#if someone orders these. please let me know what you think.

[demonic0angel]

Can we get more of the Tim thinks Danny’s a vampire but cute please

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Danny sighed. “But he’s kinda cute, Jazz!” He flopped backwards onto his bed.

“Danny, you cannot date while we still haven’t figured out who’s been watching you,” she said sternly. “Valerie and Wes revealed themselves in order to protect you. Let’s not make them disappointed, yes?”

Danny winced guiltily. It was true that Wes and Valerie had definitely acted out of the ordinary in order to get him to safety. Usually, they watched him at the edges of their vision, but when Wes had detected the cameras on him, he had abandoned his post to protect Danny. He felt bad for making the both of them go out of their way to help him.

Still, it was awkward because Danny already knew about the cameras…

“You WHAT?!!” Jazz shrieked into his ear and Danny immediately yelped, pulling away the phone.

Oh no, had he been speaking aloud?

“Daniel Jackson Fenton! If you don’t tell me the truth right now, or so help me, I’m storming into your university and dragging you out of the dorms!”

“Okay, okay! Basically, I already knew about the cameras! And the trackers and the listening devices and the hacking! I could tell because when my powers flared up, the tech would fizzle and I could hear it! I swear, I was very careful the entire time and made sure that they didn’t know that I knew! I also made sure that they didn’t find out anything sensitive! It’s not a big deal!”

“Not a big deal? NOT A BIG DEAL?! DANNY, YOU HAVE A STALKER!! YOU’RE THE KING OF OUR REALMS, WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN IF SOMEONE TARGETS YOU?!” Jazz was practically hysterical. “YOU HAVE A STALKER AND YOU WANT TO DATE A BOY?!?”

Danny whined. “But Tim’s so cute, Jazz! He’s so attentive towards me! It’s like he’s the perfect guy.”

There was a frustrated scream at her end. He kind of understood her, because if she had a stalker herself, he would’ve burned down the earth, salted it afterwards, and then have Dani and Dan help him in throwing the ashes of the planet into the sun. But honestly, it wasn’t a big deal!

Danny could handle himself. He was the Ghost King, after all.

“So… do you think I should ask him out?”

“Danny,” was the very cold, harsh response that sounded like the scrape of a guillotine blade against a spine.

Danny winced again and prepared for another hours long lecture. Jeez, couldn’t anyone put them both out of their misery and get them both dates?

Maybe then, Jazz could finally take a chill pill.

“DANNY!!”

Ah crap, he was talking aloud again.

[gothcsz]

final part of the neighbors series. well, everyone... we made it to the devastating end of our beloved neighbors! did i think we'd get here so fast? absolutely not, but alas we must face the truth that these two were doomed from the beginning 💔 thank you to everyone who has stuck around for this little series, i so appreciate it more than you know! please let ya girl know what you think hehe happy reading 🖤 thank you to @persephone-girl, @myownwholewildworld and @ovaryacted for helping me along the way 🥹

javier peña x f!reader. ~16k word count. the angst we've become familiar with, some new years vibes, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), speaking of canon the timeline is way out of wack but we don't care okay (?), spanish heavy dialogue at times because i love writing in spanish (translations included), character death (bye bye mateo), reader has a mild case of agoraphobia, smut (hopefully it makes up for the heartbreak), unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction be smart irl), oral (f receiving), creampie kink!!!, hurt/no comfort?, guess what: javi is a piece of shit, no happy ending!!!, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thanks.

The days bleed into one another in a haze of pain, anxiety, and Javier’s unwavering presence.

His apartment has become your sanctuary as your body mends—slowly, achingly—but the weight of the world outside these walls makes every step toward recovery feel like a climb up a mountain.

He hovers without smothering, a balance that only someone as attuned as him could manage. He cooks poorly, though his effort is enough to warm your heart. 

And when dinner inevitably becomes charred beyond recognition, he humors you with a begrudging sigh before ordering takeout from a local spot.

Connie checks in as often as she can. Her competence is a balm in itself, bringing company in the form of the orphaned baby girl they’ve taken in, and gentle scolding when you try to do too much too soon.

You’re definitely going stir-crazy on top of all the other shit you’re still processing.

His bedroom is practically yours now, the space filled with your things from a hurried list you’d made after he went to clear your apartment, ensuring it was safe and untapped. 

You could go back, but you don’t want to. Not yet. Not when every shadow feels like it’s going to swallow you whole, and not when the thought of leaving Javi’s protection makes your stomach tighten with anxiety.

Tonight is no different, the silence of his apartment familiar. Javier is sprawled on the couch in the living room, his gun within arm’s reach on the coffee table, the TV playing some late-night soccer game at a low volume.

You’re in his bed, wrapped in the blankets that carry the scent of him.

The nightmare rips you from your sleep and into a cold sweat. Your screams shatter the quiet, piercing through the walls like a siren. Javier is on his feet in seconds, gun in hand, his instincts sharp as ever, heart pounding as he rushes into the bedroom.

He bursts through the door, his eyes scanning for threats before they land on you. You’re sitting up, clutching your head in your hands, your body shaking with sobs.

Javi approaches slowly, cautious yet reassuring as he sets the weapon down on the nightstand. “It’s me, cariño. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The sound of his voice breaks through your panic, and you look up at him with tear-streaked cheeks, your breathing ragged. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his embrace, your face burying into his chest as his strong arms wrap around you.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you sob into his shirt, your fingers clutching at the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

Javier keeps you cradled in his lap, feeling helpless as he tries to console you, resting his chin on the top of your head, rubbing your back soothingly. He doesn’t know what to say, and he hopes you don’t take his wordless comfort the wrong way.

Your tears don’t stop, but the steady thumping of his heart and steadying breaths begin to calm the overpowering emotions that stab at you all over. “They k-keep finding me,” you whisper hoarsely. “In my dreams. Mateo, his men… They hurt you, Javi. They kill you, and I-I can’t stop them.”

His jaw tightens, the familiar strike of anger igniting deep in his chest. But he controls it, his focus entirely on you. “That’s not going to happen,” he says with quiet intensity. “I won’t let it. You’re safe here, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. They’ll never touch you again.”

Even though the fear still lingers, you nod against him, your tears finally slowing. “I’m scared,” you admit in a hush, as if the city can hear you.

“I know,” his lips replace his chin with a soft kiss placed at the crown of your head. “You’ve got every right to be, but not for much longer. Te lo prometo.” (I promise you)

He holds you close, his mind racing. He knows the nightmares won’t stop until Mateo is dealt with, and the thought of you living in fear makes his blood boil.

Tomorrow, he decides, he’s going to make a move. Berna’s contact information has been burning a hole in his wallet, reminding him of the quickest way to get his justice.

Whatever it takes, whoever he has to call in, Mateo will pay for what he’s done.

He stays with you, his arms a fortress around your trembling body as you finally begin to drift back into an uneasy sleep.

When your breathing finally evens out and sleep welcomes you again, Javier doesn’t move right away. He keeps you in his embrace just a little longer, as if afraid that letting go might wake the nightmares again.

Eventually, he carefully shifts, lowering you back onto the bed. He tucks the blanket snugly around your shoulders, his movements unhurried. For a long moment, he doesn’t leave, his gaze fixed on your face.

Your lashes rest against your cheeks, still damp from tears, and your lips curve downward in a soft, unconscious pout. There’s a faint crease between your brows, as if even in slumber, you’re holding onto the pain. His heart aches at the sight.

Even like this, fragile and hurting, you’re still so beautiful.

He leans in without thinking, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for just a moment longer than they should, as if willing his affection to seep into your dreams and chase away the darkness.

With gentle fingers, he smooths the furrow from your brow, hesitating as he straightens. His eyes trail over you one last time before forcing himself to turn away and leave, returning to his spot on the uncomfortable couch.

Every step he takes toward the usual meeting spot feels heavy, hindering, like the universe is daring him to find another way; a constant reminder of the ethical line he is about to cross yet again.

He’s not about to let what happened to you fall into the cracks of this crumbling country.

Does this really make him any better than Mateo? Than the rest of the assholes he’s spent his career hunting? The question whisks around in Javier’s mind, relentless and accusatory, every time he looks in the mirror or stares down the barrel of another wasted day.

He tells himself the same justification every time: You’ve got to do bad things to catch bad people. You have to stoop to their level to get the job done. Get your hands dirty alongside them. 

But the words taste bitter, even as they leave his mouth. It’s not a mantra—it’s an excuse. One he clings to, because if he doesn’t, he’d have to face the man he’s become.

It’s a betrayal. Of the ideals he once believed in. Of you.

You wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t dare accuse him outright of something so low, but he can see the questions in the way your eyes search his when he comes home in the middle of the night, reeking of sweat and moral compromise. 

He’s doing this for you. It’s about justice, about making things right. But deep down, he knows it’s not just that.

It’s about vengeance.

He steps into the shop, the smell of authentic Colombian food and coffee hitting him all at once.

Berna is already seated, a bulky figure crammed into a chair that seems too small for him, like a predator disguised as a civilian.

His beady eyes flick up as Javier approaches, a greasy grin spreading across his face. “¿Nos volvemos a reunir tan pronto? ¿Me extrañas o qué, Peña?” (Meeting again so soon? Do you miss me or what?) he asks, lifting the tiny cup with fingers that seemed more suited to take lives than hold porcelain.

Javier slides into the seat across from him, the legs scraping against the tile floor. “¿Obtuviste la información que te pedí sobre el banquero?” (Did you get the information I asked for about the banker?) His voice is clipped, wasting no time on pleasantries.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out the photograph of Mateo to remind the other man why he’s here. The paper is crumpled from how many times he’s clenched it in his fist, a physical manifestation of his frustration.

He unfolds it carefully and places it on the table, sliding it between them.

Berna doesn’t even blink, his gaze dropping to the photo with all the urgency of a man just leisuring about. He stirs his coffee lazily, adding another spoonful of sugar. “¿Y yo que gano?” (What’s in it for me?)

Javier’s jaw ticks, the muscle feathering beneath his stubbled skin. He knows this game, has played it too many fucking times—it grates on him. “Lo de siempre,” (What it always is) he replies gruffly. “Esto no es diferente a nuestros otros acuerdos.” (This isn’t any different than our other agreements)

Berna leans back in his chair, his bulk shifting the chair with a creak. “Seguro?” (You sure about that?) he asks, patronizingly, as he taps the edge of the photo with a stubby finger. “Javiercito, ¿sigues dejando que las mujeres dirijan tu vida?” (Javiercito, still letting women run your life?) He tuts, “Pero no te culpo. Una buena perra debilita hasta al hombre más fuerte.” (I don’t blame you. A good bitch debilitates even the toughest man)

He curls his fists under the table, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms, willing himself to stay seated. His patience is running thin, making his leg bounce rapidly. 

“No se trata de eso,” (That’s not what this is about) Javier grinds out through clamped teeth.

Berna barks out a laugh, leaning forward slightly. “Esto no funciona si nos decimos mentiras.” (This won’t work if we tell each other lies) His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper now, though his smug smile remains wide. “Lo estás buscando por la orden que envió.” (You’re after him for that call he sent out)

Javi’s irritation is momentarily replaced by intrigue. He straightens slightly. “¿Cual orden?” (What call?)

Berna’s grin grows wolfish, pure amusement bubbling into an obnoxious, rumbling laugh that fills the small space. “¿Ves? Lo sabía.” (See? I knew it) He wags a thick finger at Javier, like a teacher scolding a disobedient student. “Tu banquero hizo una llamada para deshacerse de su mujer. Una empleada de la embajada. Americana. Vos lo sabes mejor que nadie cómo se sienten estos tipos cuando matan a un Americano, especialmente a una tan insignificante… y muy bonita, por lo que he oído.” (Your banker made a call to get rid of his girl. An embassy employee. American. You know better than anyone how these guys feel about killing an American, especially one so insignificant… and very pretty, from what I hear)

Javier’s gut twists at the confirmation of something he practically already knew.

