tears, fists clenched to keep from screaming into the void.

You’d never felt so hurt— not just by what he said, but by the way he didn’t see you. Didn’t hear you.

Riccardo didn’t sleep either.

He lay in the cold guest room, staring at the ceiling, guilt gnawing at him like acid.

The walls weren’t thick enough to hide your pain. He could hear you— soft sobs, the creak of the mattress as you curled tighter into yourself, the occasional muffled sniff when you tried to keep quiet.

Each sound was a knife.

And the worst part?

He had no one to blame but himself.

—

An hour passed. Then two.

And still, no sleep.

At around 2am, Riccardo finally stood up. Slowly, barefoot, he padded down the hall and stood in front of the bedroom door.

He didn’t knock at first. He just stood there.

Listening. Regretting his earlier actions.

Then, gently, he placed his hand on the wood.

“Amore?” he whispered.

Silence.

“I know you don’t want to hear my voice right now, and I don’t deserve to be near you… but I need to say this.”

Still no reply.

“I messed up. Badly. I wasn’t listening to you. I heard the words, but I didn’t hear you. I should’ve backed you. I should’ve protected you, made you feel safe. Not… attacked.”

Your breath caught on the other side. He heard it— that tiny, broken hiccup of a sob that shattered what little was left of his composure.

“I was so focused on being ‘reasonable’ that I forgot the one person who needed me most was you. You weren’t asking me to fix the argument. You were asking me to stand beside you. And I didn’t. I let you down.”

Still silence. But he pressed his forehead gently against the door.

“I don’t care what the disagreement was about anymore. I don’t care who was right. You’re my person. And if you hurt, I should be the one holding you, not the one adding to it.”

The door didn’t open.

So he leaned back, slowly sliding down the frame until he sat on the floor outside your room, back against the wood.

“I love you,” he said, softer now. “More than my pride. More than being ‘right.’ More than anything.”

It was quiet again.

Then, after a long minute, he heard the lock click.

His heart stopped.

The door creaked open just an inch. Then two.

And there you stood. Eyes red, face pale, tears still on your cheeks— but open.

Vulnerable.

He stood, cautiously, waiting for you to push him away.

But you didn’t.

You just whispered, “It felt like I didn’t matter to you.”

Riccardo’s face crumbled. “You’re everything to me.”

You stared at him for a heartbeat. Maybe two even.

Then you stepped forward and collapsed into his arms.

He held you like he’d never let go again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, again and again, his lips pressed to your hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way you buried yourself in his chest said enough.

Eventually, he led you back into the bedroom, tucked you into his arms beneath the covers, and neither of you said another word for hours.

Because sometimes love isn’t in what’s shouted.

It’s in what’s heard.

—

Hope this one was good anon! Personally I loved the drama in the plot❤️‍🩹😆 x

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

tainted love

pairing: javier peña x steve murphy

cws/tags: only one bed, when you gotta jerk off ur partner bc he can't sleep but it's just a platonic thing dw #totallynotgay, use of f-slur, frottage, watching porn together briefly, mutual masturbation, technically infidelity ig but what connie doesn't know can't hurt her

summary: steve can't sleep and he's keeping javi up, so they have to jerk off ???

a/n: homosexual activities return to my blog

thank you to @almostempty for your help w this ! i could not have done this w/o you

wc: 3k

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

It’s not the first time Javi’s ended up with Steve’s name on his lips and his own hand wrapped around his cock. It’s not an everyday occurrence – Javi has tons of masturbation-worthy images in his collection of sacred memories. He’s got dalliances with hookers, something more and simultaneously less with that one communist girl, even Lorraine, back when she was something other than a blurry, ever-present mistake in his periphery. But, these thoughts are finite. In desperation, he’ll search for more. 

Sometimes more is his partner, partner in work, not in sex, not really, not yet. It comes down to the way Steve looks when he’s pissed off, the way anger forces him into physical contact despite the fact that he’s not a touchy-feely guy. It’s the time he had Javi pressed up against the wall in the hallway of the DEA office in Medellin – it felt like deja vu, he’d seen that moment on an x-rated videotape that no one would ever know he rented. Fuck government secrets, it’d take a harsh interrogation to get Javi to reveal the fact that he watched gay porn by his own volition. More than once. 

It’s a sleepless night like any other except Javi’s not in his own bed or anyone else’s, he’s in a hotel room he’s sharing with Murphy. It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened – he could’ve gotten stuck with Stechner, but Messina decided to pair up with him for a reason Javi doesn’t want to hear about. 

There’s alcohol somewhere, but not in his overnight bag – maybe in the minibar, but that’s on the far side of the room and whether it comes out of his pocket or not, the prices make him feel sicker than a hangover would.  

Though he and Steve are facing away from each other, he can tell that he’s not sleeping either. It needles at him in the dark. Steve’s wakefulness bleeding onto Javi’s side of the bed, his body heat threatening to burn through the ever present wall of masculinity that keeps him at a distance. 

Murphy tosses and turns to the point where Javi wonders if he’s doing it for attention – he’s doing a great job if so. Javi rolls over to tell him to cool it. 

“Would you cut that shit out?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I. Because of you.”

Steve shrugs as best one can in his position. 

“What do you want? A bedtime story?”

“Might be kinda nice.”

“Alright,” Javi says, like he’s really committed to the idea. “One night, there was a DEA agent who killed his partner–”

“Okay. I get it.”

“How the fuck does Connie sleep in the same bed as you?”

“I guess I don’t really toss and turn when I’m with her.” He pauses.

“She usually holds me – or I hold her. Not like a baby or anything, but you know…”

“You need to be cuddled to sleep? Seriously?”

He really seems to think about it. “No.”

“‘Cause the only way I’m holding you is in a headlock.”

“How do women sleep with you, huh? You’re wide awake and pissy about it.”

“When I said women sleep with me, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, you kick ‘em out of bed? Sounds about right,” Murphy says it with a smirk, like he’s gotten one over on Javi, but he hasn’t. 

“No, they know to leave. Or, I do. It’s bedroom etiquette. You wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve got something better – a wife. She sleeps with me for free.”

“God knows why.”

“She loves me. I’m loveable, Javi.”

That one strikes a nerve, but Javi doesn’t dare let it show.

“Maybe by her standards.”

“You saying she has low standards?”

“She could do better. She’s a very nice woman.”

“What does that mean?”

“Relax, man. I’m not trying to fuck your wife. I’m not that much of a scumbag.”

“Good. Not that I think she’d be into you anyway.”

“Plus, I can get laid without traveling to Miami.”

Steve huffs. It was a low blow, Javi’s willing to admit that.

“Okay, listen. We gotta be up in the morning, so let’s get practical here. You with me, Murphy?”

“Aye aye, cap,” he says with the least enthusiasm. 

“So, she’s been gone for a while, and I don’t see you coming to work looking like complete shit – at least, not any worse than you used to — so how are you getting to sleep?”

“I mean, I usually, you know…”

When Javi gestures to say go on, though he’s pretty sure he knows, Steve says much quieter, “Jerk off.”

“Was it that hard to say it?”

“I mean, it’s a little awkward.”

“What are you? 12? Everyone jerks off.”

“So, what? You want me to just jerk off?”

“Not here,” he says incredulously at the notion despite the fact that it does excite him. “In the shower if you have to.”

“I don’t usually do it in the shower.”

“You get to try something new then.”

“If I have to get up, then dry off, get dressed again, I think it’ll just start the whole process over.”

“So what? You want me to go stand outside and wait for you to finish?”

“The idea doesn’t sound unappealing…”

“No way am I doing that.”

Pissed off and admittedly aroused by the thought, he suggests, “You know what? Fuck it – put up a pillow barrier between us, and go ahead. Find something on pay-per-view so I don’t have to hear anything from you.”

“You serious?”

“If it’ll help you sleep.”

They fight over pillows and that’s only half the battle.

“Do you think they’ll know we’re buying–”

“Yes, so get something normal, will you? I don’t want anything weird showing up on the bill.”

“Relax. What’d you think I was gonna pick?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really think about your porn habits.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“What?”

“What do you like, Javi? We should find something we agree on.”

“So, now I’m a part of this?”

“I was trying to be nice.”

Javi stays silent while Steve rattles off possibilities. “We’ve got lesbians, mature women, threesomes…”

Javi gives him an unenthusiastic ‘sure’ to each option. 

“Oh, here’s the gay section,” Murphy says with a laugh.

And to avoid an awkward silence, Javi jokes - or tries to, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

And Steve’s head turns around faster than you’d think was possible. “Oh, so you’ve tried it?”

“I was making a joke.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Why do you even care? Just stop stalling and pick something.”

Though he’s clearly still considering prying, he settles on whatever the most basic shit is – some blonde girl getting railed by some dude with a cock big enough to distract from his lackluster face. 

It’s about a minute of fake moaning that somehow makes things worse before Steve asks, “Do you think if we change the channel, they won’t charge us since we barely watched it?”

“Might as well try. Turn on PBS or something. That shit’s always free.”

It’s free but it’s a science documentary. Slimy jellyfish and the old men who know a concerning amount about them flood the screen. 

“Just turn off the TV,” Javi says, unable to hide his disgust.

Murphy spits into his hand, takes his cock out, and Javi is listening intently to it all. It makes him uncomfortably hard. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t get off, and at this point there’s no real shame in it. 

They breathe in tandem, each strangled sound egging the other one on, until Steve dares to ask, “So, you said you’ve watched gay porn before?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say you haven’t.”

“Fine. Yes, I have. Can we go back to not talking right now?”

“But I’m curious.”

“Keep your curiosity to yourself.”

“Have you ever done anything with a guy?”

“Why? Do you want me to tell you a story about me getting a handjob from some guy outside a bar when I was hammered? You really wanna get off to that?”

“Maybe. If you can jazz it up a little.”

“I barely even remember it.”

That’s not entirely true. 

Sure, the memory’s faded a little over time, but he wasn’t blackout drunk like he wants Steve to believe. He was young, and a little bit desperate due to a recent breakup. It was hard to put on a face that said ‘I’m approachable and you’d have a good time if I took you home,” so the only attention he got that night was from a guy only a bit older than him, he’d guess. It was the kind of thing where he should’ve known it wasn’t friendly banter from the beginning, and maybe he did – he just didn’t want to believe that he was letting this happen, that he was engaging in it, that he was enjoying it. 

It got a little touchy-feely in a way real Texan men aren’t supposed to, unless they’re faggots. The word rings in Javi’s ear, and it’s the only thing louder than Murphy’s heavy breathing, which is far closer in time and space. 

The guy – whose name he’ll likely never know – led him outside and whatever ‘it’ was went down in an alley.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it enough.”

Enough to cum from a handjob alone, and enough to try to give one back, and the only reason he didn’t really get to was because his hands shook, and it was summertime. 

‘You’re not used to this are you?’.

‘No, I’ve never…’

‘It’s okay,’ he said, removing Javi’s hand, gingerly, almost apologetic.

The goodbye kiss was anything but – it was tongue and teeth, indulgent. You could say it was self-indulgent on the other guys’ part, but you’d be wrong. It felt like it lasted longer than the handjob, and maybe it did, but god, that’d be too embarrassing to admit even in his own mind. It was the kind of kiss that dared Javi’s cock to spring back to life and he fought it desperately. 

‘See you around.’

But the pair never did. Javi convinced himself it never happened and during drinking games or friendly teasing he insisted that he’d never touched another man, just like every other friend of his. 

So, why would he tell Steve?

Before Murphy can ask another goddamn question, he turns it on the fucker, “Why don’t you tell me about your sex life?”

“I mean, besides Connie, there hasn’t been anyone since I was, fuck, I don’t know…”

“Is Connie any good?”

“Of course she’s good.”

Javi waits for the ‘but’ with a raised eyebrow, and it comes. 

“It just gets boring, alright? I love her, though.”

And Javi knows he does. He knows he does because Murphy can’t sleep without her in bed beside him. 

It doesn’t miss Javi that Steve’s breath falters more when Javi’s name leaves his mouth. 

“Javi…” He’s been stroking himself the entire time, but he’s not close, it’s not a plea to cum. It’s a hesitant question. 

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?”

“I don’t know, Steve.”

It’s just to get a reaction out of him, which it does, subtle enough that another person might not catch on, but Javi’s waiting for it. 

And the reason is probably somewhere between the fact that he calls everyone by last name - and, come to think of it, it’s actually kinda weird that Murphy calls him by his first name - and because he feels like exchanging first names equals real friendship and somehow, that’s too intimate for Javi.

“Is that better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“You want this, right?”

“If you do.”