“Emputó a muchos con ese truco. Huyó como un cobarde. Supongo que por eso estás aquí. Por ella.” (He pissed a lot of people off with that trick. Ran away like a coward. I guess that’s why you’re here. Because of her)

Javier flicks his tongue across his teeth.“Eso no importa,” (That doesn’t matter) he retorts lowly. “Sólo necesito saber dónde está... el y esos hijos de puta que cumplieron la orden.” (I just need to know where he is... and those two motherfuckers who followed through with the order)

Berna hums as he strokes his chin like he’s considering it. “Cartagena,” he finally gives him a location, something to fucking work with, as simply as if he were giving directions to el mercado. “Ahí se esconde. Sin embargo, consiguió protección, pero no es nada que los gringos no puedan manejar.” (That’s where he’s hiding. Got himself some protection, but it’s nothing the Americans can’t handle) That last bit said mockingly to purposely annoy the agent.

“¿Y los otros?” (And the others?) Javier presses, not letting him ride his nerves so easily.

“Santos y Rico,” Berna supplies, shrugging nonchalantly. “Siguen en Bogotá. Frecuentan un club allí sobre los barrios. El Flamenco. Bebidas baratas, música de mierda... tu tipo de lugar, ¿eh?” (They’re still in Bogotá. They frequent a club near the barrios. The Flamingo. Cheap booze, shitty music—your kind of place)

He doesn’t rise to the bait again, simply nodding as he stands, swiping the photo of Mateo off the table and back into his pocket, switching it out for his trusty pack of cigarettes.

“Ten cuidado, Peña,” (Careful, Peña) Berna calls after him, his tone still mocking. “No dejes que te vuelva estúpido.” (Don’t let her make you stupid)

Javier doesn’t look back as he walks out into the crisp night, his mind already focused on the next steps. 

The capital for Santos and Rico. Cartagena for Mateo. But first, back to you.

He isn’t sure how he’d explain this to you… or if he even would. All he knows is that he has to see your face, remind himself why he’s doing this, using you as an excuse to help justify the violence that has tainted his soul.

Javier is gone. A lot. You try not to let it get to you, especially after he promised to not leave your side ever again. Though, you should have known better than to take that literally.

The rhythm of his comings and goings is erratic, like a broken metronome that keeps you off balance.

At first, it was just a couple of days here and there—late nights bleeding into early mornings, his tired eyes explaining everything and nothing all at once. Then the days stretched into weeks, his absence carving a yawning void in the already fragile sanctuary of his apartment.

Your ribs mend. The bruises fade, the cuts scab over, but none of it feels like progress. Healing should feel like a triumph, not this hollow ache of emptiness of what you’re left with.

You are in Javier’s apartment like a ghost confined in purgatory, aimless and haunted.

You’re supposed to be dead right now.

The thought comes at odd moments—while folding the laundry, when washing the coffee mug he used one morning before he was urgently called back to work, standing at the edge of his bed staring at the empty space where his body should be.

You can’t stop it. It circles you like a vulture, picking at what little resolve you have left.

Connie’s gone too. She had been your lifeline for a while, popping in and offering comfort when her own world was crumbling. But her absence was inevitable, torn between spontaneous parenthood and a marriage fraying at every seam because of the job.

Now it’s just you. Alone with your thoughts, the muffled chaos of the world outside seeping through the walls. It’s a torment you never imagined possible, let alone one you’d find yourself living through.

The country seems to be devouring itself. The news on the small TV mutters of violence that is neverending.

Sometimes, you’ll stand by the sliding glass door that leads to his balcony, fingers brushing the edge of the curtain. You tell yourself you’re just looking, but the nagging fear of being watched creeps up your spine.

The blinds never stay open for long, your courage retreating as quickly as it came. Javier has trusted agents dropping groceries and meals off for you at the doorstep, and even then you’re very cautious about opening the door to bring them inside. 

Loneliness, paranoia and insomnia have become your closest companions. The reflection in the mirror becomes a stranger with a melancholic expression and sleepless eyes.

You collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is who you are now: a woman afraid to live.

The rare moments Javi manages to call leave you clinging to the landline, his rough voice over the static of the phone your only escape.

His words are rushed, heavy with exhaustion and tension. Sometimes it’s just an update—he’s okay, thinking of you. Other times, it’s the smallest sliver of intimacy:

“I miss you. I’ll be back soon.”

It’s selfish, you know, to want him here when you know the stakes of what he does for a living. The weight of what he deals with is an unwanted companion in his life.

But that doesn’t stop the longing, the ache to have him wrap his arms around you and make the world feel safe again.

The memory of his love confession that night in the bathroom is all that keeps you going. You cradle it like a fragile ember, feeding it with every shred of optimism you can muster. Which isn’t a lot as of late.

One day, you tell yourself. One day this will all be behind you. The darkness will lift, the scars on your heart will heal.

Until then, you have to endure. Love is a painful and ugly thing.

He gets all three of them in the end. It’s not clean, not quiet, but it’s done.

Berna’s information leads Javier straight to the first two—a pair of low-rent sicarios who’d been dumb enough to let their guard down in a hole-in-the-wall bar back in Bogotá.

The two were slouched over the counter, their laughter slurred and careless, oblivious to the shit storm about to hit.

He didn’t even have to lift a finger. The group moved swiftly, their boots loud against the grimy floor, and in seconds, the sicarios were on the ground, bloodied and begging.

Javier didn’t stay to watch them get dragged out into the alley, their pleas echoing in the narrow space before two distinct gunshots were heard.

He was already planning his next move: Cartagena. Mateo.

No time is wasted when he touches down in the coastal city, greeted by Berna and some of his men. 

Flanked by the grim crew, they make their way to the luxurious safe house perched in one of Cartagena’s wealthiest enclaves.

Criminals like Mateo always hide out in opulence after orchestrating such violence.

The assault begins the moment they breach the front gate. Chaos erupts. Gunfire cracks like thunder, tearing through the pristine silence of the night. 

Bullets shatter glass, ricocheting off marble columns and embedding themselves in the cream-colored walls. Screams echo as Mateo’s protective detail fights back hard, but they’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of luck. 

It’s ruthless yet efficient, and Javier moves through the pandemonium suavely, his focus singular, expression stern, as he searches for the asshole he is here for.

By the time he kicks in the door to Mateo’s hiding spot, the man is cornered. He’s standing by the balcony, sweat dripping down his face, his silk shirt clinging to his torso. A pistol is gripped tightly in his hand and pointed right at Javier.

“Suelta el arma,” (Drop the gun) Javier sneers, his lips curled, weapon steadily trained at the other’s chest. 

The temptation to end it all here—one clean shot—burns in his veins. He could do it, drive a bullet straight into the bastard’s heart and paint the wall behind him red.

But no. He won’t give him the ease of a quick death. Not after what he did to you.

Mateo scoffs as it dawns on him that he’s standing off against the DEA agent that’s been shadowing him since the moment he met you.

“Tú primero.” (You first)

“No estás en una posición para pedir ni mierda.” (You are not in a position to ask for shit)

Their eyes lock, and the room feels impossibly still despite the carnage wreaking outside.

Mateo’s hesitation is all the opening Javier needs. He lunges forward, disarming the man in one swift motion and landing a punch squarely across his face. The force sends Mateo sprawling, his pistol clattering uselessly to the floor.

It’s a struggle and Mateo fights back, dirty and desperate. They grapple, fists flying, grunts filling the air as they roll across the polished floor. Javier takes a few hits to his ribs and jaw, but his anger drives him forward. 

Every punch is laced with the memory of you—of what this fucker had done, of the fear in your eyes and the pain in your voice, how he broke you.

Finally, with a grunt of exertion, Javier manages to force Mateo onto his stomach, wrenching his arms behind his back. The cuffs click into place, metal biting into his skin.

“¿Crees que eres un héroe o qué?” (Do you think you’re some hero or what?) Mateo spits out, blood mixed in his saliva landing with a glop on the floor and Javier yanks him up. “¿Qué va a pensar tu preciado gobierno cuando les diga con quién lluegaste? Me estás arrestando sin ningún puto motivo factual.” (What is your precious government going to think when i tell them who you showed up here with. You’re arresting me with no real fucking cause)

Javier laughs, the sound bitter and hollow, devoid of humor. As he walks him towards the opulent front doors, he makes sure to twist Mateo’s wrists in the restraints until the jagged metal digs enough to make him bleed.

“¿Crees que esto es un arresto?” (You think this is an arrest) The rhetorical question is asked condescendingly, “No, Mateo, no voy a arrastrarte tras las rejas para que te pudras. Ese es un futuro demasiado misericordioso para malparidos como tú.” (I’m not going to drag you behind bars to rot. That’s too merciful of a future for bastards like you)

With a shove, he pushes Mateo forward. The armed men are waiting at the bottom of the marble steps, and they move quickly, forcing a black bag over his head. His muffled curses are cut short by a sharp blow to the gut.

They throw him into the waiting van like cargo, slamming the doors shut before the engine roars to life.

Javier exhales, his hands flexing at his sides as he watches the vehicle pull away into the darkness. He’s about to tail it, his mind already running through the long night ahead, but then his thoughts veer to you and the way you look at him like he’s more than the monster he feels he’s becoming.

Berna steps up beside him, his presence as calm and calculated as ever despite the massacre that has occurred. His hands are clasped neatly behind his back, but there’s a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or curiosity—dancing in his dark eyes.

“¿Y ahora qué?” (And now what?) he asks, his tone deceptively casual, like he doesn’t already know exactly what Javier’s next move is going to be.

Javi doesn’t even glance his way. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

The basement reeks of damp concrete, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. The single bulb overhead swings with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm, casting broken shadows that dance across the cracked walls and the man tied to the chair.

Mateo’s head hangs low, chin resting against his chest, blood trailing from his broken nose, pooling on the stained floor beneath him. His chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath a wheeze as pain ripples through his bruised and battered figure.

Javier leans against the base of the stairs, his leather jacket discarded over a rusty chair nearby. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, revealing forearms taut with tension, veins bulging beneath his brown skin.

His knuckles are raw, split open from earlier blows, and they throb with a dull ache that he’s long since chosen to ignore. His dark eyes are devoid of their usual sly charm; instead, they smolder with a cold, relentless fury. 

Mateo coughs, spitting blood and phlegm onto the floor. “Todo esto... ¿por ella?” (All this… for her) His voice is weak, rasping, but the mockery in his tone is unmistakable. “I don’t believe it.”

Javier pushes off the wall, his boots echoing on the concrete as he takes measured steps toward the chair. He grabs a stool and pulls it up, straddling it directly in front of the other man. His face is inches away, close enough to make him flinch.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Javier reaches out, gripping his jaw with one hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. Mateo winces as Javier’s thumb presses hard against a fresh bruise, the pain blooming anew. 

Still, he manages to huff out a wet and gurgling chuckle. “Realmente te tiene envuelto alrededor de su maldito dedo. Estás haciendo todo esto para qué, ¿vengarla? (She really had you wrapped tight around her fucking finger. You’re doing all this to what, avenge her?) Some gringa who barely gave it up. Podrías encontrar una puta mejor en la ciudad, eso sería más creíble que esto—” (You could find a better whore out in the city, that would be more believable than this)

The crack of Javier’s fist connecting with his cheekbone cuts him off mid-sentence. Mateo’s head snaps to the side, and more blood spatters the floor. Javier shakes out his hand, fidgeting his fingers.

“You tried to have her killed.” He spits, voice trembling with restrained rage. “And now you’re going to reap every second she’s had to live in fear because of you.”

Mateo lifts his head weakly, shooting daggers at the agent despite his beaten state. “And this rights the wrong? Makes you better than me? Us? Look at you. Torturing a man in the dark. Working with killers.” 

Javier steps closer, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, their faces inches apart. “You’re goddamn right it doesn’t make me better,” he growls. “But I don’t give a fuck anymore. My moral compass? That broke the day I realized just how low you motherfuckers get. The day I realized the only way to protect people like her is to become just like you.”

He shoves him away with enough force to send the chair rocking precariously, the screech of its legs grating against the hard floor.

Javier’s hand closes around a nearby crowbar, it’s cold metal chilling against the heat radiating from his palm. He grips it tightly, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he stalks forward.

He presses the tip of the bar against Mateo’s knee, letting it rest there just long enough for the man’s wide eyes to meet his. The anticipation thickens the air like smoke, and then Javier swings.

The impact is sickening, the crack of bone like a firework detonating in the basement, followed by Mateo’s shrill and desperate scream.

It’s a sound that would make most men hesitate, flinch even, but Javier doesn’t stop.