“You gotta tell me. ‘Cause I’m not doing anything if you’re not into it.”

The distance between them dissipates. It doesn’t matter who closes the gap – if one didn’t, the other would. 

Javi looks back and forth between Steve’s cock and his mouth and tries to decide what’s right. Because he wants both, he has to find another metric to measure, to make his choices for him. 

Dive right in and take Steve’s cock in his hand to avoid the intimacy that locking lips requires? Kiss him to quiet everything including his own mind? 

He’s dumbfounded for a moment and you’d think he’s the one who’s never touched a man before if you didn’t know any better. The thing is: Javi can jerk another man off, even give a likely mediocre drunken blowjob. The difference is, this is Steve, naked in bed beside him. The difference is, he’s thought about this. The decision to do this shouldn’t be this easy when he’s sober. But his inhibitions are dangerously low because he’s dreamed about this. 

He’s played out fantasies before that he knows wouldn’t - shouldn’t – become reality. There are countless reasons not to do this - Steve is married, this could ruin both of their careers, this could compromise the most important case in DEA history. 

There is only one reason this should happen: desire.

Javi leads with his heart not his head (admittedly, his dick has influenced this specific decision to a significant degree).

His contemplation is cut off by Murphy’s lips pressed to his. The kiss is hesitant only until Javi reciprocates. Then it leans more towards animalistic than sweet but it’s needier than anything. Between the two of them desperation has only ever led to tension that boils over into fighting, but somehow insomnia is all it took to get them here. 

His brain has one thought playing on loop - the simple fact that he is actively kissing Steve Murphy. Until his mind is free of thoughts. Sex usually works like that for him, particularly with women ‘cause he doesn’t have to worry about the persistent guilt and fear of getting caught in the back of his mind, but his stress rarely fades at just kissing. Maybe they’re not just kissing. It feels like something more. Javi can’t think, but he sure as hell can feel, and he’ll feel this for days, weeks, months, maybe years if he’s really unlucky and there’s no feeling strong enough to replace this one.

The pillows that stood between them are now strewn across the floor as are the pretences. This isn’t one coworker tolerating another’s nighttime routine – at the very least, this is a friend helping a friend in a time of need. But that sounds too innocuous – too generous, even sacrificial. What they’re doing is fumbling around in the dark (even though Javi aches to turn on the lamp, to see, to savor) trying to find out how to get this over with the quickest, what will make the other cum first while learning how to drag this out, how to tease, how to get the other to the edge and no further. How to do this together. 

It starts with the kiss, with Javi lazily stroking his own cock until he dares to place his hand on Steve’s inner thigh. It’s a hesitant question and a final warning, and in response Steve’s breath hitches. They lock eyes for a moment before Javi removes Steve’s hand from his cock and replaces it with his own. There is no protest, only a low groan before he takes Javi’s cock in his hand with a firm grip that makes it feel more like retaliation than returned favor. It also feels way too fucking good. Javi takes it as an invitation for competition, his right hand is more dedicated and focused, moving faster while his left grabs Steve’s jaw and brings him into a kiss fueled by a passion that feels closer to rage than love. 

Javi takes Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it slightly, as if a gentle pull in the right direction would bring Steve into Javi’s lap. It elicits a startled jump in his ragged breath - and they were long overdue to pull back for a breath - Javi takes the opportune moment to tell Steve to come closer in a voice that one uses to discipline an unruly soldier. 

Javi has to maintain a certain amount of control through aggression lest he let the mask slip and reveal his own nervousness, his curiosity, how little he really knows about how this is supposed to go, and how much he wants to press Steve flat on the mattress and take this slow. 

He finds himself moving hastily to shift himself and his partner - now in work and in sex - into a position where he can jerk them both off simultaneously, cocks loosely held together in his fist. Javi’s thrusts lead and Steve’s follow. 

Neither of them last very long. 

There’s a collective initial sigh of physical relief and a subsequent realization of what had just occurred between the two of them. 

What is he supposed to say? ‘Thanks’? ‘Sleep tight’? Is he supposed to say anything at all?

Murphy gets out of bed disturbing the relative peace in the air. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Javi asks.

“Shower,” Murphy says, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Ever heard of one?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna take a shower ‘cause it would make it harder to sleep.”

And that’s how we ended up here. 

“I’m not going to bed like this,” he says, gesturing to the mess he and Javi had both left on his stomach. 

“I don’t wanna go to bed like this either, but it’s four in the goddamn morning.” They’re back to whisper yelling and somehow it feels nice to have that sense of normalcy. 

Murphy stands there waiting for a better argument, but instead he gets Javi storming out of bed straight towards him and dragging him into the shower. 

It’s not romantic, not in the slightest - they argue over the water temperature and who’s taking up too much room. They don’t wash each other’s hair or look at each other with stars in their eyes. But, they leave their clothes on the floor and slip into bed naked, not holding each other, but not wincing when their shoulders touch. 

“Did that really happen last night?” Murphy asks with a yawn, forcing Javi to confront reality after he’s pressed snooze more than once. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” He sounds more confident with every word. 

“Okay. Then, I think so too.” 

[cruel-as-sin]

i don't want your body, but- | frankie morales

↳ summary: you run into your ex at a bar. only he’s not alone, and for reasons you can’t quite figure out, you’re put off by that fact

word count: 1.5k

song: somebody else | the 1975

pairings: ex!frankie morales x gn!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), sexual references but no smut, grinding/sensual dancing, heavy angst, aftermath of a bad breakup, reader is lowkey still mad about it, by lowkey i mean highkey, neither one of them has moved on, heated shouting match, lots of crying and hard feelings, one singular slap (reader slaps frankie), one singular kiss, one singular shove (reader shoves frankie), mentions of nausea/urge to vomit, drinking, no use of y/n, unhappy ending (and i’m not sorry), frankie is kind of an asshole in this i'm not gonna lie, this will hurt your feelings (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: this is my entry for @chaotic-mystery’s wired 4 you challenge! this was such a fun challenge and SO much fun to write, i’ve never written for a pedro character before but i’m hoping there will be much more to come! enjoy, and maybe grab some tissues lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Look, I can’t do this.” Frankie’s breath is shaky, his voice low, that tone that makes you know he’s about to have something to apologize for. “We can’t do this.”

The words cut through you like a knife, stopping you in your tracks. “What do you mean?” The question comes out more desperate than it should, but you can't bring yourself to be angry. Not now, not yet, not when the only thing you want to do is beg and plead with him to stay, not when the only thing you’re thinking is that this can’t possibly be real, there’s no way this is happening to you right now.

“I’m sorry.” He anticipates your move towards him, taking a step back before you can latch onto his hand with your own.

He’s killed so many people, done things that keep him awake every night, things that have fucked him up forever. But the hurt on your face right now might be the worst thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, another step away from you, towards the bed of his truck. Ignoring your pleas, your begging for him to stay, to explain himself, to make this work. Your shouting, because how could he do this, why would he do this, how dare he fucking do this- he ignores it all.

So that was the last time you ever saw Francisco Morales, pulling out of your driveway with the pieces of your broken heart in his hands.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The first time in five months you see Frankie, he’s grinding on a girl across the bar from you.

Vibrant lights and disco music illuminate the dance floor, the rest of the world fading out around you as you catch sight of him. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, maybe it’s the fact that it’s almost midnight, maybe it’s the alcohol- but your whole world hones in on him, right then and there.

Dancing with her. The way he used to dance with you.

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Stumbling out the back door into the alleyway, huddling over a trash can and trying really hard not to throw up.

It shouldn’t bother you anymore. Five months and you haven’t heard a single word from him, not even a fucking text, but of course he still had to show up at your favorite club.

He knows it’s your favorite club. Maybe it's his new girl’s favorite, too, but that would really just rub salt in the wound, wouldn’t it?

Typical Frankie.

Your fingers dig into the edge of the trash can as you draw in sharp, ragged breaths. Your whole body hurts, your heart pounding so fast you think it might actually come out of your chest. Maybe that would be a good thing- maybe that would fix this stupid feeling of disgust and grief and regret and some twisted desire to have him again.

You hate him.

But if you have to go back in there and see him again, you’re not sure who you’ll hate more- him for doing it, or yourself for how it makes you feel.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

She’s not really his girlfriend.

You don’t know that, of course. You don’t need to- why would you? You’re not exactly speaking anymore. You haven’t been since he broke up with you. He needed to, to keep you safe, but you didn’t understand that. He reckons you still don’t- that’s why you ran away at the sight of him.

Well, that, and the girl who is now clinging to his shoulder and trying to get him to stay. But the moment he watched you slip out the back door he had this urge to follow you. An itch he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t scratch, except with you.

"I'll be right back. Just stay here." He says casually, gently pushing her off of him so he can make his way through the crowds of people and towards the door you left out of.

He knew it was a mistake, coming here. But she insisted on it, and like an idiot, he couldn't refuse. He's not sure why he keeps indulging her, why he keeps having her over to his place and fucking her senseless, why he's latched onto this girl instead of moving on like he does with all the other one night stands he takes.

Maybe it's because she smells like you.

When he reaches the door, he pauses for a second, wondering if he should follow you. If it wouldn't be better to just leave you alone, maybe even leave the place altogether and never come back. If you'd even want him there at all.

Probably not.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

You step away from the trash can as the door swings open, trying not to seem as pathetic as you're sure you look to whatever stranger has come out here to smoke. You know you look awful- dry heaving, red eyes, tear stains all over your face.

But it isn't a stranger that walks through that door.

It's him.

Francisco fucking Morales, the guy who dumped you in two minutes in your goddamn driveway and broke your stupid heart.

The guy you came out here specifically to avoid.

Did he follow you? Jesus, you’re gonna give him a piece of your mind-

His brows furrow in concern as he takes a step toward you. The nerve, to walk in your direction after he's the one who walked away, the absolute fucking audacity to act like he gives two shits about your well-being-

“Shit, baby, you okay?”

Baby.

You slap him.

For a moment, neither of you move, both frozen in shock over what just happened.

You've never hit him. You've never hit anyone. And you certainly weren't expecting that to actually work, given the former profession of the man standing in front of you, raising a hand to the red spot on his cheek.

You hope it stings.

You kind of want to kiss it better.

His concern melts into anger as he looks at you. “What the fuck was that for?”

You’re so mad you have to laugh. “What the fuck do you think?”

He sighs, clenching his jaw. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Is that it?” You take a step back, shaking your head. “I’m supposed to just take you back after a fucking sorry?”

“No, you’re not supposed to just take me back. I just wanted to apologize.” He says in frustration.

You can't believe this, you can't fucking believe this. He's been leaving you alone all this time, but now he's all over you like it all never happened, like suddenly your feelings do matter. “For what, huh?” You shoot back. “Do you even know what you did wrong?”

“Everything!” He snaps. “I did everything wrong.” He runs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.

You don't say anything. For a moment you don't even move, too shocked by the admission- but it's not enough. Not for all the hurt he caused you, not for five months of pain and hurt and the never-ending question of why.

Even though you don't say anything, he must see it in your face, knowing you so deeply even now. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering, a tone you used to listen to. “Baby, please, listen to me-”

“Don't fucking call me that!" You try to slap him again, but this time he does grab your wrist, looking at you unimpressed as you roughly tug your hand away.

"Are you done?" You didn't think he could piss you off any more. That tone used to turn you on. You hate him, you want to beat his pretty face fucking senseless, you can't bring yourself to move again.

“God, Frankie. I- you-" You step back, beginning to pace back and forth across the alleyway. He remains still, unmoving, watching your futile attempts to get out this energy without using him to do it. "You can't just walk out here, trying to come back into my life, acting like you care about me-”

"I do care about you!" He interrupts, taking a step towards you.

"Don't bullshit me." You don't even look at him, you can't, because if you look at him you might stop, and you have to keep being angry.

"I'm not bullshitting you-"

“Don't fucking bullshit me, Frankie!” You're certain half the bar could hear the way you're shouting at him right now, but you don't care. "You dumped me, you broke my heart, and I don't want you back, you asshole, so just leave me alone and go torment some other poor soul stupid enough to buy into your nonsense-"

You're choking on your own sobs when he reaches out and grabs you, his hand wrapped around your arm, his expression serious.

“Would you just shut up and kiss me?" His curls are damp with sweat, deep brown eyes staring into yours as if they might be able to hypnotize you.

Your lips curl into a sneer, grabbing his arm and pulling it off of yours. "I'm not gonna kiss you, you sick motherfucker-"

And then he’s whining your name in that little pleading tone of his, and suddenly you are kissing him, lips crashing onto his like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. He tastes like shitty bourbon and salty tears and someone else’s chapstick and it’s only when the last taste hits your tongue that you can find it in yourself to pull away. Tears well up in your eyes when you look at him, and you both know the kiss didn’t feel the same as it did before. That vibrant feeling wasn’t coming back, and it never would be.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

You think for a second that maybe this is all some sort of dream. A sick, twisted nightmare, because there’s really no fucking way he would do this to you twice.

But he does.

There’s no begging this time. No shouting, no pleading. Just resigned defeat as you watch him walk away. Through the alley, around the corner, the sound of a truck starting up in the distance.

You’re crying. Strangely enough, though, you don’t feel anything at all. Maybe he’s right, maybe this really is destined not to work.

Or maybe, maybe, he’s just too much of a coward to enter a fight he can’t win with a loaded gun.

tagging some of my fav ppcu writers: @gothcsz @pedgito @sceletaflores @pedroscurls @amanitacowboy @moonlight-prose @yxtkiwiyxt

[vanilladollette]

Hey Nillian !

Can you write the bullies and Moon Dong-eun x ex bully female reader. while the bullies never changed, female reader has become more better and genuinely sweet, respectful, matured and she doesn't get punished by Dong-eun but instead they became friends, leaving the bullies are jealous and confused.

A Change Of Heart

Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x Ex-bully Fem! Reader, Bullies x Fem! Reader

Summary: A former bully seeks redemption, befriends Moon Dong-eun, and leaves her unrepentant old friends behind, making them realize they are the ones being left behind.

Author's note: none

You didn’t know what was wrong with you back in high school. Maybe it was peer pressure, maybe it was something uglier—either way, the truth was undeniable. You were a bully. Not just someone who went along with it, not just a passive bystander. You actively participated in making people miserable.

Looking back, it disgusts you. The things you said, the things you did. At the time, it all felt so easy, so insignificant. But now, as an adult, you see it for what it was—cruelty. Mindless, senseless cruelty. And the worst part? You can’t take it back.

You wish you could apologize to every single person you hurt. But you know apologies don’t fix everything. If they told you to go to hell, you wouldn’t blame them. You’d accept it. Because no matter how much you’ve changed, the past doesn’t just disappear.

The first step toward becoming a better person was cutting ties with them—your old friends, the ones who never changed. It wasn’t easy. They mocked you, called you weak, a traitor. But you knew the truth. They weren’t your friends. Not really.

It took years to unlearn the person you used to be. Years of self-reflection, of making amends where you could, of learning how to be kind without expecting anything in return.

You won’t ask for forgiveness. You don’t deserve it. But you’ll keep trying to be better anyway. Because it’s the only thing you can do.

Though it was easier said than done now that you came face to face with Moon Dong-eun.

You had to admit—you were scared to say anything. You knew an apology wouldn’t simply do. It wasn’t just about the words; it was about the years of suffering she endured, the irreversible damage that had been done.

Her gaze was cold, calculating, and for a split second, you braced yourself for the worst. Would she humiliate you? Would she destroy you the way she had destroyed the others? You wouldn’t fight it if she did.

But instead, she simply looked at you.

And you—standing there, not as the cruel teenager you once were, but as the woman who had spent years trying to change—held her gaze and did something none of your old friends would have ever done.

You bowed.

A deep, sincere bow, one of regret, of acknowledgment. "I don’t expect anything from you," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the nervous knot in your stomach. "I won’t waste your time with excuses or empty apologies. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. And I’ve spent years trying to be better. Not for forgiveness. Just… because I should."

Silence stretched between you. The old you would have been terrified of it, would have filled it with nervous laughter or empty justifications. But you stood your ground.

Finally, Dong-eun sighed. She studied you, her sharp eyes searching for something—perhaps insincerity, perhaps weakness. When she found neither, she nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And to your utter surprise, instead of walking away or something worse, she said, "Let’s get some coffee."

The news that you and Moon Dong-eun were on speaking terms spread faster than wildfire.

Your old "friends"—if you could still call them that—were the most affected.

"What the hell is this?" Yeon-jin sneered, arms crossed as she glared at you. "Did she break you so bad you’re licking her boots now?"

You sighed, exhaustion settling in. "Believe it or not, not everything is about revenge, Yeon-jin."

"Then what is it about?" Sa-ra scoffed, barely looking up from her nails. "You think playing nice will erase everything?"

"No," you admitted. "Nothing erases the past. But I can choose who I am now."

Hye-jeong rolled her eyes. "God, you sound so pathetic."

Maybe to them, you did. But as you thought of the quiet conversations over coffee with Dong-eun, of the moments where she almost smiled, of the way she seemed to accept—not forgive, but accept—that you were no longer the same person… you realized something.

You didn’t care what they thought.

And judging by the way Yeon-jin’s forced smile twitched, how Sa-ra’s indifference faltered, and how Hye-jeong’s voice held an edge of insecurity—maybe they knew that, too.

Maybe, for the first time, they were the ones feeling left behind.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hey! wanted to say i appreciate you talking about how malleus doesn’t appeal to you :,) he doesn’t quite appeal go me either, but i couldn’t find anyone that didn’t either hate or love him, both sides often mischaracterizing him. i felt like i was going mad. but you put my feelings about him into words in a really eloquent and well thought out way, so, yea! thanks for saying your honest opinions on the internet haha

[Please check my pinned post’s FAQ section if you’d like to read about why I personally dislike Malleus!]

Thank you!! It’s not often that you get gratitude for being critical of a character (as opposed to, like, outright praising them) so this ask genuinely took me by surprise.

I find that Malleus is one of those characters that’s quite difficult to talk about. Because he’s so well-liked by English-speaking fans (fandom-run polls consistently show that he is liked by at least 50% of responders), his presence has become almost stifling… which formed a counterculture (ie hate) against him. In any case, whether you think negatively or positively of Malleus (or feel nothing at all for him), that can really color how his words and actions are perceived. But sometimes it feels like you can’t even talk about him without walking on eggshells. People tend to feel so strongly about Malleus and you never know how they’ll react to the thoughts you express.

It should be recognized that both extremes will blindside you. The most ardent Malleus lovers will make everything about him or enable and defend him to the bitter end even when Malleus has done reprehensible things. The most passionate Malleus haters will nitpick what are just normal or innocent actions as The Worst Possible Thing Ever or claim he’s aggressive all the time. Neither truly compasses who he actually is.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I’d like to think that even though I dislike the guy, I try and give him a fair shot 😅 Some of the issues I have with him are no fault of his own and result from the narrative’s failure to capitalize on his intrigue or the nature of gacha games and the main story being limited. Other issues I’ll admit are completely my own annoyances and gripes (like how I take issue with OP characters with few setbacks, how I don’t like characters that try to force their views onto others, or how I have had bad Malleus-related fandom experiences). Then there’s just the objective truths, like how Malleus is extremely arrogant but is rarely called out for it or rarely faces consequences for his actions in-universe (or from the fandom). He’s still a complex character, just… not one I enjoy.

Looking back on it 💦 I almost can’t believe I have like… 8 or 9 posts detailing my frustrations with Malleus, and each of them expressing significantly different issues from the last. I’m glad that this blog can be a space for me to discuss my thoughts and opinions without angry fans of X or Y character coming at me ���� I unfortunately can’t say that this is always the case… But for the most part, it’s pretty peaceful here and I really appreciate that!

I’ll close this post off by shouting out the Malleus fans who don’t take it personally when someone else says they’re not a fan of their blorbo. The Malleus fans who are willing to come to the table and listen, the Malleus fans who acknowledge his imperfections and faults, the Malleus fans who accept that others can choose to dislike him for any reason, whether big or small, and don’t push for “correcting” the “wrong” opinion. I know that it sounds like such a low bar to clear, but trust me when I say I’ve witnessed and experienced much worse behaviors (from a loud minority of Malleus fans) and would not wish that upon anyone.

[musicalmoritz]

I would ask more but I forgot the numbers so uhm?? Every other number I haven’t asked but for TBHK??

Hehe ask and you shall receive😈🔥

the character everyone gets wrong

There are so many…Teru is a big one, most fans fail to see that everything he does is self-sacrificial and he is far from pure evil. No, Akane is not a sexual assaulter/harasser, and he has a personality outside of Aoi. No, Nene is not flawless nor a pick-me but she’s not intentionally awful either. Hanako is meant to be sympathetic, he’s not just a killer or a “yandere.” Aoi is more than her ships, that goes for both Aoinene and Terukaneaoi. Hakubo is NOT a groomer and yes he has emotions. Mitsuba is one of the kindest, most empathetic characters in the series. Kou is increasingly becoming more selfish and has quite a few faults. Sumire is her own character beyond all the characters people compare her to. Tsukasa has many selfless qualities and is not just an abusive murderer. Sakura is more emotional than people give them credit for. Natsuhiko is not purely silly but he’s not totally heartless either. Mei and Shijima are not the exact same, and they both have personality traits outside of yuri shipping. I could go on forever tbh

compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

*picks up sand and lets it fall between my fingers* I haven’t touched top/bottom discourse in so long…how have I lost the freak part of my brand…I’m the same person who wrote a fic for every day of Bottom Dazai Week. There aren’t many characters to pick from for this one since tbhk is set at a high school. I think I’m gonna go with Yako, I cannot see her topping because, well, look at her. That is a bratty bottom if I’ve ever seen one

screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

Already answered

what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

Already answered

worst discord server and why

I’m not in any discord servers

which ship fans are the most annoying?

Already answered

what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Already answered

common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Hmmmmm…I think I’m gonna bring up the Kou mischaracterization again, so many fans will die on the hill that he’s never done anything wrong in his life and I hate it. He canonically wants Mitsuba to depend on him to the point of being useless, and we’ve also seen him hold Mitsuba down and attempt to force-feed him. I’ll also say I don’t like the way the fandom handles the Sousuke vs. Mitsuba thing, they either view them as entirely the same or entirely separate when neither are true. They share a soul, but are different people

worst part of canon

I know I should say the twincest bait but I have a personal hatred for the scene where Hanako possesses Nene. Obviously the twincest thing is bad too but at least that has some plausible deniability yk. And they kinda stopped doing it at some point. Whereas Hanako SAing Aoi and Nene at the same time is an undeniable thing that happened on screen and was never addressed again. The fact that Kou didn’t help bcuz he found it hot also made me cringe. Idk I just wish the scene hadn’t been included, it was very odd. Felt like an excuse to throw in some lesbian fan service without committing to having lesbian characters

worst part of fanon

Already answered this

number of fandom-related words you've filtered

A total of 29 for all fandoms combined…I don’t have many squicks but the ones I do have are intense. It’s pretty much all just ships I don’t want to see. I have some ship tags that I unfiltered because I ended up liking them (TsuMitsu, Tsunene). But my current count is 29

the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

FUCKING HAKUBO I love him to death. Tsukasa too but the Hakubo hate makes me extra irritated because it’s very obviously racially motivated that fans are unwilling to see him as an actual character and instead just shove villainized traits onto him in order to justify their hate. It’s as though nobody read his arc, or more like people did in fact read it but nobody even attempted to understand it because they subconsciously didn’t want to care about a black character. While he isn’t the only character to be called abusive, it has very different undertones with him due to the stereotype about black men being violent. Yes he does act violently in certain scenes but fans overlook why he does that, and the fact that he has very strict morals with him refusing to kill children.