He brings the crowbar down again and again, obliterating both knees and then moving downward, snapping tibias and fibulas like kindling. Mateo’s pleas are incoherent now, sobbing gasps and wet, broken cries of “Stop!” and “Please!” that Javier doesn’t hear—or perhaps chooses not to.

The cool iron gleams under the dim, swaying light. Blood trickles down it, some of it spatters across Javi’s shirt, his arms, but it doesn’t faze him.

It all becomes a distant hum, drowned out by the roaring in his ears. He doesn’t see the man in front of him anymore; he sees your pain, the fear etched into your face, the scars you’ll carry forever because of this piece of shit.

When Mateo’s legs are little more than pulp, Javier tosses the crowbar aside, the clang of metal on concrete echoing like a death knell.

He doesn’t stop, though. He doesn’t even hesitate. His fists take over, slamming into the other’s face brutally.

Mateo’s head lolls to the side, his breaths coming in ragged, wet gasps. Javier pulls back only when he’s sure the man is teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, his face swollen and unrecognizable.

Breathing heavily, Javi staggers back and pulls his pistol from its spot tucked at his lower back. The deafening click of the safety switching off snaps Mateo out of his stupor, his swollen eyes flying open in panic. 

He tries to speak, but his words dissolve into choked sobs. His ravaged legs twitch uselessly, bones jutting through torn skin, his face an unrecognizable mask of swelling and gore.

Javier steps closer, raising the gun. The barrel points squarely at Mateo’s chest, unwavering.

There isn’t anything left to say.

The first shot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space. Mateo jerks in the chair, blood spraying from the wound. Another shot follows, then another. Every pull of the trigger is cathartic, each bullet an exclamation point to the anger and anguish he’s carried for too long. 

It feels like ripping a piece of his soul away, but he doesn’t stop. Not until the clip is empty and Mateo’s body slumps forward, lifeless.

Silence falls, heavy and oppressive. Javier’s chest heaves as he lowers the weapon, tasting the burnt sulfurous in the air, his fingers trembling slightly. Blood pools around the chair, a deep crimson stark against the dull gray of the concrete.

He stares at the heap for a moment, his body and soul untethered. There’s no satisfaction in his expression, only exhaustion and a shadow of something darker—loathing, maybe.

He tucks the gun at his lower back again and turns away, his boots crunching over spent shell casings as he heads for the stairs, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

He doesn’t look back as he ascends out of the basement, men trailing in to clean the mess up. Javier doesn’t let himself linger on what he’s done. 

You’ve been pacing the apartment for hours, too restless to sit still, too wired to even think about sleeping.

“I’m coming back tonight.”

He sounded different when he called. Blank, almost, but you told yourself not to get hung up on it. You haven’t been feeling like yourself lately, either. 

The only thing that mattered was that he was coming back to you.

By the time the doorknob rattles at one in the morning, you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of the couch with your legs tucked beneath you. Your heart leaps into your throat as the door creaks open, and there he is.

Javier’s silhouette fills the frame, outlined by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. His broad shoulders are hunched, the leather duffle dangling limply in one hand. His jean jacket hangs off him like it’s too heavy, his hair mussed, his face unshaven.

The grim line of his mouth and the absent look in his eyes tug at the emotions you harbor for him.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until your feet are carrying you to him, the silver of the moonlight pours in from the glass doors that lead to the balcony, illuminating the room. “Javi…” you whisper, the name leaving your lips before you can think. 

You throw yourself into his arms without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him like if you hold him tight enough, it will make all this despair go away.

His duffle hits the floor with a dull thud as his arms come around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks, as you cling to him. Your affection, your tenderness. Still, that doesn’t stop him from being selfish and bathing in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

His embrace is crushing, pulling you so close you can barely breathe, but you don’t care. If he could press you into his skin, you’d let him. If you could crawl inside his chest and be near his heart, you would.

“I missed you,” you murmur against him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. His grip tightens in response, but he doesn’t say a word. His silence makes your throat tighten.

You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. His skin is rough beneath your fingers, the scruff on his jaw rasping against your palms. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see it all—the weariness, the anger, the shame, the pieces that make him who he is. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but whatever he’s about to say dies on his tongue when you lean in and kiss him.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, like you’re trying to pour every word you haven’t said into the press of your lips on his.

They’re softer than you’d imagined in your countless daydreams, but the way he moves them against yours carries an unmistakable authority. Even as you take the lead, it feels like he’s in control.

Javi’s hands rise, cradling the back of your head as he holds you steady. His mouth moves like he’s been waiting for this, needing this, as much as you have.

You are his sanctuary and his torment, the single thread keeping him whole in a world that threatens to disentangle him. 

It’s vaster than love, more potent than lust. It’s the way his heart pinches every time you look at him, as if no matter how far he falls into the darkness, you’ll always be there to pull him back.

Your fingers curl into the denim of his jacket, tugging him closer while you take small, shuffling steps backward. He tastes so forbidden and intoxicating. You’ll never get enough.

As you guide him further into the apartment, he follows without question, mouth never leaving yours, until you stumble slightly over the sunken step into the living room.

His hands move to your waist to steady you, the brief break in the kiss filled with a shaky exhale against your lips, your name leaving him so softly, you almost miss it.

“What are we doing?” His question is rough around the edges, like gravel under silk. He swallows hard, the muscles in his neck moving. His touch remains on your hips, as if he’s caught between holding you close and pushing you away.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you surge forward, capturing his lips again as your hands fumble with his jacket. He hesitates, just for a split second, before shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.

You’re already tugging at the hem of his shirt as you guide him toward the couch with a determined push, his legs folding beneath him as he sits.

You climb onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips.

“Wait,” he says your name, this time a little more sternly. “We can’t—” His fingers flex against your curves, tone strained with the conflict that’s written all over his face.

“Javier, please.” Your plea wavers with emotion, your hands balling into the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I need to feel something else. Make me feel something else.”

His brown eyes meet yours, and the anguish he finds there strikes deep within him. It’s a look he knows all too well, one he’s carried in his own reflection more times than he can count.

It hurts him to see it mirrored back at him, to know that you’ve reached the same depths he’s had to endure.

He should say no. He should tell you that fucking him won’t fix anything, that it won’t make the hurt disappear. If anything, it might make it worse.

But as he takes in the sight of you—your pleading eyes, your trembling hands, the way your lips are still swollen from his kisses—he knows he can’t resist. Not when he’s wanted this, wanted you, for so long.

“Are you sure?” Your noses brush and the heat between you is almost unbearable.

“Please fuck me, Javi,” you whisper, the raw need in your voice obliterating the last shred of his trepidation.

His lips find yours with renewed fervor, hands roaming your body with reckless abandon, no longer hesitant.

Your own are just as eager, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you rock your hips against his bulge. His sharp inhale tells you he feels it too—the spark, the friction. 

Clothes begin to fall away piece by piece, the space narrowing until there’s nothing but the press of your bodies and the sound of ragged breaths as you expose more to the other’s hungry gaze.

The moonlight filtering through the blinds casts Javier in a way that makes him look otherworldly. You’ve seen him shirtless more times than you can count, but tonight, under the spell of the lust simmering between you, his body appears almost unreal—every ridge of muscle, every faint scar, illuminated and tempting.

Your touch moves at its own accord, spreading over his firm chest, tracing the curve of his pectorals, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. You move to cradle his face once more, his skin warm and taut under your palms as you guide him down to your neck.

Javier presses his lips to the delicate skin just below your ear, the scrape of his facial hair making you keen. His teeth nip at your pulse point, eliciting a gasp from you, and his tongue follows to soothe the sting.

His kisses blaze a trail lower, past the hollow of your throat and down to the swells of your tits, where he pauses, his breath fanning over your charged skin.

Your breath catches softly as his tongue flicks across the sensitive flesh, and then one of his hands slides up from your waist to cup the other. His thumb brushes over your nipple, teasing it until it peaks under his touch, and then his mouth is on you again—hot, wet, and maddeningly skillful.

He sucks the tender nub gently and you arch into him, whimpering from how good it feels.

“Javi…” you moan, your fingers burying themselves in his hair. His tongue circles your pebbled nipple, flicking it with just the right amount of pressure before he grazes it with his teeth, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to your core, slickening your cunt with each lick.

He doesn’t neglect the other for long, moving over to give it the same attention, making you feel like you’re coming undone one nerve at a time.

His mouth feels delicious against your skin, and your skin tastes delicious on his tongue.

Even as his desire threatens to consume him, he’s cautious. He notices how you flinch slightly when his fingers press a bit too firmly into your soft skin and guilt prickles at the edges of his hunger; but it only makes him gentler, more intent on making you feel good without causing any more pain.

Javier kisses his way back up until his lips are at the corner of your mouth. Then, with a fluid motion, he shifts your position, guiding you onto your back. The worn cushions cradle you as he hovers over you, his broad frame shielding you from the world, one hand planted firmly beside your head as he kneels between your parted thighs. 

The sight of him above you, his polished amber eyes smoldering with want, makes your stomach flip.

Your hips tilt instinctively, seeking more, and the throbbing at your pussy grows insistent. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, the denim of his jeans rubbing tantalizingly against your inner thighs.

He doesn’t speak, but the tension in his jaw, the way his breath is ragged as his fingers find the waistband of your sleeping shorts, says everything.

You lift your hips to help him ease them off, the cool air brushing against your damp skin making you shiver. He undresses fully, and you watch in anticipation as he rids himself of his jeans.

The room is almost fully dark, shadows swallowing the details, but you feel the heat of his cock as it presses against your slick folds.

Your head falls back against the couch, a shaky moan escaping your lips. “Oh…” you whimper, thighs trembling as the blunt head of his length glides along your throbbing seam, gathering your arousal. 

The rough pads of his fingers slither down, brushing through the untamed curls at the apex of your thighs. Your upkeep has been the last thing on your mind, given the chaos of your life lately, but Javier doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. If anything, the unfiltered, raw intimacy of it seems to spur him on.

He strokes your pussy gently, his touch reverent, as if every part of you is something to be savored.

The pearl of precum that leaks from the slit on his cock smears against your thigh as he brings his hand up, licking the tips of his fingers, tasting you. 

Your heady taste is an aphrodisiac that almost has him pouncing on you like a rabid dog.

There’s a glistening sheen of his spit on the pads of his digits as his hand descends again, sliding between your folds.

His touch is confident, and when he circles your clit with the calloused texture of his fingertips, the sensation hits you like a jolt of electricity, bending your back off the couch as his name tumbles from your lips.

“You ready?”

You nod eagerly, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

He tries not to let those three simple words affect them as much as he knows they can. Instead, he adjusts, making sure you’re both comfortable, bringing you up onto his lap, steadying you by cradling your lower back in his large hand as you loop your arms around his shoulders.

Your thighs tighten at his waist as he aligns his dick at the mouth of your pussy, slowly sinking in, which has you shivering and him hissing out. 

You cling to his wide frame as he fills you completely. The world narrows down to nothing but the feel of his cock.

Having you in his arms feels like a paradox—so right and yet so wrong. It’s a storm of conflicting emotions that Javier barely has the bandwidth to process, but all those doubts dissolve with every inch of his length that slides into your wet, tight heat.

The feel of you gripping him so snugly makes his head tilt back slightly, lips parting with a soft groan.

The stretch is both foreign and delicious as your body adjusts to the thickness and size of him.

Your nails bite into the taut muscles of his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat before spilling out in a desperate, trembling moan as he buries himself into your body.

The subtle burn gives way to an irrepressible wave of pleasure when he begins to move, slow at first, testing your limits, before he finds a rhythm that has your head spinning.

“Javi,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as you hold onto him.

Your hips begin to move with his, grinding down in a desperate attempt to take him deeper, to feel every inch of him claiming you.

He groans as he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours. The hand at your lower back moves up to sprawl at the middle, keeping you steady, as the other cups your ass and guides your movements to match his thrusts.

His head nudges yours, his silent request clear, and you pull back just enough for your mouths to collide in a messy, hungry embrace. His tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours, the kiss as consuming as the rest of him.

Every powerful stroke of his hips wipes away the hollow ache that had rooted itself in your chest. In its place is a blissful sensation that threatens to engulf you.

You can feel the intensity of his passion in every thrust, every growled exhalation of your name, every flick of his tongue against yours.