There are many things to like about Hakubo, he’s one of the most well-written characters in the manga. First of all, his character design is very badass; I’m not into dudes but imo he should be the designated Adult Male Character To Simp For instead of Tsuchigomori (Teacher Amane is also valid). He’s got a sense of humor that fans don’t seem to pick up on, it’s cute to me how often he teases Sumire. His entire arc is marked with tragedy, the kinda angst fans usually eat up. He spent his entire life thinking he didn’t have feelings, and he didn’t realize he did until he was forced to kill the person who made him feel the strongest. I mean c’mon!! That is top tier angst. Arguably the saddest part of the manga. And the scene where he kills Sumire’s village to avenge her???? Easily one of my favorite scenes, it was so metal. He’s also got blorbo potential because despite being a literal god of death, he is ultimately Just Some Guy. Half the time just kinda stares at people. And also the dehumanization he went through at the hands of the Minamoto clan is my prime reason for hating them (aside from the main siblings and their mom). His story is so upsetting like this man has never had an easy life. And I just want to hug him. Guys please stan Hakubo he deserves all the love in the world

worst blorboficiation

I do not know what this means- ohhhhh wait it just clicked for me. Teru. So many fans dumb down his character due to him being “silly.” And don’t get me wrong, that is absolutely a side of his personality. He is very goofy and likes to tease people and canonically has an atrocious fashion sense. But some fans reduce him to those more comedic traits and ignore his flaws and trauma, and subsequently every other side of his personality. He is sadistic and charming and highly intelligent despite not being educated on domestic tasks. He may not be able to survive in like a regular house on his own but if the gang got stranded on an island together, he would be their leader. Multiple things can be true at once yk

that one thing you see in fics all the time

So not to come for my own gang but I’m a little burnt out on one-sided Aoinene, especially when Nene is fawning over some man instead. I know it’s more accurate to canon but since when do gay shippers care about canon??? We’re supposed to be the creative ones. I still enjoy those fics because people work hard on them but unrequited love is like my least favorite trope ever. Besides, we see one-sided Aoinene all the time. At this point, the trope is overdone. Let’s start focusing more on Nene’s side of things, I want to see her get flustered over her girlfriend. I also think it’s funny that Nene gets written as straight so often considering the fact that she canonically blushed at Sakura and called her a babe. Not to mention the queer undertones of her friendships with Mei and Aoi. She is more likely to be queer than Aoi so I find it weird that so many Aoinene shippers ignore that potential side of her character. Let Nene be the simp for once

that one thing you see in fanart all the time

I can’t talk too much shit here bcuz unlike with fanfics I am contributing nothing in this area. But I personally don’t rly like it when people draw fem!Kou as super feminine. That is my butch daughter

you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

One-sided Terukane. Just like with Aoinene idc if it’s more accurate to canon, I just can’t get behind it. Akane’s dilemma over falling for someone who isn’t Aoi is such an interesting concept, even if he eventually picks Aoi I’d like to see it explored more in Terukane angst. But ultimately I prefer fanon Terukane over canon Terukane anyways. I want them to be healthily married husbands

there should be more of this type of fic/art

Horror fics and any type of dark romance. They’re only rly common in this fandom among incest pairings which I don’t especially want to read about. And even then it’s all SA which isn’t very creative in terms of horror. C’mon guys, this is tbhk, we need to make our fanfics more fucked up. But like fucked up in a good way. I’ve read a couple reallyyyyyy good fucky Aoinene fics that utilize Aoi’s temporary canon death, usually involving her haunting Nene or Nene hallucinating her, and I would love to see more of that with them. Also more Mitsukou kidnapping and/or cannibalism fics please. More toxic yuri fics please. I am so tired of having to write all of it myself😣

it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

Aoimei!! We have semi-canon sapphics in this series and nobody gaf. Tbh Sakunene too bcuz they’re super gay. Usually fandoms go crazy over gay shit so whyyyyy aren’t we talking more about the lesbians??? Shippers in this fandom will bend over backwards to explain how Terukane and HanaKou are queercoded but when it comes to Mei and Aoi going out or Nene calling Sakura a babe, it’s near radio silence. Even the yuri shippers don’t talk about yuri that much. Do better/lh

you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Tsumitsukou…I know they’re toxic as hell but I think Mitsuba deserves two insane boyfriends, I think he would love that. Wait hold on, idk why I felt the need to give a disclaimer. Forgot who I was replying to for a sec LMAO

part of canon you found tedious or boring

There’s actually not much I dislike about this manga. I used to get tired of the Misaki Stairs arc bcuz I reread/rewatched it so many times but it ended up growing on me. I don’t think there’s any arc or plot point that’s bored me

part of canon you think is overhyped

…Can I say the Yugi twins lore?? Is that allowed?? I love love love the ppl in this fandom who analyze it because they are so smart but I’m personally not as invested in it as the rest of the story. Again, I don’t necessarily find it boring, but there are other characters I want to know about more (Sakura and Natsuhiko)

your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

The way everything connects back to the Minamoto lore!! Nagisa being related to Misaki and Kunishige, then the Yugi mom going to that same shrine for help, Nene and Aoi both being kannagi, Hakubo and Sumire and Katakuri’s stories. It’s so cool to me how closely woven together the plot is

ship you've unwillingly come around to

TeruAoi. I was such a massive hater at first because they gave big “that is a gay man and a lesbian” energy but then I realized that two things can be true at once bcuz within fanon exists multiple AUs and outcomes. Yes sometimes that is a gay man and a lesbian, but sometimes that is a happy bisexual couple. Sometimes that’s a happy lesbian couple. So many options. I also love their dynamic in canon, I choose to read their little love triangle with Akane as a polyamorous relationship and no one can stop me. I also love Aoi to death and think she deserves all the love

topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

This is another one where twincest is the obvious answer but I have some additional ones as well. Any themes of sex in the manga. While it is valid to criticize the sexualization of teenaged characters, some fans take it to the extreme of denying or shunning any sexual themes at all, which happen mainly with the adult characters (aka Hakubo and Sumire). And also the discourse surrounding Mitsuba’s sexuality and the canon status of Mitsukou, which shouldn’t even exist. Mitsuba is gay, Mitsukou is canon. End it discussion

common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Already answered this

Thank you for this ask, I really enjoyed getting to give my hot takes without holding back!! If you disagree with any of these please do not be offended, these are all just my opinions. And ofc if anyone wants to see me do this with another fandom, just say the word <3

[velvetvexations]

[link removed] ^saw this post on my dash today and I’m too scared to say anything directly cause I know I’ll get dogpiled, but I had to talk about it somewhere. This certainly isn’t the most egregious example ever, and I do get what op is trying to say, but at the same time it’s completely surreal to me that both the op and a good chunk of people in the notes are just running with the idea that “dysphoric TERFs” are only the way they are *specifically* because they hate trans women, no questions asked. Like I agree that these types of people probably hate trans women, and that transmisogyny plays a role in their beliefs and decisions. I have no problem with that being pointed out, I think it’s a good thing to recognize. But isn’t it also just as likely that someone who identifies as a dysphoric cis woman but is repulsed by the idea of undergoing transition probably hates trans men too? You know, the thing she would likely identify as if she wasn’t completely consumed by transphobia? Like how severe must the brainrot be that so many people can see someone saying “I’m dysphoric about being a woman but I won’t transition because I don’t want to become a disgusting man and betray feminism” and just completely fail to recognize the deeply internalized transandrophobia? istg the treatment of TERF as synonymous with transmisogynist has done so much damage to peoples ability to recognize transphobia directed at trans men and transmascs. If someone identified as a dysphoric cis man who won’t transition because he holds negative beliefs about trans people, I think most people would very easily clock that as internalized transmisogyny. But when the same thing happens the other way around, it’s somehow also solely due to a hatred of trans women specifically, not a hatred of trans men or even just trans people in general. Like I said this particular post isn’t the worst example of this I’ve ever seen, and the only reason I’m bothering to point it out here is because this happens *all the god damn time* and no one seems to notice because it’s done so casually - especially here on tumblr. I’m just so tired of every single instance of transphobia being spun as purely transmisogyny. I’m not saying transmisogyny isn’t also present because it absolutely is in most cases, but this is how transmasculine experiences are continuously erased within our own communities. Take an instance of general transphobia, call it exclusively transmisogyny, and then if a transmasc person tries to speak up call him an entitled man who wants to silence trans women - or tell him to go make his own post and then continue to berate him for it when he does. we are neither allowed to collaborate with and relate to the experiences of transfems, nor are we allowed to make our own spaces to talk solely about our own issues. transmascs are just literally never going to be allowed to have a voice in our own community as long as this cycle continues. to any trans person or ally reading this: Please for the love of god just spare 5 seconds to consider the existence of trans men + mascs when you speak about trans and feminist issues. I promise that including us and acknowledging the bigotry directed our way by cis society is not going to take anything away from trans women + fems or derail the fight against transmisogyny. Including and considering the experiences of all trans people in your activism and theorizing is always going to be beneficial to the entire community, and quite frankly should be the baseline but the bar is on the fucking floor right now.

I reblogged it and I'm so annoyed the OP blocked me and made a separate post just lying about the way TERFs act and think. So infuriating. Fucking self-identified TMEs silencing a trans woman and dictating how transmisogyny works because they equate being a victim with being a woman. And oh, dawg, I do not bring out the word "silencing" easy because I get that everyone has a right to not engage with you, but if you make a post about transmisogyny and how much people hate trans women, and you block a trans woman who very politely disagrees with your framework and argue over her in a completely separate post, yeah, fuck you, you have no fucking interest in listening to trans women.

[pascalispunkczechia]

Love in the Dark

Summary: It’s not a love story. It’s about two DEA agents (Javier Peña & Steve Murphy) stuck in the same hellhole, crossing lines they swore they wouldn’t. Touches they never talk about. Silences that get louder. And when it all comes crashing down, it’s not sweet. It’s ugly. Bitter. Raw. Because sometimes, the person you need most is the one fucking you up the worst. And you still keep going back.

Warnings: 🔞, emotional manipulation, internalized homophobia, toxic relationship, explicit language, unresolved sexual tension, physical & emotional violence, toxic dynamic, mutual manipulation, rough scenes (non-sexual violence), gay / bi themes, messy men with messy feelings, angst (like… a lot), soft moments (that hurt more because they’re rare), no happy ending, little bit smut (?), angst-heavy, two timelines (past/present)

Note: Okay so… before you dive in, give this one a sec. This fic has basically all my firsts packed into it: I’ve never written a gay fic before. Never done dual timelines. And never written something entirely from a male POV. So yeah - it might be a little messy, it might creak here and there, but I really tried. I put my whole heart into this 🥹 Be gentle with it.

Word count: ~ 6.3k

“She left,” Steve says the second he opens the door.

“What? Connie actually left?” I ask, even though I already fucking heard him. His face is all tense, but the whole place stinks of booze. There’s like twelve empty beer bottles lined up on the table, some still half full. He’s pacing the room in just socks, hair a mess, shirt barely hanging on.

I drop onto the couch. He hands me a freshly opened bottle. I hold it, don’t drink. I didn’t come to get drunk. I came to tell him Messina’s fucking furious. She wants him out. I tried talking her down. Doesn’t matter though, Steve’s barely even here. He sinks into the armchair like it’s dragging him under.

“So we got a new boss, huh? Messina…” he slurs, leaning back heavy. “Javi, I can’t fucking leave now. We’re close. We can take that bastard Escobar down. Any day now.”

I just sit there and watch him. I’ve never seen him like this. But even now, even like this, something warm hits me low in my gut. Every time I look at him. And fuck, I hate it. I don’t wanna feel like this. But I do. He means more to me than I’m ready to admit. And I fucking need him.

Neither of us says anything for a while. His head starts to dip, bottle slips from his hand and hits the floor. He lets out this low snore and his head falls back.

I’m not waking him up. Let him sleep it off. Even if it’s in that damn chair. I get up, grab the blanket off the couch, cross over to him and lay it over him. I hesitate. Then I let my knuckles graze along his cheek. Rough stubble. Three days maybe. My thumb brushes his bottom lip. And fuck me… it hits me low. Just that small touch. Just him.

He wasn’t asleep. Not back then.

We were in the DEA office, in that shitty little kitchen corner. Just a coffee machine and a fridge. Like anyone ever fucking sits down to eat here. Steve was chewing the last bite of yesterday’s sandwich. We were talking tactics - how to tap Escobar’s guys without tipping shit off. Then a piece of salami dropped onto his jacket.

I reached out, just to brush it off. Nothing big. But right then, he bent down, probably going for a mug or some shit, I don’t know… and instead of touching his jacket, my fingers landed on his fucking face. I pulled back. He did too. But for that one second - fuck - I felt it. That punch-in-the-gut kind of jolt.

And he looked just as thrown as I was. What the fuck just happened?

“Ahh… fuck, sorry, man,” I stammered. “I just… the salami, it… fell on your jacket and we’ve got that thing with CIA and the ambassador and– yeah. Fuck. Sorry.”

“Salami?” he repeated, still totally out of it. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s nothing. We should go,” he said, and fucking bolted down the hall like the room was on fire.

I walked after him, slow as hell. My head was a goddamn mess.

Steve shifts and opens his eyes. I yank my finger away from his lips like I touched a live wire. Panic hits fast. But he’s still halfway drunk, so maybe he didn’t notice.

“Hey man, you should… you should go lie down. In bed. Sleep this shit off, yeah?” I tell him.

He doesn’t say anything, just drags himself up with the blanket still half over him. For a second, he pauses like he’s trying to figure out if he pulled it over himself or not. It’s only been a few minutes since he passed out, but drunk brains don’t work right. Maybe that’s a good thing. He tries to get past me toward the bedroom but stumbles.

I catch him before he cracks his head open on the goddamn table, dumbass. That familiar wave hits me again… the one I never fucking name. The one I only feel when I’m this close to him.

“Hey, hey, easy,” I help steady him, guiding him toward the bedroom. One hand trying to pull the sheets back, the other holding him up so he doesn’t fall like the wreck he is. Fucking gringo. Can’t even handle his beer.

After a minute, I get him down on the bed, easy. He sinks into the pillow, eyes already shut again. I pull the blanket over him and start to leave.

“Peña?” he mumbles, already halfway out again. “You don’t wanna… stay? Just… don’t wanna be in this fucking apartment alone…” And he’s gone. Out cold.

Wouldn’t even know if I walked out right now. But I don’t. I stand there for a bit longer. Just watching him. He’s breathing steady now.

“Okay,” I whisper, mostly to myself. I start toward the door, but stop. Turn back. I fucking hate this apartment. I hate how much of his life exists in these walls without me in it. Even with Connie gone, he hasn’t lost her. Not really. She didn’t leave for good. I can still feel her here. Everywhere. I don’t even wanna sit in the living room, let alone lie down in this fucking bed.

And still… I kick off my shoes and lie down on the other side. Don’t cover myself. I stay all the way on the edge, as far from him as I can. At least this way, I can keep an eye on him if anything happens. I stare up at the ceiling. Thinking about everything that’s led to this.

It’s been a few weeks since the salami incident - since my fingers accidentally landed on his fucking face. But things… changed for me after that. A lot more than I wanted them to.

I started seeing Steve differently. Deep down, I’d always kinda known (since I was a kid) that I wasn’t exactly wired one way when it came to who I was into. Yeah, women turned me on. All the shit I did with them. But the truth?

The truth is I’d been trying to bury the other part. The one that didn’t just want women. The part that wanted more. Something else.

And now? Now it’s wide the fuck awake and it’s burning me alive. Because Steve… Steve is married. That’s the first thing.

Second? He’s straight. Or he sure as hell always seemed like it and we’ve known each other for months now.

And third? This is the DEA, late ’80s heading into the ’90s. This isn’t exactly the kind of place where being bi is some open, accepted fucking identity. In other words - it didn’t stand a chance.

So yeah, almost every night I made sure I had someone. Hookers, mostly. Some regulars. Some I never saw again. I needed to fuck the feeling out of myself.

Didn’t work.Steve’s blue eyes stuck with me, even when he wasn’t around.

But the worst part? I started noticing things in him, too.

When we were out on missions and he was covering me from behind, he stood a little closer than usual. When he clapped me on the shoulder (just casual shit) his hand stayed there a second too long. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me - like, really looking - totally spaced out.

And every time I caught him, he’d snap his eyes away like he’d been struck by lightning.

When we were passing files or folders back and forth, he’d brush my fingers on purpose. I know he did. It was electric. Confusing as hell.

Why the fuck was he doing that? Or… was I just seeing shit that wasn’t there?

There’s pressure on my chest. I snap my eyes open, fuck. I must’ve fallen asleep. I look down and see Steve’s arm draped across me. He’s so fucking close. Why the hell is he this close?

When I got into this bed, he was all the way on the other side and now… He’s probably still so drunk out of his mind that in that boozy little brain of his, he thinks he’s holding Connie.

At first, I try to gently slip out from under his arm and get the fuck out of the bed. But then Steve’s hand moves. I freeze. Watching him.

His eyes are closed. Is he asleep? Not asleep? Totally gone? Or… awake?

His arm tightens around me, pulls me closer. Panic flares up in my head. His body is warm, pressed right against mine. My stomach fucking flips.

“Mhmhp,” he mumbles. “Peña… stay.”

I look over at him. His eyes are open now. Half-lidded. He’s aware. He knows this isn’t Connie. He knows it’s me.

“I should go… I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. But my head is screaming the opposite - this is exactly where I want to be.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Instead, his hand starts moving across my chest. He’s tracing slow circles near my throat, and then… he puts his hand on my face. And looks right at me.

And I know what’s coming. I fucking know. It’s the same intensity as last time.

But no. This can’t happen again. Right?!

Or maybe I just want it to. Maybe that’s the fucking problem.

The first time it happened was right after I made one of those fuckups I still beat myself up for. At the time, it felt like the right move - I wanted Escobar, no matter the cost. So I sold Steve out to the Cali fuckers. Didn’t feel great about it, but I told myself it was for the greater good.

But then… Connie. Of course she lost her shit. Can’t blame her. And even I started doubting whether what happened to Steve was part of the op I triggered or just Escobar’s people getting in the way.

Then Steve showed up. Pissed. He figured it out. We got into it in the hallway at the office - small fight, loud words. He shoved me up against the wall, demanding I admit it. My heart was fucking pounding. Not sure if it was the situation, or the fact that he was that close. Something hit between us, hard.

I bullshitted. Like always. But it ate at me all day, and that night I got drunk at the bar.

I stumbled home, buzzed but still walking straight. Barely. I knew Steve was home. Went straight to her, obviously. Connie.

I was headed to my own place, but at the last second I changed direction. Stood in front of their door for a full minute before knocking. It was 2 in the morning. Didn’t know if they were asleep. Or worse… if they were fucking. Before I could overthink it, the door creaked open and there was Steve.

“What do you want, Javi? It’s 2 am” Still, he let me in. Just past the doorway. I didn’t see Connie. She was probably asleep. We stood close, right by the door. He didn’t invite me in. Didn’t tell me to sit. Still looked pissed.

“I just… I came to…” I mumbled like a fucking idiot.

“No, Javi,” he snapped, cutting me off. His breath reeked of booze. Didn’t seem totally drunk, but he’d definitely been drinking. Eyes were glassy. “I thought we were partners. And you? You fucking hand me over so they can blackmail me?” He hissed it, low, probably so he wouldn’t wake her.

“Steve, listen–” I tried, but I could already see it in his face. That anger. The kind that takes over when he lets it.

“No, you listen, Peña,” he growled, grabbing me by the front of my jacket and slamming me into the wall. Again. Just like earlier that day at the base. “You show up here at two in the fucking morning. And you didn’t say a single word about this all day - not one fucking word. And now what? You think we crack open a beer and it’s all good?!” He glared at me. His face right fucking there, inches from mine.

We stared each other down. And then something changed in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before.

From all the tension - the anger, the fists in my jacket, the weight of him holding me against the wall… he suddenly leaned in and… kissed me.

Not rough. Not deep.

Just a kiss.

Quick.

Like he’d lose his nerve if he waited half a second longer.

I froze. Thought he’d lost his fucking mind. Thought he’d pull away, say it was nothing. Blame the alcohol. But he didn’t stop. The kiss kept going, deeper this time. Like he realized I hadn’t pushed him away. Like he’d finally let something out that’d been clawing to escape. He pressed into me harder, and that’s when I finally kissed him back. For real.

It’s happening. It really fucking is. Steve leans in. I can smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath. At first, he just looks at me. His hand’s still on my face. “Fuck,” he whispers, barely audible. “Fuck, Javi, why the hell do you make everything so fucking complicated? You just show up here and…” He doesn’t finish.

He starts kissing me. And this time it’s not hesitant like it was the first time. This time, there’s fire. Real fucking fire. I groan into his mouth, rough, and my tongue meets his without a second thought.

The worst part? We’re in a bed. Not a fucking DEA storage room. Not in a car. A fucking bed. Private. Intimate. Dangerous.

He crawls over me, drunk and clumsy, but determined. He presses me down into the mattress, holds me there with his weight. I slide my hands down his back while we kiss - messy, deep, hungry.

His coordination comes back fast. Still smells like booze, but his hands are sure now. He knows what he’s doing. He fumbles with my belt, gets it undone, and then pulls away just enough to look me in the eye. He’s searching for something… probably permission.

And fuck, he finds it. I don’t say a word, but it’s there. He sees it. And that’s all he needs.

He goes for the button of my jeans, then the zipper - fast, rough, like he’s been dying to do this. Like he’s starved. A fucking maniac. I don’t stop him.

He’s still looking at me. Staring like he’s trying to memorize everything. His hand’s on my cock. No warning. No more question.

And after that… there’s no going back. Not for either of us.

We were kissing. I don’t know how long. Not that long. Then all of a fucking sudden Steve pulled away from me like he’d touched a live wire. “Fuck…” he breathed, stumbling back a step. Then another. He ran his hand over his mouth, like he could wipe it all off. “This… this didn’t happen. I– I don’t know what the fuck that was, but no. That’s not us.” He was looking at me, but not really. Like he couldn’t even see me. “Jesus, Javi, what the fuck are you doing?”

And I just stood there. Because it was him. He kissed me. He’s the one who leaned in. He’s the one who kept brushing against me these past few weeks, giving me those looks. Like he was waiting for something. Hoping I’d do something.

Yeah, maybe it started with me - that stupid moment in the DEA kitchen room. But fuck that, something like this doesn’t start from one misplaced touch. It was already there. From day one, maybe. From the first damn handshake. Just buried. I didn’t say a fucking word. Everything inside me was screaming, but I couldn’t open my mouth.

He kept pacing around the apartment. “You’re out of your goddamn mind… we both are. What the fuck just happened?” He turned away. Then spun back like he didn’t know whether to run or punch something. “I’ve got a wife, Javi. Connie’s asleep in the next fucking room. I can’t– I can’t do this. No.” And then he looked at me. Straight through me. “Why the fuck didn’t you just leave me alone?”

And that… That was the one that hurt. Because this wasn’t a game. I wasn’t playing him. It was that feeling. That fucking feeling that came out wrong and hot and real. And clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

I couldn’t say shit. He turned away like he was done, and my head was fucking pounding. “I should go,” I muttered. I turned my back, hand already on the door.

“Wait, wait.” He grabbed me from behind, fast. I could feel his breath right up against my neck. “Wait. We can’t fuck this up, you hear me? I don’t know what the hell just happened but… Javi…” He didn’t finish. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held on. Pressed his face into my neck like he needed to anchor himself to something.

My heart was going wild. Like it was about to punch its way outta my chest. We just stood there for a second. Him clinging to me. Forehead pressed against my skin. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, voice all broken and low. “Fuck.” But he didn’t let go. He kept holding me like he couldn’t make himself stop.

“Then why are you still doing it?” I breathed. I was burning up. Everywhere.

He didn’t answer. Just pulled back a little, just barely. “I… I’ve never… Javi, I’m not–”

“I’m not putting a fucking label on you, Steve.”

There was a pause. You could’ve cut the air between us.

And then, like he couldn’t help it - like something snapped - he leaned in again and pressed a small kiss to the side of my neck.

I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to fucking stay. But I knew this wasn’t gonna end well. Not now. Not like this. So I stepped back, reached for the handle, walked to the door. I looked back once.

He was standing there, looking wrecked. Like something had come loose inside him.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. And I closed the door behind me.

It fucking happened. We did it.

We’re lying there, side by side. Steve’s out again. Passed out on my chest like nothing ever happened, looking soft as hell. Not at all like the same guy who was just fucking me like he meant it an hour ago. Doing shit to me I didn’t think he ever would.

This… this never happened before. Not like this.

I’ve never had him this close. Never smelled that half-faded cheap-ass cologne of his straight from his skin. Never had his hands on me like that. Never touched him like that either. We’d touched before, yeah. Over clothes. Through denim. Never skin. Never like this.

I’d never had his cock in my mouth before. He’d never fucked me before. Not until tonight. And fuck, I can still feel all of it.

I wrap my arm around him, pull him in tighter. Like I’m scared he’s gonna vanish if I let go. Even though I know damn well… he’s not mine. And he never fucking will be.

My eyes start to sting. I shut them. Try to fall asleep. But all I get are more goddamn memories.

Since that night - since that first fucking kiss - everything went to shit. We didn’t talk. We didn’t explain. We just… didn’t say a word.

But everything changed anyway. Every time he ignored me, it hurt more than a goddamn bullet. Every time he looked at me differently than before, I was fucked for the whole day.

Once, he pulled me into the room with the classified DEA files. Nobody went there but us. I thought he needed help finding something. Turned out he didn’t. He locked the door behind us and turned the lights off. I couldn’t see shit, but I felt everything. Every one of his touches on my face. Every kiss. His body pressed up against mine. The way he shoved me up against a filing shelf like he couldn’t get close enough. We knocked over a bunch of files. We didn’t give a shit.

Another night, we were the last two left at the base. We started yelling in our office. He threw a fucking bottle at me, barely missed. It smashed against the wall. One tiny piece of glass landed right under my eye. It stung, but not as much as what he said next. Didn’t even flinch. Didn’t give a shit.

“Peña, I can’t fucking do this anymore. You gotta stop looking at me like you’re some fucking hooker I picked up at a bar,” he spat.