Javier has a way of making the world disappear, of pulling you so completely into him that there’s no room for pain, for doubt, for anything but how good he’s fucking you. 

In his arms, with his body wrapped around yours and his cock filling you to the brim, you feel more than safe. You feel wanted. Protected. Cherished. Taken care of.

“Did you really mean it?” you whimper as your hips grind steadily against him, taking him entirely with every downward roll of your body.

Your fingers tangle in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly. The wet, obscene sound of your arousal meeting his cock fills the air, a symphony of lust underscoring your whispered question. “Do you actually love me?”

Javier groans, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as your walls flutter and squeeze around him. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, too lost in the sight of you—your furrowed brows, the sweat glistening on your skin, the way your lips part on every gasp and moan.

And you, despite being desperate for his assurance, can’t bring yourself to stop riding his dick.

I’ve killed for you, he thinks, but doesn’t dare say aloud. Instead, his rough voice finally breaks. “I do,” he rasps, his hands gripping your ass possessively, continuing to guide your pace as his strokes grow frantic. “So fuckin’ much. You’d never—shit— you’d never understand.” His mouth latches onto your collarbone, licking and biting with a feral need as if he could brand his love into your skin.

“Make me understand,” you demand in a breathy moan. Your pussy quivers as he adjusts his angle, his cock dragging against a spot inside you that evokes something new. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your head falling back, exposing the arch of your neck to his ravenous kisses.

The ecstasy isn’t just centered at your pussy anymore—it conquers your entire body, an all-encompassing euphoria.

Javier doesn’t waste time with more words. Where they fail him, his actions overcompensate.

In a blink, he shifts, pinning you beneath him on the couch. His hands slide under your thighs, hitching them high around his hips as he starts to thrust with unrelenting rhythm. The head of his cock feels like it’s brushing against your heart, making you cry out incoherently.

Each roll of his hips is a declaration, a confession. This is how much I love you. This is how much I need you.

“Oh my god,” you mewl when it starts feeling like too much. Your hands scramble for purchase, one landing on his cheek while the other claws at his back. Your eyes roll back, and sounds you didn’t even know you could make spill from your lips.

Javier’s face is tight with concentration, his brow pinched together, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He leans in closer, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s as nasty and desperate as his love making.

You can taste the impending bliss on your tongue as your orgasm begins to crash over you. “I love you, Javier,” you moan, high pitched and sweetly.

Your declaration is his undoing. With a loud grunt, Javier pulls out swiftly, his fist wrapping around his cock as he pumps himself. His release comes in hot, thick spurts, painting your stomach as he shudders above you, hips jerking reflexively.

“God damn,” he mutters hoarsely as he collapses forward. His forehead rests against your chest, peppering kisses all over, as the two of you come down together, tangled and spent.

When he regains his composure, he moves off the couch, tugging his jeans on in a practiced, effortless motion before disappearing into the bathroom. You remain sprawled against the cushions, your body still humming from the pleasure he gave you.

A haze of contentment blankets you, leaving you feeling like a new woman. For the first time in weeks, the suffocating mass on your chest feels lighter—his touch, his presence, the way he fucked you—it all feels like a salve on your wounded spirit.

He returns swiftly, a damp, clean rag in hand. His movements are gentle as he crouches beside you, wiping away the sticky remnants of his release from your stomach.

The care in his actions is almost as endearing as the passion you just shared, and you find yourself watching him, entranced. The lines of exhaustion etched into his face don’t take away from how devastatingly handsome he looks in this moment.

It’s only when his hand brushes yours as he adjusts the rag that you notice the state of it—knuckles battered and scabbed over. You’d been too lost in the zeal of your coupling to notice, but now it has a pang of worry cutting through your post-coital haze.

“Javi, your hands—” you start, softly yet concerned. As you slowly sit up, a subtle twinge in your back reminds you just how thoroughly he’d fucked you into the couch. You grimace but press on, your brows knitting together as you reach for him.

Out of habit, he flexes his fingers, his lips tugging into something meant to be reassuring but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he answers with a nonchalance that brushes off the concern in your voice.

Rising from his crouched position, he tosses the rag aside, going through the motions of lighting a cigarette. He sits beside you, pulling you close and wrapping the familiar, colorful quilt around both your bodies, blowing the smoke away from your face.

You don’t give up so easily. Curling into his lap, you nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck, planting a featherlight kiss against the birthmark there. He smells like sex, tinged with the fading scent of his cologne.

Wordlessly, you reach for the arm around your shoulder, cradling his hand gently. You bring it to your lips, brushing them against his injured knuckles. Your eyes stay locked on his, the act full of care, as if you’re trying to kiss away the pain written in every crack and abrasion.

“It’s over,” He announces steadily, his words sinking like a stone dropped into water.

You blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?��

He pauses, taking another drag then licking his lips with a flick of his tongue. His gaze is fixed on where your fingers are still curled around his hand. “Mateo.” The name makes your body tense instinctively at the mention of it, and he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. “The intention was to bring him in alive, but… he got caught in the crossfire.”

It’s a lie built on necessity and self-preservation, but a lie nonetheless. His dark eyes search your face, gauging your reaction. 

Your lips part slightly as you process what he’s just said: Mateo. Dead.

You can finally be in control of your own life again… good riddance, right? You should feel relief, maybe even vindication.

And yet, the feeling is muted, tangled up in something you can’t quite place. 

Is it the lingering haze of sleeping with Javier clouding your judgement? Or is it the unsettling knowledge that this death, even while deserved, will find a way to sneak back into your mind when you least expect it? Will it resurface in the future, leaving you grappling with emotions you don’t want to feel for a man who tried to have you killed?

You look up at Javi. His eyes are a deep, earthy brown of aged mahogany—steadfast, enduring, yet weathered by time and trials. You search them, hoping the steady intensity might offer you some clarity.

Instead, all you find is an intangible burden. What would it take, you wonder, to dim that tragic glint that eclipses his beautiful eyes?

Still, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Good.” You tighten your grip on his hand, your smaller fingers pressing against his rougher, calloused ones. “Thank you.”

Javier’s molars grind together at your quiet gratitude. It’s like chewing glass, and he has to toke on the cigarette to ease the feeling. 

Would you still feel this way if you knew the truth? If you knew that Mateo’s death wasn’t just a convenient win, but a calculated decision with the help of bad men just like him.

Would you still be thankful then?

Your fingers slip from his hand to his cheek, tilting his face toward you. The softness in your touch undoes the tension at his jaw. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” you say quietly, like you’ve somehow caught onto the turmoil simmering beneath his stoic exterior. “Not with me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch despite himself. You have no idea just how much shit he’s already hauling, how much he’ll never let you see. “You’re safe now,” is all he can bring himself to say, and it feels like both assurance and a deflection. “That’s all that matters.”

Javier stands in the lone office, his mind weighed with the heaviness of recent conversations. Stechner’s words reverberate like a stinging slap.

“For everything you know, you’re extremely naïve.”

The condescension was thornier than he wanted to admit, piercing through his frustration more sharply than the looming fallout.

He’s been fired. Reassigned. Whatever bureaucratic label they slapped on it.

The scandal of his ties with the vigilante squad has finally blown up in his face. By morning, he’ll be on a flight back to Laredo with nothing but his duffel bag and a bruised sense of self.

He should have seen it coming. Hell, he did see it coming, but he still walked straight into it, didn’t he?

This is what happens when you gamble with drug traffickers and criminals, people whose loyalties shift like sand.

Trusting them had been an obvious mistake. But trusting the U.S. government to have his back? That was downright foolish. Those assholes were playing their own games under the guise of diplomacy.

Stechner was right—he is naïve, thinking he could wrest something just out of this mess on his own terms. Justice could never be carved out of deceit and bloodshed.

There’s no victory to claim. Just dirtied hands and sleepless nights.

Well… it wasn’t all for nothing. There’s you. The one silver fucking lining in this entire shitshow.

But even that was about to collapse under the weight of his failures. He’d have to tell you. But how the hell could he look into your eyes and explain everything he’d done? The compromises, the lies, the violence he had incurred. 

That he’s leaving?

Javier drags a hand down his face, the lines on his brow deepening with each thought.

Disgust. That’s what he expects to see when he tells you. Maybe judgment, too. 

He knows himself too well. The moment he looks into your eyes, he’ll falter, take the coward’s way out and give you only half-truths wrapped in feeble excuses.

The clock ticks on the wall behind him, each second louder than the last, a metronome counting down to his own undoing. If he doesn’t get out of here soon, he’ll drown in his own misery and ruin the night before it even begins.

You have been looking forward to the New Year’s Eve party. The embassy’s farewell to another tumultuous year, held at some ritzy bar downtown.

Javier would have skipped it without a second thought if it were up to him. But you’d been excited, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of something normal, craving it, so he agreed to be your date.

The timing couldn’t be worse. The night should be about new beginnings, but all Javier can feel is the heaviness of his impending departure. And he has no idea when—or how—he’s going to find the words to say goodbye.

His body moves on autopilot until he’s standing outside your door, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

The door swings open, and there you are—radiant, with that smile that could light up even the darkest corners of his life. It’s so warm, so genuine, it hurts more than it soothes him.

“Hey,” you greet cheerfully, stepping aside to let him in. “That was a lot quicker than I expected. Is everything okay?”

For a moment Javi hesitates, an explanation stuck in his throat. He crosses the threshold, shutting the door behind him.

His eyes sweep over you almost involuntarily as you turn and head back toward the bathroom. The skirt of your dress sways with each step, modest in length but criminal in how it hugs your figure. His gaze locks onto the swing of your hips, hungry and selfish, his feet moving as if tethered to yours.

“Everything’s fine.” The words come out clipped, his tone consciously flat. He doesn’t want to invite more questions, doesn’t want you to see through the cracks forming in his wavering facade.

You don’t press him, too preoccupied with the mirror, inspecting your makeup. You swipe another dab of blush across your cheeks, leaning in closer to scrutinize your reflection. “Too much?”

He stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame as he leans against it, watching you with an enamored look he doesn’t bother hiding. “Looks perfectly fine to me,” he replies gruffly, though he means it.

Things between you two have settled into uncharted waters. That night on his couch had been electric, a collision of want and need that left you both reeling. But since then, you’ve held back, keeping the boundaries undefined.

It’s not that you don’t want him—every time he’s near, your body remembers the way he felt inside you, the way he made you feel whole again.

However, there’s something he’s holding back, and you can feel it in the way his gaze lingers on you for too long. You've decided not to push, not while you’re still piecing yourself back together, taking cautious steps on your own journey of healing. 

Still, the love between you is undeniable. You feel it in the way he holds you at night, his arms firm yet tender as you drift off to sleep. It’s there in the softer timbre he uses when you talk over the phone while he’s stationed in Medellín. 

Even though you’re been back in your apartment now, every night he’s in the capital, he’s either at your place or you’re at his.

You’ve returned to work, and while it’s helped you settle back into a sense of normalcy, it doesn’t feel the same. 

The small routines you’ve fallen into do bring you comfort, despite the bigger questions that loom in the background. 

You find yourself wondering if it’s time to leave the clerical work behind and seek something greater, something that aligns with the new version of yourself you’re trying to uncover.

Then there’s the question of where you’ll go from here—literally. Colombia has become more than a temporary home, and you’ve realized there’s little waiting for you where you’re from. Truthfully, you could go anywhere. But do you want to?

The answer is clear: the only person you want to be with is standing in your hallway.

“Thanks for coming out with me to this. I know it’s not exactly your kind of night.” You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the last details of your appearance in the mirror. “Want a drink?”

“It’s not,” he concurs, his voice carrying a teasing lilt, “but there’s no way I’m letting you go out there alone looking this beautiful.” His gaze sweeps over you once more as he follows you back out into the living room, his flattery leaving no room for misunderstanding.

The compliment lands as intended and you feel the apples of your cheeks tingling warmly. “You’re sweet,” you murmur as you pour both of your drinks at the bar cart. 

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the crackle of the record player in the corner, spinning a soft tune you both half recognize. For a moment, it feels easy. Natural.

When you turn back to him, you hold out his glass with a small, shy smile.

Should he tell you now? Get it over with and rip it off like a bandaid. But as you take a step closer, your voice breaches his spiraling thoughts.

“¿Estás seguro que todo está bien?” (Are you sure everything is alright?) You ask, your brows knitting with quiet concern.

His grip around the glass tightens slightly. He swallows the bitterness lodged in his throat, the words forming in his mind before dissolving into silence. Instead, he forces a half-smile, his tone turning light, almost flippant.

“De mí no te preocupes cariño,” (Don’t worry about me) he tells you softly. “Debemos celebrar el Año Nuevo sin ninguna mamada.” (We should celebrate the New Year without any bullshit)

You search his face, sensing the weight he’s trying to hide, but when his hand lifts to brush against your cheek, your resolve falters. The back of his knuckles are rough, calloused, but his touch is achingly gentle. You lean into him instinctively, your eyelashes fluttering as a sense of calm washes over you.

He’s right. Whatever weight he’s carrying, whatever darkness lingers behind his eyes, it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is about enjoying the fleeting moments of joy.

“Okay.” When your eyes meet him again, there’s gentleness there, a silent agreement to leave the worries behind.

Javier tips his glass toward yours in a silent toast, a half smile pulling at his pouty lips. “Salud.”

“Salud,” you echo, clinking your glass against his.

From his spot at the bar, Javier’s eyes stay glued to you, the knot in his chest tightening with each laugh that escapes your glossed lips. You’re standing with a group of your coworkers, your head tilted back as you throw yourself into some joke he couldn’t hear.

The sound of a countdown filters through the bar, and the announcer’s voice booms that there are five minutes left until the new year.

As if on cue, you start making your way back to him, your expression alight with excitement.

“They’re setting off fireworks on the roof! We should get up there before it gets too crowded,” you suggest, the words spilling out with the eagerness of someone who’s had just enough to drink.

Javier nods, his lips twitching into a faint smile in one of those rare moments where his amusement is genuine and unguarded. He finishes the last sip of his drink, sliding off the barstool suavely. 

Before you can take more than a step, his arm loops around your waist, pulling you closer.

The haze of the drinks and his steady warmth make you feel like you’re walking on air as he guides you to the stairs leading to the rooftop.

When you step outside, the cool night air nips at your bare shoulders, making you shiver. You turn on your heel, already halfway to suggesting going back for your coat when Javier beats you to it.

“Just take mine,” he says, shrugging out of his leather jacket gallantly. He drapes it over your shoulders, the weight of it heavy but comforting, the potent scent of him wrapping around you like a second skin, making you giddy.

The sleeves fall far past your hands and you let out a contented laugh. “Gracias, Javi,” you angle yourself to press a kiss to his cheek.

With his hand in yours, you tug him toward the edge of the rooftop, where the city sprawls out below in a sea of twinkling lights.

“You know, despite all the violence and corruption, this country really is so beautiful.”

Javier doesn’t respond right away. His gaze shifts from the city to you, longingly. “Yeah,” he agrees in a raspy timbre, “it is.”

But his words aren’t meant for the city. They’re meant for you.

An eager, ill-timed firework crackles in the distance, a single streak of light exploding into a shower of gold and white over the skyline. 

“Look at that,” you whisper, the sound barely audible over the growing cheers and whistles of the crowd.

Javier doesn’t look at the fireworks. He can’t. His gaze is glued to you, the way the vibrant colors illuminate your features, casting you in a kaleidoscope of light. 

He’s memorizing everything about this moment: the tilt of your lips as you smile, the slight raise in your brow as you lose yourself in the spectacle, his jacket draped over your shoulders.

The countdown begins, voices around you picking up in excitement.

Ten… nine…

You glance up at him, your face glowing with the anticipation of a fresh start with the only person you want by your side. “Javi,” the way his name rolls off your tongue jabs at his crumbling walls.

Eight… seven…

He manages a fleeting smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite the leaden weight of his turmoil on his back.

Six… five…

Your free hand comes up to rest lightly on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you for being here.”

Four… three…

“Always,” he replies, even though it’s a lie.

Two… one…

You both lean in at the same time, as if pulled by some invisible thread. Your lips meet his in a kiss that feels as inevitable as the sunrise. It’s soft at first, tender and unhurried, but it shifts quickly, urgency fueling it.

The rooftop erupts in cheers as the first moments of the new year are ushered in with a thunderous cascade of fireworks. The sky is alive with bursts of red, white, gold.

For you, it feels like the perfect moment, the start of something good. You can’t imagine wanting anything else but this—him, here, now.

For Javier, it feels like a bittersweet end. Laced with his unspoken heartbreak, a desperate attempt to memorize the taste of your lips, the way your body fits so perfectly against his, before everything comes crashing down.

When you finally pull back, your cheeks are hot, your smile radiant as you look up at him. “Feliz Año Nuevo.”

He forces a smile, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Happy New Year, cariño.”

You surge forward again, the pull of him irresistible. Your hands cradle his jaw as your tongue teases against his bottom lip, a silent plea he answers without hesitation. His mouth parts, letting you in—hot and enthralling, making your toes curl in your heels.

His fingers slide lower, grabbing a possessive handful of your ass. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth, and your thighs instinctively press together, trying to quell the thrum of arousal beginning to pulse at your cunt.

“Take me home,” you whisper desperately as you break away, all shaky and breathless. Your eyes meet his dark and hooded ones, mirroring your own need.

For a second, Javier doesn’t move, caught in the crossfire of his own thoughts. But as he looks at you, sees the way, your pupils are blown wide with desire—any lingering hesitation crumbles.

“Let’s go.”

He leads you through the crowd, his broad shoulders parting the sea of people like he was made to shield you from the chaos.

Your pulse races, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach as the fireworks continue to explode above, unnoticed by either of you.

You love how his weight settles over you, his hands traveling in hunger across every inch of your skin. The way you grind against him feels like second nature, your body responding to his every move with an unrelenting need. 

You hadn’t expected him to take his time like this, stretching out every moment of foreplay as if he’s trying to make it last forever.

It’s the third time tonight he’s taken you apart with his mouth, but this time, his fingers are joining in, plunging into your soaked heat while his tongue flicks over your clit in a rhythm that makes you see fireworks erupting against your vision.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably, your body twisting against the damp sheets as you struggle to stay present.

Javier’s tongue drags slow circles over your swollen nub before he sucks it into his mouth, the gentle pull sending sharp jolts down your spine. 

His fingers curl inside you, brushing against that devastating spot that has your back arching clean off the mattress.

“Javi!” you cry out, hips stuttering against his face as the wave of your climax crashes over you. His hooked nose presses against you as you fall apart.

He doesn’t stop. He’s utterly lost in you—your sweet headiness, the way your walls squeeze around his fingers. You have to yank hard on his hair to finally pull him away, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he looks up at you, mouth glistening with your release.

He licks his lips slowly, savoring every last bit. There’s a desperate intensity in his eyes, like his palate is memorizing the taste of you.

Javier kisses his way up your body, stopping to worship your breasts, his tongue and teeth teasing each peak until you’re squirming, your pussy continuously drooling for him.

When his lips finally crash against yours, it’s messy as he lets you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands roam over his broad back, tracing the curve of muscle and sinew, appreciating the feel of his skin against yours. You sigh softly, content to be pinned beneath him.

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the order, and though your body feels overwhelmed from his attention, you obey without hesitation. Your desire for him outweighs everything else.

Javier shifts back, giving you room to move. You reposition yourself, chest and stomach pressed flat against the mattress while your hips lift, aided by the pillow he slides beneath you.

The cool air kisses your exposed skin, and you hear him groan behind you—a deep sound that has your pussy clenching in anticipation.

“Tan hermosa,” he whispers hoarsely, his rough hands caressing your ass before delivering a playful smack that makes you gasp. The flesh jiggles under his touch, and he leans down to place a tender kiss on your shoulder, biting softly as he aligns himself behind you.

You feel the head of his cock drag through your folds, gathering the slick mess he’s drawn from you before pressing against your wet entrance. He pushes in slowly, the stretch making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

“Javier,” you whimper, your fingers clutching the sheets as he fills you inch by inch.

The angle is devastating, reaching places you didn’t even know existed, and all you can do is hold on tight.

His strong thighs cage yours, while his broad frame looms over you, his toned arms braced on either side of your head. Each measured thrust sends his heavy balls slapping against your puffy, soaked clit.

“Puta madre, you’re so fuckin’ tight like this.” He lowers more of his weight onto you, pressing you further into the mattress, his thrusts growing more delirious.

The force of his movements pulls unrestrained moans from your lips, each one echoing with pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

Your trembling hands fumble over the sheets until they find his calloused palms pressing firmly into the sheets. 

Without hesitation, you intertwine your fingers with his, your softer touch setting off something feral inside him. He starts to pound into you, his hips snapping hard and fast as though the world outside this room doesn’t exist.

Your pussy clamps around on him in response, helplessly succumbing to his pace. Your hips instinctively try to push back against him but his weight over you, so dominant, keeps you in place, forcing you to take the entirety of his cock.

“I-I—” The words tumble out, but they’re incoherent, your mind too clouded with the way he breaks you open, your sex swallowing him in even deeper.

“Another one already? I should’ve taken care of you and this perfect pussy a long,” he thrusts hard, “time,” another sharp snap of his hips, “ago.”

“Ah!” you shriek, your nails digging into his hands where your fingers remain entwined, your vision crossing as he hits that spot inside you that flares your orgasm. “Just like that. Don’t stop, Javi.”

He doesn’t falter nor considers easing up, inducing another wave of stickiness from your cunt.

The obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—wet and raw—fill the room, punctuated by the shameless cries spilling from your throat. Your climax slams into you with breathtaking intensity, your pussy spasming and gripping him so tightly, it pulls a scratchy groan from his lips.

Javier finally stills, buried to the hilt, letting you ride out the aftershocks as your shaking body collapses beneath him. He peppers soft kisses across your damp shoulders and down your spine, his mustache bristling deliciously against your skin.

When his lips find the curve of your neck, he lingers, licking at the delicate flesh there as though he can’t get enough of you.

Four orgasms in, your body feels utterly spent, your thighs trembling as the weight of exhaustion begins to set in. You turn your head, your voice soft as you murmur, ���Javi.”

He lifts his head, his eyes searching yours with concern. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum, a lazy smile curling at your lips. “Just… hold me.”

His chest rises and falls with a staggered breath, the weight of his departure lingers like a shadow over the moment, threatening to sour it. But he pushes it away.

He pulls out of you slowly, the wet slide drawing a hushed whimper from your lips. He rolls onto his side, gathering you into his arms and tucking you against his chest. His still-hard cock, satiny and heavy, presses against your stomach, impossible to ignore.

You glance up at him, fingers trailing down his sternum toward his length. “Do you want me to…?”

He catches your wrist gently, stopping you. “No. Not yet.”

You hum your understanding, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing the top of your head as the two of you settle into a lull of lazy, unhurried affection.

Kisses are exchanged between whispered words, hands mapping the planes of the other’s body.

Everything about him is so damn addictive. 

The lust that simmers reignites, pulling you under its spell, and this time, you don’t wait for permission. Your palm wraps firmly around his cock, tugging him languidly.

Javier’s lashes flutter, his head falling back slightly, exposing the strong line of his throat. A low sound escapes him as his hips move instinctively to match your strokes. “Fuck,” he groans, strained, “Así mero.” (Just like that)

Your thumb brushes over the bead of precum glistening at his tip, smearing it down his length, making him shudder. His jaw tightens, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

The whisper of his name is laced with need as your lips trace his neck. “I need you again.”

He hooks one of your legs over his hip, the other tangled with his in a side-styled missionary, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your breasts.

Your pussy lips part open, eager for him, and the anticipation buzzes through your body. You guide him where you need him and he lets his hips take over, the thick, spongy tip sinking into you until he’s fully seated.

A gasp escapes your lips as he starts to move, slow and purposeful.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he keeps them hidden, burying his face against your throat, engulfing you in his arms entirely.

The thought of losing you cleaves at him, and a desperate idea flits through his mind—if he could just open up, let you see the broken pieces of himself, maybe you’d understand. Maybe you’d come with him to Laredo, let him show you, and himself, the quiet beauty of a life together on his family ranch.

The fantasy swells in his chest, making his thrusts grow more passionate. His teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder, almost enough to hurt.