I didn’t look at him. Didn’t move.

He was always the one who came to me. Always the one who started shit. Did I want it? Of course. But I never made the first move.

Sometimes he got so close to me I thought my heart would stop. Other times, I walked past him and he stepped back like I had fucking leprosy. Still, even on those days, he touched me. Subtle. But intense. Our desks faced each other.

One day he slipped off his shoe under the table and started touching me with his foot. Slid it up my calf, over my thigh, nearly reached my crotch. I pushed my chair back. Even though I didn’t want to. Didn’t need to be walking around with a fucking boner at work. That’s how much power he had over me.

Every day was different. He kept pulling me into that fucking room with the files. Nothing more than making out ever happened there. Then the next day, he’d pretend I didn’t exist.

Once, he invited me over for dinner. I showed up, barely. Spent the whole night watching him sweet-talk Connie. Things weren’t even good between them at the time (she was pissed off at everything to do with narcos) but he still kept touching her, still looked at her like she mattered. Made me fucking sick. I left before I finished my plate.

That night I went to a whorehouse. Picked some girl with blonde hair and blue eyes - rare as hell in Colombia, trust me. Fucked her hard. From behind. Wasn’t her I was seeing. Didn’t want to look at her face.

Then there was that other night. He slid closer than he needed to. We were in the car. Didn’t say shit. Just lit a cigarette, handed me one, and then fucking held it to my lips himself. Didn’t look at me. But his hand stayed on my thigh. He started rubbing it. Slow. Like he had time. And then… fuck. He grabbed me. Right there. Over my pants.

Full palm. Squeezed.

I think he got scared of what might come next. Didn’t go any further.

And then it was back to that silence. Cold. Distant. Like I didn’t fucking exist. He’d walk by me like I wasn’t even there. Like I was some problem he needed to avoid or he’d fall apart.

That’s always how it went - whenever something new happened. Whenever we crossed a new fucked-up line.

The kissing? That was ‘normal’ now. Touching too.

But his hand on my dick, even through fabric? That was new. And so I paid for it. Two days of being nothing. Of pretending like nothing happened. Of him pretending like I didn’t fucking happen.

And I was losing it. I never knew what version of him I’d get. The one who touched me like I was the only thing keeping him breathing? Or the one who looked at me like I was a fucking mistake?

And all I wanted… was something real. Not scraps. Not moments. Not silence and shame and these fucked-up highs followed by even worse crashes.

But I was already hooked. Already too far gone.

And he knew it. He fucking knew it. And still… he’d take, and then run. And I kept letting him.

It’d been three fucking days since he grabbed my cock through my jeans in that goddamn car. He hadn’t said a word to me since. Two full days of silence. I tried talking to him, tried keeping it about work, but he didn’t react to anything that wasn’t job-related.

This morning I told myself I was done. Fuck it. Let him be. Did it hurt like hell? Yeah. But what the fuck was I supposed to do.

And then Steve shows up acting like a whole new fucking person. I felt it the moment I walked into our office. That shift. He said hi. Looked at me like… like I mattered again. I felt his eyes on me the whole goddamn morning. But I wasn’t gonna let him treat me like some whore he could use when it suits him. I wasn’t gonna make it easy this time.

The day dragged into evening. Everyone else was heading out. Steve was off somewhere - God knows where - and I figured I’d go grab some coffee. Still had shit to finish. I was almost at the door when he showed up out of nowhere. Stepped right in my way.

“Hey man, I need caffeine,” I muttered, trying to push past him.

His hand caught my shoulder. Tight. “Why the fuck are you ignoring me all day, Javi? What the hell’s that about?”

“Role reversal?” I snapped. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” I crossed my arms, didn’t move an inch. Stared him down.

He didn’t look away either. Just clenched his jaw. Then stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. “You fucked with my head,” he said quietly. Not angry. Just tired. “And then you shut me out. What did you think that would do?”

“The same shit it did to me every single time you did it,” I bit back.

His hand came up, slow as fuck, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Ran it across my chest, down to my stomach. Fingers curled into my shirt. Then lower. So fucking slow.

“Steve…” I warned, but it came out weak as shit.

“You know what I missed?” he whispered. His eyes locked on mine.

I didn’t look away.

“This,” he breathed. And placed his hand right between my legs. Over my jeans. Just like three days ago.

“Fuck,” slipped out of me.

He started rubbing me through the denim. Slow. His thumb slid over the zipper while he stared at me like I was something he wanted but knew he shouldn’t have. Didn’t stop him though. Other hand gripped my ass and pulled me in harder. Then tighter. I wasn’t thinking anymore. Wasn’t trying to make sense of it. First time I fucking lunged at him. Kissed him like I was starving. Shoved my tongue in his mouth… wasn’t new to him.

He gave it right back. And all the while, his hand stayed on my dick, kept pressing like he wasn’t letting go until I broke.

I let my hand drop. Just for a second, I hesitated. Then I did it. Pressed back, cupped him through his jeans. Steve let out this low grunt. I could feel how fucking hard he was.

That’s how it went the next few days. Steve stopped holding back. Like something in him flipped. And me? I started hoping. Stupid fucking me. Because I’m a goddamn naive piece of shit.

Everything went to shit today. And I didn’t even know yet just how fucking bad it was gonna get.

I was heading out, just trying to make it to embassy on time. Walked past Steve and Connie’s place and yeah, I fucking heard it. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I’m not that kind of asshole, but they were loud. Connie was losing it. Begging him to go back to Miami. Said this case turned him into someone else, said she didn’t feel safe here anymore. I didn’t catch what he said back, my radio went off and reminded me I was already late. Some new boss from New York, Messina or whatever, was flying in today.

And Steve? He should’ve been on his way too, but I wasn’t gonna stick around and play marriage counselor. I got in the fucking car and took off. Embassy was waiting.

And now… couple hours later… here I am. In Steve’s fucking bed.

Embassy meeting was a mess.

First: it got pushed back. Afternoon instead of morning.

Second: Steve never fucking showed. Turns out Connie really left. Got on the damn plane. And that idiot? Got drunk at the airport and made a goddamn scene. I had to talk Messina down. Had to beg her not to drop his ass on day one.

Then I came here. To this fucking booze-stinking cave he’s been rotting in.

And now he’s lying on my chest. Like he didn’t spend the last couple weeks fucking with my head. Like he didn’t ice me out, drag me in, push me away, pull me back in again, over and over like some fucked-up game.

And the worst part? I’m the one holding him. I’m the one who pulled him in. Even after all of it. After he used me like some goddamn experiment to figure out if his straight-boy dick gets hard when he grabs another guy. And instead of walking the fuck away like I should’ve… I slept with him.

I still call him straight in my head. ’Cause he can’t fucking stand labels. Like I ever tried to pin him down. Like I ever said anything. But it eats him alive. He can’t face it. Can’t face himself.

Only time we talk about it is when he’s pissed, if he’s not ignoring me. That’s when he spits out shit, screams, throws slurs, acts like he hates me. But then he always pulls me in again. That same night. Or the next day. And I’m fucked all over again.

I know he needs me. Not the way I need him - not even close. But he needs me. Somehow. Problem is… how long the fuck can I keep doing this?

I don’t even get a fucking second to think. Steve wakes up. Takes him like five seconds before he pulls the fuck away from me. Props himself up on his elbow, just staring at me. And fuck… he looks kinda sober. That part of him that always comes back too soon. And when it does? Shit always gets worse.

“What the fuck… what the fuck did we do?!” he chokes out, like I just told him I killed his dog. Like I’m supposed to say nah, don’t worry, man, we didn’t fuck. You didn’t suck me off. I didn’t let you inside me.

“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” I mutter, dead tired.

He sits up real fast, rubs his face like he’s trying to wipe last hours off his skin, grabs the bridge of his nose. Then it fucking hits him - he’s naked. “Fuck… fuck, this was a mistake. This was a fucking mistake,” he says, all dramatic, hands in his hair, pacing. Gets out of bed. I can see his ass. Whatever.

Grabs his boxers from the floor - ones he yanked off two hours ago like he couldn’t wait to get inside me. Pulls them on. Turns around like I disgust him. “This… this isn’t right. You were supposed to be my partner. That’s it. None of this is fucking right.”

That’s it. I snap. I get up too. I’m still naked, and I don’t fucking care. He looks. Of course he fucking looks. “Oh yeah, Steve? First thing you look at is my dick? That why you’ve been grabbing it for weeks? In the office, in the car, whenever the fuck you felt like it? Why you asked me to stay? Why you fucking cuddled up to me in this fucked up bed?” I’m yelling now. Didn’t wanna. But fuck, my chest’s been full of this for too long.

“Put some fucking clothes on,” he mutters.

“Why? That hard to look at the same cock you were choking on earlier? Jerking like it was all you fucking wanted?” I pause. My voice breaks. “You used me. Every time Connie was pissed. Every time you got bored. Every time you wanted to play ‘let’s see if my dick works with my partner.’ You used me, man. Every fucking time it was convenient.” I crouch down, grab my boxers, pull them on. I can feel his fucking eyes on me. “You know what? You still can’t stop staring, Steve. So just fucking admit–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JAVI!” he roars, storms around the bed and slams me into the wall so hard it knocks the breath outta me. He pins me there, chest to chest, and I’ve got nowhere to fucking move. “What do you think this is? You think I’m some faggot or what?!”

“Jesus, Steve… you really think there’s only one or the other? You really believe there’s no in-between?”

“I’m warning you…” He’s shaking with rage.

I swallow whatever the fuck I was gonna say. My voice comes out flat. “Fine. Fine… no fucking labels then. Let’s drop that. But just tell me one thing: was I really just some sick fucking experiment for you?”

He pulls back like I just slapped him. Like I fucking disgust him. That one hurts. Fuck, that one stings like hell. “I love my wife,” he snaps. “And all I know is - you fucked everything up, Javi. You. Connie probably picked up on something, how I was acting… this is on you.”

“Me?” I stare at him like he just stabbed me. “You were the one who came to me, Steve. You were the one grabbing my dick in the car. In the office. Kissing me. Touching me. You fucked me 2 hours ago, not the other way around. And Connie didn’t leave because she caught you shoving your tongue down my throat… she left because Escobar’s swallowing you whole and she wants to feel fucking safe–”

He slaps me. Full fucking force.

My head rings. My cheek’s burning. I don’t say a word. I just hold my face, breathing hard.

“Shut the fuck up, Javi. Don’t bring Connie into this. Don’t pin your shit on anyone else. Just shut the fuck up.”

I nod a little. That’s it. I’m done.

He’s never hit me before. Not like this. Not with that kind of fury behind it.

“Okay,” I mutter, bending down for my pants and shirt. I pull them on in silence, mind spinning out of control. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

He’s pacing now like he’s working up another speech, and then it hits. “You in love with me or something?! That it?!”

I turn back toward him, dead in the eyes. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t wanna feel anymore. “Take care, Murphy. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I mumble, and I grab the doorknob.

But of course - of fucking course - he jumps forward and slams the door shut. Grabs me by the collar and yanks me back, shoving me against the wall again. “Peña… answer me, motherfucker,” he snarls in my face.

“I’m not in love with you, Steve.” My voice is so goddamn tired. I don’t even fucking know what I feel for him, to be honest. Those long-ass weeks full of chaos didn’t leave me much time to fucking think. “Did I care about you? Yeah. Just maybe not the way you think.”

He doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t want to. His face gets even closer. His breath’s all over me. “I would never leave Connie. Never leave my life for this shit. You’re a fucking idiot if you thought that. Yeah… maybe I like your dick. So what? Doesn’t mean I’m not still who I’ve always been.” He talked the whole time with me staring at the floor.

Now I look up. And there it is. That crack in the rage. That part of him that starts needing me again.

Well not me… my body. My mouth. Whatever the fuck I’ve let him use.

But I can’t do this again. Not now. “Murphy, let me go. I need to get the fuck out.”

He lets go. Just like that. Collar slips from his hand.

I turn my back, hand on the doorknob again. This time he doesn’t stop me. I look back one last time. “I never wanted to label you. I never cared what the fuck you were. I just wanted you to stop lying to yourself.” Then I leave.

I don’t know how long I walked. Or where I even went. Just that I finally got out. I’m breathing, but it’s not hitting my lungs right. My cheek’s still burning from where he slapped me.

Fucking Bogotá.

Fucking Steve Murphy.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe when you give someone everything, they eventually stop hurting you.

Wrong. Fucking wrong.

I knew what I was getting into. I knew what he was like. I knew what he hated about himself. And I still let him pull me under… for those few seconds when he looked me in the eye and I could swear he knew. Knew what he was doing. Knew he was holding me too close. Knew he wanted to.