You’re barely human anymore, lost in the voracious sensation of his cock stretching and filling you; just a mass of feverish energy.

Your fingers dig into his back, nails raking across his sweat-slicked skin as you cling to him, completely uncaring of the sticky warmth where your bodies connect or the thick scent of sex that permeates the air.

“Oh god, Javier,” you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as you tilt your head back. “Keep doing that—oh my god—I love you.”

Your words are a jolt to his system, breaking down every defense he has left. He groans your name as his mouth trails up your throat, leaving a broad stripe of his tongue in its wake before nipping gently at your jaw.

“Say it again,” he breathes heavily as his hips grind deeper, the motion pulling an uncontrolled cry from you, your body jolting against his.

“I love you,” you babble as his movements turn rougher, more desperate.

He presses his forehead to yours, his gaze dark and wanton. “Kiss me,” he rasps.

You obey without hesitation, your lips finding his in a feverish clash of need and devotion.

Tongues tangle and teeth graze as if you’re trying to devour each other, your bodies writhing, desperate to become one.

“Where do you want it?” Javi grits out, hovering on the edge of his release. His chest heaves, feeling your nipples brushing his skin while his muscles turn taut as he tries to hold himself back for your answer.

You’re quivering from the aftermath of what feels like your fifth orgasm, maybe sixth—you’ve lost count.

Your mind is hazy, clouded with exhaustion and bliss, that his question barely registers. Your fingers clutch at his forearms, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as you look up at him.

You manage a soft pout with trembling lips. “Inside,” You need it badly, your pussy instinctively clenching around his cock at the prospect of him filling you. Then, with more desperation, you plead. “Please, Javi.”

The way your lips purse, the edge of tears in your voice have his instincts taking over. A greedy, lustful desire too overpowering to resist.

He has to give you what you’re begging for.

“Fuck,” Javi groans, his head dropping against your shoulder, his voice muffled as curses and ragged breaths spill from his lips. He finishes inside of you in hot, shuddering waves.

The heat of his cum stuffing you has a blissful mewl escaping your lips. Your pussy insatiably holding onto every drop, milking him as though your body can’t bear to let him go.

He remains there, his cock twitching inside as the both of you ride out the ecstasy.

Javi makes no move to pull out, instead his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close as his spend drips out around his cock and down to his balls.

Time feels like it bends and stretches, the minutes melting into hours as you lose yourselves in each other.

You fuck, you make out, you touch each other so tenderly that you’re certain you somehow managed to retrieve a slice of heaven right here in your bedroom.

The night gives way to the distant glow of dawn. The room is bathed in a soft, golden light as the sun peeks over the horizon.

You’re both exhausted, your bodies aching from the endless push and pull of pleasure, yet neither of you seems willing to stop.

Javier hovers above you, half lidded gaze locked with yours. Your legs are loosely wrapped around his middle while his hips move suavely. 

“Just one more,” he’s practically begging as those brown eyes of his bore into yours. He just needs one more. “You can do it, pretty girl. I know you can. Been doin’ so good all night.”

His lips finally find yours in an ardent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him yet again. You’re lost in all he’s given you, your world spinning as your final orgasm tears through you.

He follows shortly after, his hand wrapped around your jaw as he holds you steady while he pumps you full of his cum.

Javi turns gentle as he plants sweet kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. He caresses your thighs then up your side as your breathing slows.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He continues to knead and fondle, murmuring soft praises until you’re completely at ease, melting into him.

You’re drifting toward sleep, limbs heavy and utterly spent, your body glowing in the soft light of early morning. The faint sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, catching rays as they filter through the curtains.

Javier leans against the headboard, eyes tracing the length of your body beneath the sheets. The serenity in your expression tugs at a longing so profound, it’s painful. When his gaze flicks to the alarm clock on the bedside table, the time glares at him in bold red numbers.

His flight boards in a little over three hours.

The lump in his throat swells, a heavy, choking pressure that makes it feel like it’s going to explode and rupture his neck. He prays you can’t feel the way his heart beats erratically or how his body seems to radiate a fever level temperature as the anxiety settles in. 

Fuck.

He moves slowly, not wanting to wake you. Carefully, he shifts your body, rolling you to your side. You’re so pliant, so exhausted that you murmur something unintelligible before nuzzling into the pillow. 

He hesitates, watching as your breathing deepens again.

His jeans are tugged on first, the soft rustle of fabric barely audible in the quiet room. He doesn’t bother buttoning his shirt, draping it over his shoulders as he moves around, collecting his belongings. 

Maybe this is the cleanest way, he thinks bitterly. To just leave. Slip out before the inevitable fallout. You’ll hate him either way—better to make a quick exit than to sit through the heartbreak, to explain the compromised morals that led him here.

But as he tugs his boot on, you stir. Your arm stretches across the empty space where he once was, craving his warmth. When you feel nothing, you open your eyes, squinting against the pale light.

“Javi?” You call out drowsily and a little confused.

For a moment, he considers staying silent, waiting to see if you’ll fall back into slumber. But then you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the heel of your hand.

You don’t care about the mascara smudged beneath your lashes or the eyeliner smearing your waterline. All you care about is the sight of him standing there, half-dressed, looking like he’s about to bolt.

“Why are you getting dressed?”

Javier licks his teeth, buying time he doesn’t have. His fingers flexing as if searching for something to hold onto. You catch the pained set of his jaw.

“I’m leaving.”

You blink, slow and disbelieving, as if the action will somehow help you make sense of what he just said. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

“To the airport.”

“Airport?” You’re more awake now, moving to the edge of the bed and reaching under where your robe lies in a heap.

The soreness in your muscles makes you wince as you bend to grab it, slipping it on as you stand. Your legs are wobbly, the remnants of the all nighter making themselves known. “Why? Did you get called back to Medellín?”

Javier watches you silently, his teeth grinding when you walk to him, your expression expectant and confused.

“I’m going back to Texas,” he finally answers.

“Texas?” The frown on your face deepens. “Is your dad okay?”

For you to assume his departure is over his father’s wellbeing somehow makes this worse. His lips press into a thin line, eyes darting away. “He’s fine.”

“Then why are you—” You pause, exhaling sharply, exasperation bubbling at his curt replies. You hate when he gets like this. You figured you’d be past it now.“Why are you going back?”

He struggles to form but a few words at a time. “I got suspended,” he tells you. “Indefinitely. Flight’s out at nine.”

The room falls silent. That’s the last thing you expected to hear.

“How long have you known?”

“Found out this afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You glare at him. “You were just going to leave without saying anything?” That hurts.

“I didn’t want to ruin your night. I was trying to make it easier.” He stupidly answers.

“Easier?” Your voice rises slightly, incredulous. “Sneaking out after spending all night with me makes this easier? For who, Javi? You or me?”

His expression blazes with guilt. “You don’t understand what this is—what I’m trying to… protect you from.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you fire back, your hands trembling as you tuck them into the pockets of your robe to keep from reaching for him. “You tell me that you love me and give me all these empty promises only to sneak out after you’ve fucked me.” He winces. “What are you protecting me from now? From you? From us?”

Javier’s nostrils flare, his breathing ragged. Every point you make is so valid and it crushes him. “From the mess I’ve made.”

“Then tell me what the hell happened.” You can’t help him if you don’t know what’s killing him. “Be direct. Stop shutting me out and just talk to me! I deserve that much.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to deflect again, to retreat into the same cagey silence. But then he exhales sharply, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

“I killed him.”

The simplicity of it leaves you puzzled. “Who?”

“Mateo.”

Your chest tightens, trying to recall what he’s already told you about the other’s demise. “You said he died in the crossfire—”

“I lied.” The admission lands with the force of a hit, and Javier’s eyes meet yours, pleading for understanding but knowing it’s a futile hope. “I found him. Holed up in Cartagena. I dragged him out myself. Took him to a warehouse.” He grows quieter with each word, but the confession barrels forward. “I beat him. Then I emptied the entire clip into his body.”

The room goes deathly still, the echoes of his words lingering in the air. Even the rhythm of your breathing slows, like your body needs time to process what you’ve just heard.

“You… you dragged him out,” you repeat, as if saying it again might change its meaning. “You took him to a warehouse.”

He nods once, a sharp, curt motion, feeling as if he’s watching this outside of himself.

“And you—” The words burn in your throat. “You killed him. Like that. You… tortured him.”

“I had to.” The anguish bleeds through his words.

Had to.

It feels like the ground has just given out beneath you. Your lips part, but no words come. You’re staring at him like you’re seeing someone entirely different.

“Had to?” you can’t help but parrot, the excuse tastes bitter on your tongue. “Why couldn’t you just arrest him?” Mateo deserved all his suffering, sure, but it wasn’t up to Javier to enact it as so.

You’d made peace with the idea of his death when you thought it happened in the chaos of a raid. But this? This is something else entirely.

“It’s not that simple,” he tries, his voice rigid with frustration, but it feels like an insult to your intelligence. 

“Is this why you got fired? Because they found out you killed him?”

Another pause. His hesitation only stokes the fire burning in your chest.

“No.”

Now you’re spiraling, your mind racing to conjure something worse than killing a man that could’ve cost him his career.

You take a step closer, toe to toe now, your robe hanging loosely off your frame, his shirt still unbuttoned and exposing his chest. It’s hard to believe you were just entwined in carnal bliss. “What did you do, Javier?”

There’s so much hurt laced in your question, it’s a wonder the room doesn’t shatter around you. He looks away, his lips rubbing absentmindedly, mustache twitching as he struggles to form a response.

“I cooperated with them,” his confession feels jagged. “The cartels. The paramilitary assholes. Get Escobar—that was the goal.”

Your legs move on instinct, a shaky step backward, and Javier follows reflexively, his hand half-reaching for you before he thinks better of it. His presence only makes it worse, his body too close, his words too loud in your ears.

It’s like every fear wrapped into one devastating realization. After everything you went through—after the pain he watched you try to claw your way back from—he still went out there, trading his soul for deals made in blood.

“You knew what they did to me,” disappointment strings your words together, and while you understand that it wasn’t the same men who jumped you—they are all still cut from the same cloth. “You saw what they took from me, and you still…”

“There wasn’t another way,” he insists, desperate now, the plea in his eyes almost unbearable to look at. “I did what I had to do to bring him down.”

“There’s always another way!” You yell, the words ripping from your throat like they’re trying to drag the hurt out of you with them. “But you didn’t care. Not about the innocent people they killed or the lives they ruined.”

His face twists in anguish, as if he hadn’t been beating himself up for all the civilians that became casualties, but you don’t stop. The distress boils over, spilling out of you in a torrent. “The job always takes priority. Above everything—above everyone.”

Your hands act on their own, shoving at his chest as if the force could make him feel even an ounce of the pain you’re carrying. Javier doesn’t resist. He lets you push him, lets your palms land against him over and over, taking it all because he knows he deserves it.

“How am I supposed to look at you the same?” You demand, tears streaming freely down your face now, each one a testament to the betrayal sinking its claws into you. You shove him again, harder this time, backing him toward the living room. “How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

His own eyes glisten, cheek tensing in distress, but he doesn’t say a word because he can’t.

“You’re no better, Javier. You’re just like them.”

You begin to get flashbacks of your confrontation with Mateo. His callous words echo in your head, overlapping with Javier’s explanations. The two begin to blur together, their justifications eerily aligned, like different faces of the same haunting coin.

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

You stare at him, and for a moment, he’s not the man you love anymore. He’s another wraith from the nightmare you barely escaped.

“I know.”

He’s such a self-aware asshole, and it makes you livid. The way he stands there, bracing himself like he knows he deserves everything you’re throwing at him—like he’s already written himself off as the villain in this story. It’s infuriating.

The morning light streams in through the windows, slicing across the room in uneven beams. It’s amplifying everything: every emotion, every movement, every goddamn look he gives you as you stand off in the middle of the living room.

“Despite it all… you still found the time to fuck me. And I let you.”

You can feel the fire licking up your neck, but it’s not from embarrassment—it’s from the sting of humiliation. How you let yourself be fooled twice by two different men. 

You tighten your robe around you, the soft fabric suddenly feeling like sandpaper against your skin. Everything feels wrong now.