But it’s over now, I guess.

Not the kind of ending where you slam a door and move on. No… this is the other kind. The one where every word he said stays stuck in your fucking skull. Where the worst part isn’t what he didn’t say, it’s what he did.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. Don’t know if I’ll let him drag me down again.

And if I do - how many insults, how many slaps, how much fucking shame can I take?

And if I don’t, if I finally mean it this time, if he finally gets it and stops trying… I don’t even know if we can fix this professionally. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him and not want to fucking scream.

But tomorrow I’ll have to. Tomorrow we’re DEA agents again.

Just two normal guys on the job.

Only we’re not. Not fucking even close.

💔 THANK YOU FOR READING 💔

This wasn’t easy to write.

Javi & Steve are like my little DEA babies and watching them break each other (okay let’s be honest, it was mostly Steve breaking Javi) hurt more than I expected 🥺

And the worst part? I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve made it softer. I could’ve given them hope.

But maybe I just needed to write this kind of story. Raw. Heavy. Sad.

I don’t know how it’ll land for everyone, but for me… it hit hard.

• this is a standalone one-shot, there won’t be a continuation. But I’d love to have you around for my other fics, and the ones still waiting to be written 💜

FOR OTHER/MORE FICS -> MASTERLIST

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

PAIRING: dean winchester x f!reader

TAGS: supernatural 6x6 plot with canon divergence, jealousy, angst, ‘unrequited’ feelings, hurt/no comfort

A/N: was going through the show again and remembered this episode’s existence so ofc i had to put my own twist to it and make it even angstier :D lmk if you want a part two (might do it anyways) but yeah, not-so-happy happy reading <3

WORD COUNT: 807

masterlist || request box <3

It had been a year since you’d seen Dean face-to-face last — since he had left to be with Lisa and Ben after Sam sacrificed himself to save the world, leaving you alone. It hurt to see him do all the things he’d told you about — things he told you while you laid atop Baby’s hood and looked up at the stars in Bobby’s junkyard when neither of you could sleep after a hunt. Conversations about any and everything where the walls that Hell built crumbled brick by brick. It had always been you in the picture you’d painted in your mind that he’d do it all with. Until it wasn’t.

Even a year later, you couldn’t really blame him. He’d told you that the door was always open for you to visit, and you almost took him up on it, but then you saw him with them. He looked so happy. Who were you to fuck that up?

Don’t think I can make it over after all. Enjoy your night. Tell Lisa and Ben I’m sorry.

Now Sam was back, and Dean was hunting again. It should have been easy to keep it all buried—as if you hadn’t spent the last year doing just that but, of course, the thing you had to be hunting was the Goddess of Truth. You thought you could hide it, but the jealousy that boiled underneath your skin had grown too hot, and she saw it. “All three of you are the worst liars I’ve ever seen, but you,” Veritas scoffed as she turned to look at you. “The brothers have nothing on you.”

Your jaw tightened as she crouched in front of you, Dean snarling from behind her. “Leave her alone.”

“Oh, trust me. You’re gonna wanna hear what she has to say, Dean,” she crows over shoulder. “It’s all about you, ain’t that right, Y/N?” As she spoke, she dragged a finger down your cheek and across your lips. “I just know your tongue tastes exquisite. Let’s get it out in the open, shall we?”

Of all the scenarios you’d imagined where you’d bare your feelings to the man across from you — the man who you’d fallen in love with and had been in love with since you met him — this wasn’t one of them. It was worse than anything your brain could have possibly ever imagined. “He’s your best friend, but… how do you really feel about Dean?”

Your mouth moved before you could stop yourself. “I’m in love with him.”

As the words slipped past your lips, Veritas let out a breathy laugh. “How long have you been in love with him?”

“Blackwater Ridge.” You didn’t dare look at Dean as you spoke, but you caught him flinching at your mention of the forest in your periphery. It was where you had met the brothers first. You still remember the way your heart skipped at the way he looked at you even while beaten and scratched to shit, his green eyes were alight with admiration and it made your heart melt.  

“The whole time…” Veritas crooned, a sick smile on her face at the chaos she was causing. “And now he’s got a cute little family, doesn’t he? How does that make you feel?”

No. Anything but that. You tried to hold yourself back, but it was useless — like trying to stop yourself from vomiting even though it was rising from your stomach. “It hurts,” you gasp, biting your tongue as you try to stop yourself from crying. He shouldn’t be finding out this way — he shouldn’t be finding out period.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that, Y/N. Spit it out.”

“Stop it,” Dean hissed, but it was too late. She had asked, and you had to answer.

“It hurts, and I don’t know what I could have done wrong for him to leave after Sam died. He’s my best friend, and he just left and ran to her. He chose her, and I’ve spent the last year asking myself what could she possibly have that I don’t?”

“Why not tell him?”

“Normal was everything he’s ever wanted. He looked so happy with them. I’m fucked up. Lisa’s not. I wasn’t gonna beg when he’d already made his choice.” Veritas hummed in satisfaction before standing up and dusting off her skirt. The weight that pressed on your skull subsided as her gaze pulled away from yours, and the chill of the room at your coerced confessions crawled across your skin. You couldn’t bear to look at Dean knowing that whatever you were met with would break you — that it’d confirm your worst fears. He wasn’t supposed to know. He was with Lisa now, and he was happy. Your words would mean nothing because he chose her. It was always gonna be her. 

[sabsclusive]

SOLD OUT ON SUNDAYS ─── ❛❛ 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 : 𝟏𝑲 ❞ . WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT/SMUT, STRONG LANGUAGE, EMOTIONAL TENSION/ANGST, UNRESOLVED ANGST,

“Then why’d you say it like that? Why’d you look me dead in the eye and throw it in my face?” Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

He laughs bitterly, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’s not even about the dude. It’s the fact that you thought it was cool to embarrass me like that. Like I’m just some background character in the little rom-com you got running in your head.”

You flinch. That one lands.

“You don’t even get it,” he says, quieter now. “I’ve spent weeks… watching you walk in here all confident, headphones in, iced coffee like a shield. I notice everything. I remember every damn outfit. And you—you just treat me like I’m this… whatever.”

“Matt—”

“No,” he snaps, cutting you off again. “It was gross. The whole thing was gross. I don’t like seeing that side of you.”

The silence after that is different. Not tense—just hollow.

You feel the weight of his disgust hit you all at once. Not hate. Not rejection. Just… disappointment that stings harder than either.

And the worst part?

You get it.

You get exactly why he’s mad. Because you did it for attention. Because you wanted a reaction. Because you didn’t think it through.

He turns away, grabbing his hoodie off the chair. “Lock up when you’re done.”

Then he walks out.

And you don’t stop him.

The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of it echoing in the stillness of your apartment. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Neither of you moves.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Matt stands there, his back to you, his shoulders rigid. The flickering light from the kitchen casts shadows over his face, making him look more distant than he’s ever seemed before. You’re not sure what to say—how to bridge the gap that’s formed between you. The words that hung heavy in your chest earlier now feel too insignificant to voice.

The argument still burns in your mind. His anger had been like a cold slap, each word from his mouth hitting harder than the last. He’d walked out, leaving you standing in the silence, grappling with the weight of what had just happened. And now here he was, back at your door, still pissed. But you can feel something else beneath the anger. Something deeper.

“I’m not—” You start, your voice hesitant, but Matt doesn’t turn around.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he mutters, his voice raw, coated with frustration. “I’m not looking for excuses.”

You swallow hard. “Matt, I didn’t mean it like that. I swear. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

The words seem to hang between you, suspended in the thick air. He still doesn’t turn to face you. Instead, his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling it off slowly—deliberately—before he tosses it aside. You catch a glimpse of the muscles in his back, the way his skin stretches over them as he moves.

It hits you in the chest—this vulnerability, this rawness. He’s giving you something, showing you something, without a word. And you can feel it, the intensity building between you, even if you don’t fully understand what it means yet.

“You think you can just do whatever, say whatever, and then it’s fine?” His words come out in a low growl, and you can see his muscles tense, his jaw set. The frustration is still there, but there’s something else now. Something much more dangerous, something you both can’t ignore anymore.

“Matt—”

“Shut up.” He turns quickly, and the look on his face stops you in your tracks. His eyes are dark, full of something you can’t quite place—desire, anger, need. And in that moment, it’s almost as if he doesn’t care about the lines you’ve both drawn anymore.

Before you can respond, he’s stepping toward you, closing the distance, and your breath catches in your throat. The air between you both crackles with the tension you’ve been avoiding for so long. The tension that’s been building for weeks, even if neither of you admitted it.

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t wait for permission. His hands reach for you, grabbing hold of your arms and pulling you toward him. His lips crash against yours, hungry and demanding. There’s no softness to this kiss, no gentleness—only the press of his mouth, the heat of his breath, the desperate need to connect.

You don’t pull away.

His hands slip down to your waist, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. You shiver at the contact, the heat of his touch searing you through the fabric. He pushes you back until your legs hit the edge of the couch, and without hesitation, you fall into it.

Matt follows you, climbing on top of you, his body pressing you deeper into the cushions. The weight of him is grounding, his chest against yours, his lips still trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes your pulse race.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, his voice rough as he pauses, looking down at you, searching your face for something—an answer, maybe. “You really think this is just gonna fix everything?”

You reach for him, your hands sliding to his jaw, pulling him back down to you. The intensity in your kiss tells him everything he needs to know. No, it won’t fix everything. But it’s the only way you know how to express what you’re both feeling—raw, unspoken, unresolved.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body, his touch both urgent and insistent. He’s not holding back. Neither are you. The world outside doesn’t exist anymore. There’s no room for guilt or regret. There’s only the two of you, locked in this moment, needing to let go of everything else.

You tug at his pants, your fingers fumbling to get them off. He groans low in his throat, a sound that sends a jolt of heat through you. You want him closer. Want to feel him in a way that makes everything else disappear. He helps you, pushing his pants down before he’s back on top of you, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that’s more intense, more desperate.

When he breaks the kiss, he looks down at you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re sure about this?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

You nod, your breath shallow as you try to keep it together. “I’m sure.”

The moment feels like a decision, a moment of choice you both make without thinking, without hesitation. It’s messy. It’s angry. It’s everything you don’t know how to express in words but can only show in the heat of this shared need.

And it’s the most real thing you’ve felt in a long time.

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- kingsofeverything -

[1]

“It wouldn’t annoy me. I like talking to you. Hearing from you. You know that.”

Louis does know, though he tries not to think about it. Every time Harry says something like that, something kind or sweet or sincere, Louis laughs it off or makes a joke or changes the subject. It’s bad enough that he has to live with Harry, sleep beside him every night, spend all of his time with him… He has to fight it because he can’t let on how easy it would be to fall back in love with him.

It’d end badly. There’s no way around it. Because when Louis leaves in nine months, he’ll be gone for the next five years of Harry’s life. Five years that Harry hasn’t lived yet—Harry’s future—and neither of them know what’s coming. Louis can’t fall for Harry again when he knows it’ll end in heartbreak.

Once was enough.

[2]

“So, um…” Louis taps his fingers against his knee, and Harry wants to lay his hand on top of Louis’ to stop him, but he refrains, unsure what casual touches mean between them anymore. “We’re having a baby?”

Harry turns to find Louis looking at him hopefully, eyes wide. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. “It’s not a fantasy, Louis. Jesus. This isn’t a game.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry says. He clenches his jaw and then forces himself to relax. Stress isn’t good for the baby.

“Harry, I’m not— I know this is different.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, because it doesn’t even seem real to him right now.

“Yes! I told you about all my siblings. My mom’s a midwife, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry cringes. “Sorry.”

[3]

“You think you’re going to fix the house by yourself? What if you fall off the roof?”

“I’m not going to fall off the roof.”

“Still. You can’t. I’m not okay with that.”

Harry rolls his eyes and closes his laptop. “Fine. Then after the insurance agent is done with their shit, we get someone else to do the work. I know people in town who can do it. I was just trying to save us money.”

“You misunderstand, Styles. I mean I’m not okay with you doing it by yourself.” Louis crosses his arms and smirks. “I’m going to help.”

Harry laughs so hard that when Louis shoves him he actually slips off of his stool and stumbles a bit. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. You’re going to push me off the roof, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

[4]

Harry glances over, line between his eyebrows, lips pursed. “Okay. Let's start simple. I want you to be the Louis who sits at the desk across from me and sometimes brings me coffee and makes fun of my favorite salad. And I want you to also be the Louis on this trip who tickled me until I almost threw up and who held my hand in a hot air balloon and who cleaned the sand out of my eyes. And, even though you have, like, some other guy out there with like ‘circumstances’ or whatever keeping you apart, I want you to be my boyfriend. At least for a little while.”

“Harold,” Louis says, pressing his fist to his lips and closing his eyes as the feeling of relief settles over him.

“What?”

“The circumstances are that he, well, he had a boyfriend. And we work together,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows, and waiting for his words to sink in. 

“Oh…” Harry scrunches his nose and twists his lips, but can’t hide his smile. “It’s me.”

- answers below -

1- The Second Hand Unwinds 

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

2- Say Something

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating. When his doctor suggests a heat and rut matching service, he signs up out of necessity. It’s the only use he has for an Alpha in his life.

Twenty-eight-year-old Alpha Louis Tomlinson aims to change that.

3- Don't Want Shelter

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

4- Have Love, Will Travel 

Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

[gffa]

I made the mistake, after episode 7 of the acolyte, to look through the tags (I’ve given up on Reddit for sw discourse lol) and there are so many bad takes out there. It’s like people watched a different episode. I’m glad there are some good meta takes from people like you, or I’d be lost! I think nuance is dead in fandom and people just can’t see things as more than “Jedi Bad!” When there’s so much more nuance than that. Were the Jedi perfect? No! Of course not. That would be so boring. If all Jedi were always perfect, SW would be dull. It’s because they aren’t perfect that they are so compelling. That they try to do the right thing, even if it doesn’t always work out.

A quote that came to mind by Teddy Roosevelt: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Anyways, thanks for your continued good meta and cultivating a nice pro-Jedi space!

Hi! I hear you, it can be tough going into the tags sometimes (and I've given up on both Reddit and Twitter for any kind of discussion, I just do not have the time/energy for that when sometimes I still have to fight for my life on Tumblr) but I will say that the best remedy I have for that is to start posting the content you want to see! It's so satisfying to write down your thoughts just to have fun in your own space, I don't need other people nearly so much because I'm having a great time just making myself laugh or cry over my faves or nerding out over worldbuilding. It's a bonus that I've collected a bunch of really great people around me, both ones I vibe with and ones who are chill when our vibes don't match and we disagree on stuff. I've been having an absolute joy of a time after episode 7 of The Acolyte because I've seen some great posts, I've had some hilarious conversations, etc. And part of that is just. Letting go of a lot of fandom. I'm a lot more relaxed about the Star Wars media I consume because it's not Lucas' Star Wars, I can take or leave it as I will and, most importantly, I don't need the Jedi to be perfect to be good. So much of my need for the Jedi to be perfect once upon a time came from that any little mistake they made, ones that were completely reasonable, ones that were simply just "didn't solve everyone's problems instantly", ones that were present in other characters who were allowed to just be instead of being raked over the coals for it, and how fandom would use those as a bludgeon against the Jedi. And that wasn't fun! So, instead, yeah, the Jedi are flawed, because any character ever is allowed to be flawed. The most cinnamon roll character ever is flawed and that's okay. Luke Skywalker is flawed. Padme Amidala is flawed. Bail Organa is flawed. Yoda is flawed. Obi-Wan Kenobi is flawed. Mace Windu is flawed. Ahsoka Tano is flawed. Leia Organa is flawed. Han Solo is flawed. Lando Calrissian is flawed. Ezra Bridger is flawed. Kanan Jarrus is flawed. Hera Syndulla is flawed. And on and on and on. If those characters can have flaws and be seen as good, well, then that's how I'm going to proceed with my Jedi faves, too. Oh, Mace wasn't bending over backwards to smile and be soft when he was having the worst day ever? That's what you're bringing me to show that he was bad actually? Babe, please, Luke started out as whiny and annoying and he's amazing, so Mace is amazing, too. The Jedi were in a no-win situation, not fighting would mean people would die, fighting meant compromising themselves, they had to make a choice, there was no third way out, there was no secret magical answer in Star Wars, so they did what they could to the best of their ability. And it's not on them to fix everything in the galaxy, they're peace-keepers who were drafted into a war, they're not the whole of the government, they're not there to be social service agents, that's not who they are or what they're equipped for. And yet they still tried to help whenever they could. Everyone fucks up sometimes and that's okay, it doesn't suddenly mean they're the real villain all along, because otherwise they would have to be literally be perfect to be "good" and that's just bad writing imo. Ultimately, just take a break from scrolling through the tags if you can and join me in writing your own stuff, it's hard at first to get the words to come out the way you want them to, but with some time and energy put into it, I've found it to be so much more rewarding. <3

[irmakkockan]

SECRET RELATIONSHIPS EP 7: UNTIL WE ALL DIE NATURALLY OR I KILL YOU

First things first: I HAVE TO believe Jaemin was the one who kidnapped Daon. I refuse to entertain any other possibility. And honestly, WHAT IS EVEN GOING ON? An ACTUAL kidnapping with chloroform, tying him to a chair, the whole dramatic ordeal? It’s just a bit too much. Not in a “ooh, I’m traumatized” way, but in a “this is a tad un-fucking-realistic, don’t you think?” kinda way. But FINE. It’s GOTTA BE Jaemin. We’ve seen the worst of Suhyeon (ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, EPISODE?) but there is NO WAY Jaemin would just give up on Daon that easily. The show HAS TO prove that Jaemin is THE WORST OF THEM. Of course he is. Of course. OF COURSE. Oh, GOD. THIS SHOW IS KILLING ME.

Ah, Suhyeon. Suhyeon. Suhyeon. I don’t even know what to say anymore. And I’m sorry, but - is this delusion? Because WHEN WERE YOU EVER IN CONTROL?

Sure, maybe when he was abroad, he kept tabs on Daon. And yes, I get that he now sees Daon slipping away, that Seonghyeon is the worst (read: best for us) possible suitor to enter Daon’s life. BUT YOU WERE NEVER THE ONE IN CONTROL. That’s always been Jaemin, you stupid asshole. And how do you go from “I’ll protect Daon from now on” to “Let’s work together”??? I’ve always been able to understand Suhyeon’s motives, his lashing out, his self-destruction, but now? I can’t rationalize ANYTHING. I’m DONE WITH YOU😭🥲

Just look at the state of you. UGH. You’re just irredeemable.

And listen, I do love Seonghyeon, but he is A LOT at the absolute worst times. Dude, you can see that Daon is pretty fucked up, that he’s struggling, that he is CLEARLY NOT HAVING THE HAPPIEST TIME OF HIS LIFE. Either back off or be there for him. You’re giving me whiplash. One minute, it’s “I’ll wait for you” and the next, “I regret it.” I’m not saying he’s responsible for Daon’s inability to think for himself, but he’s definitely pushing his own feelings onto Daon, too. It’s frustrating.

But, of course, he’s clocked that Daon is always running away. I mean, Daon could have just explained what happened - but the moment Seonghyeon got angry, he backed off. Yes, he wants to follow his heart, but honestly? He lacks the courage.

Seonghyeon has swallowed his pride countless times. He’s put himself out there over and over again. And Daon shows up once just to stay silent? That’s on Daon, and no one else.

BUT. BUT.

Finally, FINALLY, we see Daon actively thinking about Seonghyeon, not just using him as a safety net. The way their relationship progresses - the constant interactions at work, the push-and-pull, the fact that neither of them are fully committed but can’t seem to let go? Now, I can actually believe in their connection. Now, Daon isn’t just falling into Seonghyeon’s arms because it’s convenient. He’s choosing him. And that makes me root for these two stupid, beautiful boys.

And then. The final scene.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

They’re treating Daon like some kind of emotionally battered stray they picked up, like they adopted Daon but they also want to have sex with him? And it’s so messed up. Daon being a silent observer in his own life ANGERS me. Him sitting there, playing house with Jaemin and Suhyeon like everything isn’t absolutely fucked? I’m furious. This scene encapsulates everything this show is about.

Because let’s be clear: NO ONE is innocent here.

Jaemin is a psychopath.

Suhyeon is drowning in his own insecurities and has now lost the plot.

And Daon? He lacks pride. He lacks courage. And most of all? He lacks some fucking COMMON SENSE because WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN THAT COTTAGE? I am this close to victim-blaming you. Seriously.

And who wrote “Please let us be together UNTIL THE DAY WE DIE”? Because, HOLY FUCK!! I’m assuming it’s Jaemin - hence the kidnapper. Poor Suhyeon and Daon is all smiles and still somewhat pure and Jaemin is there, like, “UNTIL WE DIE NATURALLY OR I KILL YOU”. Lol.

There was also an issue of someone getting stabbed, no? From the previews? I thought it was happening in this episode? AHHHHHH what is Suhyeon’s plan? Did he help Jaemin kidnap Daon? IS HE GOING TO STAB Seonghyeon??

THIS SHOW IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME, AND I DON’T WANT IT TO END TOMORROW.

Thank you for all the mess, show. I love you.

[thenarwhalgal]

Watched ride the cyclone for the first time recently. Wanted to touch on something I found interesting— namely! Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg! Resident gifted kid of Uranium!

She’s a difficult character to like, right? With how she treats everybody else around her and especially Constance, it’s really difficult to defend most of her actions throughout the musical. Luckily, that’s not what I’m doing. Instead, I want to give my thoughts on her, which I don’t think is a particularly new perspective but shut up I wanna talk about it okay?

Okay. So… here’s the thing I find really interesting about her. Ocean has no sense of self. Correction, she does have one main thing that she does know about herself, she is ‘the most successful girl in town.’ Where everybody else (besides Jane and we’ll get to how Jane and Ocean mirror each other in a second), gets a marker of how they act, Constance is the nicest, Ricky is the most imaginative, Mischa the angriest, Noel the most romantic. She’s the most successful. It’s not a facet of her personality, it’s a result. It’s an expectation. It’s external. It’s not a part of her it’s how everybody sees her. The very thing everybody else gets to break out of but she’s stuck in because she only has what everybody else sees her as.

She doesn’t have an internal self. Which is why where everybody else (again: except Jane) gets a song exploring their personal feelings, dreams, and realities… Ocean gets a song not about herself, but about her comparison to everybody else. She is the one who wants to win the competition the most, the one who needs to live again, but she can’t explain why because she doesn’t actually know. All she knows is that she’s the most successful. (Side note: The most successful would win the competition so if she loses… well there goes everything she likes about herself. This is why winning it is not just something she wants… it’s something she needs. She again, has nothing else. This will come back later in her parallels with Jane)

It’s common for kids who grew up in abusive households (as we know she did) to not properly develop a sense of self, and often they can look for that internal validation in external expectations or successes. What is Ocean if she isn’t the most successful person in town?

Basically, give her a few more years alive and when she realizes the same thing every traumatized gifted kid eventually realizes— that you will reach a point at which you begin to fail and your need to be perfect will reach a breaking point because nobody can keep up that level of perfection forever— she will inevitably fall apart and experience the worst case of burnout ever in the history of Uranium.

It’s also interesting to see how and why Ocean chooses Jane. She comments at the end that Karnak knew she could never choose herself. I’ve seen a lot of people assume if given the choice at the beginning she would have voted for herself but I don’t buy that. Ocean knows she could never have voted for herself and she says that straight, her original plan was to get Karnak (the almighty being/weird novelty machine) to pick her, then to get everybody else to vote for her. Both of these outcomes leave the choice in everybody else, because if it was her choice she couldn’t have done it. Because again, her own internal self does not exist, it is based on external success. So it only works if everybody else says she’s the best pick. Success and validation do not exist within her. This is why she’s so flabbergasted by how Ricky could concede. She assumes everybody else has nothing else besides winning either. When in fact the whole point of the musical is that they all do have dreams and wants and desires and internal worlds… except her… and Jane.

Jane Doe is… without a better term and also ignoring everything in this musical other than Ocean’s perspective… her worst nightmare. Being forgotten, not amounting to anything. Having neither an internal self or an external effect. If we consider Ocean to be the protagonist of RTC, Jane plays her direct foil. They are both empty inside, Ocean just has the illusion of personhood and ‘success’ to hide that fact behind… a name. It’s actually kind of interesting how throughout the play, Ocean discovers how much her own life she’s missed or disregarded, while Jane is the one to get a name (Savannah with the greenest eyes). One discovering their internal sense of validation with the other getting their external title. Ocean has to choose Jane because Jane shows her that she infact had her own life to be happy with all along, she didn’t need success, she didn’t need the validation of her peers because she had a life all along that she was ignoring. Jane doesn’t. Jane’s her foil because she shows Ocean the part of herself she missed, the thing she has that separates her from Jane Doe. That makes Jane Doe the only real choice to be brought back to life. Having had a life at all.

Anyway! I just think she’s interesting is all.