He watches you, his expression etched with guilt for making you question your worth. Despite it, he doesn’t regret taking you to bed.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you continue, more to yourself than to him, carrying anger and self-loathing. “For trusting you again. For ignoring every single red flag you waved in my face. You weren’t just a shitty friend, Javi. You were a walking disaster, and I still let you back in.”

He flinches, but it’s not enough. You want him to feel it, to feel the way your heart aches and how your trust, fragile and carefully rebuilt, crumbles to dust at your feet.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” you state with another shove, forcing him closer to the front door. He continues to comply, stumbling backwards in silence, letting you release it all.

“If you cared about me at all, you would’ve stayed away. You just had to come back, had to get your hands on me again. And I was so desperate—so fucking desperate to believe you’d be different.”

You laugh tearfully, hands falling to your sides as you stand in the short hallway that leads to the entrance. “But you’re not different. You’re just a man with nothing but a big ego that’s drowning in his own penitence.”

He swallows hard, your words reverberating with the sickening truth and he wills himself to speak.

“Nothing was getting done,” Javi begins, the weariness of it all finally breaking him. “No one fucking cared. That motherfucker kept killing people, bombing the streets all while getting richer and untouchable. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, it wasn’t enough. And then—” His voice tapers, gaze dropping for just a moment before moving back to yours.

“And then you got hurt. That was one thing I could fix. I could right the wrong, make you feel safer. I did it for you!”

“For me?” You scoff out a doubting laugh. “So, what, you decided you’d be judge, jury, and executioner? You think killing him—brutally, no less—makes any of it better? That it erases what he did to me?”

“It was a start—”

“You didn’t do this for me, Javier,” you cut him off, your voice teetering with fury and hurt. “You did it for you. To ease your guilt, to feel like you had control.”

His breathing grows ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to get so fucking lost I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad anymore? I did what I had to do!”

“Stop saying that!” 

“I don’t know how else to fix this,” he fires back.

“And I don’t know how to believe you,” you whisper, the fight draining from your voice as tears spill freely down your cheeks. “All you do is hurt me, Javi.”

Javier steps back, his shoulders slumping, his entire frame caving in. Desperation flickers in his eyes as he reaches for the only card he has left to play—the last, sapped attempt to salvage what little remains.

 “I’m sorry,” he breathes, though it’s barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your body freezes when he gets closer. His large hands tremble slightly as they cup your face.

“I never wanted to hurt you. Te amo.” He murmurs, his voice soft and pained as his forehead presses against yours. His lips brush yours, and it sends a jolt through your body, a cruel reminder of all the ways he’s managed to slither his way back into your heart and mind. 

Your lips quiver, salty wet trails streaking your cheeks. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head and pushing against his chest, your palms meeting his bare skin where his shirt falls open. You manage to break away, the distance between you offering only the barest reprieve.

But Javier doesn’t stop. He steps forward again, crowding you, his desperation palpable. “Please, cariño,” he implores. “I love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry—so sorry.” The words tumble out of him in a desperate loop, growing more frantic each time, as if sheer repetition might somehow undo the damage. 

And fuck do you hear the genuine ache there, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve heard it all before—the apologies, the promises, the declarations. None of it fixes this. 

Despite your actions, your body betrays you. Even as you try to shove him away, you feel the magnetic pull, the infuriating draw that keeps you tangled in his orbit. It’s a push and pull, your hands shoving at his chest while your heart screams at you to stop.

And you hate him for it. For the way he makes you feel. For the way his arms still feel like home even as your love for him falls apart.

“All I hear is excuses. Like always. Get off me, Javier.” Your voice shakes, but the resolve in it is ironclad, each word laced with finality. You swallow back your sobs, forcing yourself to sound strong—for him, for yourself. He hears it too; the end is in your tone. You’re done.

His hands linger on your waist for a moment longer, the satin of your robe bunched helplessly in his grasp. Reluctantly, he lets go, his back brushing against the doorknob as if the exit is pushing him to leave.

Javier’s gaze lingers over you one last time, absorbing every detail like a man cataloging his losses.

The swollen redness of your eyes and how you seem to fold into yourself as if shielding your heart from further harm. Because of him. The betrayal etched deep into your expression cuts deeper than any wound he’s ever felt. Because of him. It all screams painful vulnerability, lowered self-esteem you didn’t have before.

All he’s done is hurt you. Him and his inability to separate his good intentions from his devastating habits. Him and his selfishness, pursuing you when he knew better.

Now you get a good look at him: disheveled, bags shadowing his weary eyes, faint bruises staining his jawline, his heaving chest exposed and slick with the sweat of desperation.

You both stand in silence, weighed down by words unspoken because there’s nothing left to say. The air between you is charged with the knowledge that you despise what he’s become.

He reaches for the door and opens it, the sound of the bolt sliding back loud in the tense silence.

Time marches on, indifferent to your heartbreak, and Javier hesitates, his boots heavy as they meet the threshold.

Gathering every ounce of strength left in you, you find your voice. “Please leave… and don’t come back.”

Your voice prompts him, cold and resolute, and it takes everything in him to obey. He steps out, the apartment door left wide open behind him.

He turns, desperate for one last look, the soft daylight framing him like a man on the edge of a cliff. “I love you.”

You grip the edge of the door, willing yourself not to fall apart further. “Not anymore,” you whisper, venom interwoven through the statement. “Never again.”

And with that, you shut the door in his face, turning the lock with trembling hands.

The weight of it all crashes over you now that you’re alone and you stumble back, collapsing right there on the floor. You bury your face in the crook of your elbow to muffle the sobs racking your body as you begin to mourn the loss of the man you loved.

On the other side of the door, Javier stands frozen, the loss sinking into his bones. The worn numbers of your apartment stare back at him, mocking him with their permanence.

He blinks slowly, a single tear leaking from his eye as his fingers brushing the wood one last time before he turns away, dragging his feet next door, knowing that he’s lost you forever.

Months later, you receive a letter.

The envelope is creased and smudged, the handwriting unmistakably his—slanted, hurried, like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough. You almost toss it, but that small, unhealed part in your heart with his name carved on it keeps you from doing so.

I’m sorry. For everything. I think about you every day, and I know I have no right to, but I do. I hope you’re happy. You deserve that much…

You read it over and over until the words blur.

You never write back. There’s no reason to.

Some love stories don’t end with a clean break or a tidy resolution. Some just… linger, like a wound that scabs over but never truly heals.

And that’s what you and Javier become: a scar, a memory that neither of you can fully let go of, no matter how hard you try.

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

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[jayparked]

can u do 52 and 76 with jay🥺🥺 (quite he is yandere if u wanted too?)

WARNINGS: IMPLIED MAFIA AU???? LMAO (idk where tf this came from), yandere jay? (idk if i did it right), possessive jay, he threatens to kill someone, orgasm denial, dom jay, marking, spanking, overstimulation, pet names, dirty talk, rough unprotected sex, fingering (why tf are there so many warnings for a drabble omfg)

WC: 811

"who is he?" jay demands. his jaw is clenched as he waits for your response, eyes wild and frantic.

"i- jay i told you. my father insists i be seen with him-"

jay's hand smacks the wall right by your face. although it makes you jump, you know he doesn't do it in an attempt to scare you. it's just a way for him to let out the emotions he's feeling stirring inside.

"your father," jay snarls and pulls away from you, laughing maniacally while shaking his head until his hair is falling over his eyes, "i bite my tongue, follow every order- excel at every mission assigned to me, and he still doesn't see that i'm the one he should be trusting you with." disbelief is dripping from his tone.

your shoulders relax and you take a step towards him. "jay," you whisper softly, "it's purely transactional, you know that. my father just wants me to be seen with this guy so his competition backs off and finds new territory. i promise he won't get in our way."

"i'll kill him. that'll surely get him out of the way." jay laughs again, the muscles in his back tensing even more.

"i promise what's-his-name will be gone before we know it."

jay pauses, pointer finger pressed firmly to his lips before he turns and points it at you with a sly smile. "you don't know his name."

you're about to reply when you realize it's not a question, but a confident realization. so, you smile softly and wait instead.

you didn't have to wait long. because just moments later jay is pushing your head down into the mattress with your ass up in the air; the perfect position for him to lay possessively harsh smacks against your skin while he rapidly pounds his raw cock deep inside your cunt. your neck and chest are littered with fresh bright red hickeys and bite marks, his desperate way of claiming you.

"'s too much!" you cry out, eyes shut tightly as your toes start to curl with the amount of pleasure building up throughout your body. jay's pace is relentless, his hand smacking the swell of your ass yet again making you yelp. the sting brings a fresh string of tears to your eyes, your hands fisting at the bedsheets around you as some sort of leverage.

"fuuuck, baby. i can feel this tight little pussy gripping me even more. you want to come?"

"y-yes, I- please-"

"hmm...but do you really deserve to?" he leans forward until his face is next to yours, lips ghosting over the skin of your ear. "tell me who you belong to, baby. tell me who's the only person that gets to have you like this."

you scream out his name and jay promptly rewards you with a particularly harsh thrust. finally reaching your limit, your body lets go, the dam inside you bursting while your orgasm ripples throughout your body.

"that's it, baby, oh that's it," jay groans and flips you onto your back. your eyes flutter shut, expecting him to give you a break for a moment before he chases his own high. but, he clearly has other plans.

"oh i'm not done with you." his fingers fill the space his cock just stretched out, pushing your juices back inside at a cruel, slow pace. his fingers beckon you toward him, calling you back to pleasure as he watches your body tremble with overstimulation.

tears pool from the corners of your eyes, your nails digging into his biceps, desperate for him to ground you.

jay grabs your chin and turns your face towards his, grumbling out, "look at me."

immediately your eyes are open and meeting his hooded gaze.

"you know i'll do it right?" he grunts, "i'll kill anyone who thinks they have a chance with you. you're mine. i dont care what i have to do or who i have to hurt to make sure it stays that way." there's a hungry fire behind his eyes, his fingers picking up speed.

"mmm, fuck, oh my god. jay i-" your own moan interrupts you, the sentence long lost in the void of your mind as the painful pleasure he's inflicting upon you blinds all of your senses.

"look at you, squirming under me, all flushed and pretty looking. can't even take a little teasing, can you? i'll make sure no one else wants you with how badly i'm about to ruin you again."

your second orgasm is already quickly approaching, your brain humming the more he talks. he's not even talking to get a response to you, he's more-so speaking his threats and intentions into the universe, willing anyone to dare test them. and you'll be damned if you didn't stand confidently next to him and watch as he burns down the world for you.

♡ for part of my 1k follower celebration ♡ masterlist

[thethronezone]

If you do asks for Primarch dads, let me humbly offer Primarchs reacting to their kid sustaining pretty serious injury.

-Mortarion sometimes underestimated the intelligence of his child. They weren't stupid by any means, he simply did not expect much from them considering their young age. Not even a decade old, what could they do? So when they expressed an interest in his work, his lab, he had refused them without a second thought. He hadn't even considered the possibility that they might find another way into the room, even without his direct access. Mortarion had been careless. He should have used better locks.

His child weeps and trembles in his arms, small hands covering their burned face in a desperate effort to soothe the pain. Their cries pierce straight through his hearts and when Mortarion is forced to move their hands away from their face so the apothecary can get a look at the injuries, he apologizes, begs them for forgiveness. He's so sorry, little one, please forgive him. Because this was his fault. He should have been more careful. Mortarion will carry this guilt for the rest of his life.

-It's his child's birthday and like usual, Fulgrim is holding a big banquet to celebrate them. Everything is going according to plan. The guests are enjoying themselves, the music is splendid, the food and drink delicious and his child is being admired by all. Fulgrim feels like nothing can go wrong. So when his child approaches him, quietly admitting to not feeling too well, he initially waves it off. It's just nerves, dear. Have a bite to eat and you will feel better in no time. And for a few minutes, everything is fine. Then his child suddenly collapses onto the floor, clutching their mouth as a torrent of dark blood spews from between their lips.

Fulgrim is not really sure what happens next. He's by their side, holding their hand and he knows the guests are screaming, panicking, but he can't hear them. Can't even see them as anything more than moving blurs in his peripheral. He's too focused on the way his child, the way they are trembling, shaking and gasping for air, all while looking him in the eyes pleadingly. He can't look away because what if this is it? It's only when a team of apothecaries arrives and begin their life-saving efforts that Fulgrim snaps out of it, fear and anguished turning into overwhelming hatred. Immediately, he orders his men to apprehend all the guests and the servants, let no one escape. Someone has poisoned his child and he promises, oh he swears on his life and honor, that whoever did it will face a fate worse than death.

-It was an accident. Angron, despite all his faults, had never wanted to hurt his child. Even in his darkest moments, even when he had been overcome with senseless rage, this sentiment rang true. That's why he'd always kept his child at arm's length, so he wouldn't accidentally hurt them. And it had worked. Angron had not laid a single hand on his child in anger, had never made them bleed. Not until the day it finally happened, when he snapped. His child, who had never feared his temper, had given him an attitude and Angron, who had already been in a bad mood, had acted instinctively and... It hurt to just think about what he had done in that sudden fit of uncontrollable rage.

Once the red haze had left his mind, Angron had found himself standing above his child who laid sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide and full of fear while clutching their jaw with both hands. It was broken, the skin of their lips split and a few teeth knocked loose. Immediately, Angron felt his blood go cold as he realized what he had done. He wanted to reach out, to apologize and plead for forgiveness, to cradle them in his arms and take away the pain, make it his own, tear his own heart out and die and- and- Angron storms out the room, guilt tearing him apart on the inside and the nails screaming at him to shed even more blood.

-Magnus often forgot how young his child truly was. How inexperienced and vulnerable they were. It was too easy to see himself in them so when they pushed themself... he didn't stop them in time. And now they had to pay for it, for his lack of foresight. They were in a coma, caused by intense psychic backlash. They had just wanted to prove themself to him, to show their power as a psyker but it had been to much for them and... Magnus had seen them drop, like a puppet with all their strings cut off, and for a moment he had feared them dead and the palace had shook with his psychic scream of agony.

He spends a long time by his child's side as they recover. He tells them stories, tales full of wonder and hopes they provide his little one with pleasant dreams. Magnus could check for himself, could enter their mind and take a look but he does not dare to. Not after what happened. What if his psychic presence only makes it worse? So he sits on the edge of their bed, hands clasped and head hanging low, almost as if in prayer, and waits for his child to awaken.

-When the Iron Warrior approaches him, Perturabo knows it's about his child. He can see it on their face, as the astartes always have this expression when it comes to them. The space marine explains that his child hit their head pretty hard during a sparring session and now got a concussion. Perturabo sighs. Tells the astartes' to discipline whoever had been his child's sparring partner and then waves them away before going back to his work. He's not worried. His child is attended to by apothecaries and serfs, they are looked after and attended to. There's no need for him to work himself up over this.

It's only when Perturabo later goes to check up on his child, to see how well they are healing, that he feels... something. They are in bed and their chamber is dark, with only a few candles scattered though out the room to shed some dim light. They look at him, greet him like he expects them to, but Perturabo can see the sluggishness in their movements, their dazed expression. Seeing them so vulnerable is... unpleasant. He tells his child to rest well, to do as the apothecaries say and to recover swiftly before hurrying out of the chamber, desperate to get rid of the heavy feeling in his chest.

-As much as Alpharius and Omegon values intelligence and subterfuge, they are both very much aware that in this galaxy ravaged by conflict, some occasions required a more direct approach using brute force. As such, their child is taught how to fight from an early age. It starts with basic self defense. It pleases both of them to see that their child quickly takes to the lessons and excel in the training exercises. But even a prodigy can stumble and so, during one of their sparring lessons, things go wrong. There's a crack and a yelp of pain and suddenly there are tears in the child's eyes.

A broken rib, the twin Primarchs are informed. Easily treated, with some rest and ice applied to the swollen area. Alpharius and Omegon listen attentively, calm but serious. They are not worried, their minds put at ease by the apothecary's diagnosis and words. Instead, they try to frame the thing as something positive to their child, a learning opportunity. They want to make it clear that failure and pain does not mean everything is lost. A valuable lesson for the future.

-When Lorgar gets the message that his child is in the medical center, he does not hesitate to rush there, no matter what he's doing at the time. Nothing is more important to him than the wellbeing of his child. Lorgar arrives at the medical center to find them sitting on one of the medical cots, in the middle of getting attended to by an apothecary. Immediately, Lorgar is by their side, inspecting them for damage. He starts frowning and murmuring with concern when he sees the medical patch over their eye and his frown grows even larger when he's told that his child almost lost the eye.

Honestly, Lorgar is more concerned and worried than his kid is and they have to ease his nerves by promising to be more careful in the future. For the entirety of the time that his child wears the medical eyepatch, there will be a look of concern on his face, a soft frown that only goes away when the eye finishes healing and the patch is removed.

-It all happened so quickly. All Horus had wanted to do was show his child a planet that him and the Luna Wolves had recently inducted into Imperium after defeating the local forces. His pride had urged him to share this success with them, to bask in their admiration. Horus had assumed the area secure, all the opposition defeated... He had been wrong. One vengeful enemy soldier, unable to accept the fact that they had lost, laying in wait with their gun locked and loaded. A coward that, instead of going after Horus himself, had decided to target his child. One second they are laughing, smiling, and then there's the echo of gunfire and they are on the ground, bleeding. His child is bleeding.

Horus holds them in his arms, cradling them like a newborn as they weakly clutch at him and whimper in pain. He shushes them gently, smooths their hair out of their face and promises them everything will be alright. He's the picture of calm, of composure and comfort. Inside, however, he is raging, howling like a mindless beast thirsting for bloody vengeance. He's only holding back so he can soothe his child, keep them calm. But he knows that the moment he gets his hands on the one who did this, he will devolve into a savage and tear them apart in the most agonizingly painful way he can think of. That, he promises.

-Konrad is in the other end of fortress when hears the sudden scream of pain coming from his child. The reaction is instantaneous. Like a man possessed, he rushes through the hallways, roughly shoving aside whoever is too slow to get out of his way, astartes and serfs alike. He doesn't even notice them, mind busy conjuring up different scenarios of what might have happened, each worse than the last. Konrad arrives at his child's room to find them crouched on the floor, clutching their hand and whimpering. On the floor is a pool of blood, a knife, and a finger.

In less than a second, he's by their side, inspecting their hand and asking, rather brusquely, what happened. And his child cries, from both pain and shame, as they admit to having played with the weapon, wishing to be like their father. Konrad feels a million different emotions all at once but he can only express it with a tight expression and grit teeth as he picks his little one up, their severed finger in one hand, as he takes them to the Apothecary, hoping that they can reattach the digit. He silently blames himself for letting this happen because if he had not been the way he is, then his child would never have gotten the idea to play with deadly weapons.

-From the moment he had seen their little wings, Sanguinius had looked forward towards teaching his child how to fly. And to be fair, it had been going great! His child was brave and eager to learn, listening attentively to him as he explained how to spread their wings and watching as he demonstrated how to balance on the winds. They were getting more confident in the air, more daring. It was a good thing but Sanguinius still told them that they were only allowed to practice under his supervision. He should have known they would eventually disobey him. After all, he would have done the same.

Still, the result still ended up catching Sanguinius by surprise. A broken wing, caused by his child crash landing after they had tried to fly on their own. He holds them close as the apothecary tends to their broken limb, their forehead pressed against his sternum as they cry. Sanguinius combs through their hair with one hand and keeps them from moving around too much with the other so the apothecary can do their job. He mutters soft words of comfort, not just to make their pain more bearable but to prove to them that he is not angry at them. Upset at their injury, yes, but he could never stay mad at his child. Sanguinius will take care of them while they are healing, making sure that they remember they can always trust him.

-No. No ,no, no, no. It's the only thought that echoes inside Corvus's head when he sees his child fall from the rafters that they so love to play in. He acts on pure instinct, dashing forward to catch them, arms outstretched and practically throwing himself across the room. But he's too late. The sound they make when their small body hit the floor will haunt him to his dying days and the way they just lay on the floor, unmoving... If not for the soft rise and fall of their ribcage, Corvus would have feared them dead. Gently scooping his child up in his arms and cradling them close, Corvus runs to the apothecary, doing his best to shake their body as little as possibly to not make their injuries worse.

When he arrives at the apothecaries, his eyes are wide, panicked. "Help them". It's an order, a plea, a demand. Corvus practically hovers over the apothecary as they work. It's not that he does not trust them but there's this lingering fear that won't go away. In his mind's eye, he sees his child falling and hitting the floor, over and over again. He should never have let them play up there, what was he thinking? Blames himself for this happening and his guilt manifests as overprotectiveness.

-Ferrus was not meant to be a father. He knew this better than anyone else. Yet somehow, he still managed to disappoint himself. When his child had expressed an interest in his work, Ferrus had been happy. Proud. Eager to share his knowledge and passion. So eager that he momentarily forgot just how fragile children are. That's why he hadn't given them any protective gear when they entered his workshop. Ferrus certainly didn't need it so he didn't think to- Terra, he didn't think.

The stench of seared flesh, the sound of electricity, the feeling of static in the air. One second his child is standing beside him, eyes wide and shining with curiosity, and the next they are splayed out on the floor, spasming. What happens next is purely instinctual on Ferrus' part. Within moments, his child is in his arms and he's out of his workshop, sprinting at full speed down the halls to the apothecary. For a man so proud of his rationality, his reason, there's none to be found in this moment. Only pure, unfiltered panic. The only thing that matters is his child and their irregular, weak heartbeats.

-Rogal watches with a calm expression as the apothecary tends to his child's injuries. He knows they are in good hands, that despite the severity of the injuries that they are going to recover. Yet he can't bring himself to leave. When his child had gotten injured, he had been filled with such a sense of urgency that now that things had calmed down, he didn't know what to do with the restless energy inside of him. Rogal is not worried, he's a logical man, but he's... concerned? He does not know how to describe it, the feeling that haunts him. Like all Primarchs, he has a perfect memory and while he normally views this as something positive, now he can't help but lament the fact that he can't get the image of his injured child out of his head.

On the outside, Rogal is his usual, stoic self but inside he's a whirlwind of emotions. He wants to protect his child from imaginary threats, wants to transfer all their pain over to himself so they won't have to bear with it. And isn't that shameful, to treat them like something frail, to fear a danger that is not present? Even more shameful is the fact that he can't stop his protectiveness from shoving. Rogal hovers around his child more than he usually does during their time of healing, though no one will comment upon it.

-Ever since they were a baby, Vulkan's little one had always been fascinated by fire. It had been charming at first, their excited little shouts when they saw the dancing flames, but as they learned how to walk it became... a concern, to say the least. Vulkan only had himself to blame for this, as his little one had seen him and the Salamanders work with fire with no fear and now held none of their own. As hard as he tried to protect them, it was only a matter of time until they got burned.

Still, when Vulkan finds his child clutching their hand close to their chest, crying, his hearts catch in his throat and he immediately scoops them up in his arms, offering them soft murmurs of concern and comfort. He inspects their hand and he holds them closer when he sees the nasty burns that stretch all the way to their wrist. With hurried steps he goes to the apothecary, knowing they have the tools to ease the pain and heal the blistered skin. Refuses to put his child down though, he holds them in his arms the entire time.

-It happens during training. Son or daughter, it does not matter, Lion will not allow his child to grow up without knowing how to fight. Usually, someone else is in charge of sparring with them but this day Lion decides that he's going to step in. Test them. He's pushing them to their limits, keeping them on their guard the whole time, critiquing their form and resolve when... he pushes them too far.

One second they are standing in front of him, defending from his attacks, and the next they are on the ground, clutching their arm and biting their lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from crying out. Lion stops and his eyes widen as he realizes that he's just broken their arm. Immediately, he barks at the serfs to fetch an Apothecary, voice loud and harsh. While they do that, Lion kneels next to his child, hands awkwardly hovering above them, and tells them that he really didn't mean to do that. He does not apologize but he feels the intense need to make it clear he hadn't meant to go so far. His expression might be stern but inside, Lion is feeling an immense amount of guilt.

-Leman liked to watch as his kid played with the wolves, it reminded him of his own childhood. He chuckled as his little one wrested with one of the younger wolves, one that had only just transitioned from pup to adulthood. His laughter was cut short however when he suddenly heard his child cry out in pain and smelt the scent of blood. By the time he's made his way over to his child, the wolf have already released its hold on their arm and is backing away slowly, tail between its legs and looking guilty.

Kneeling, Leman turned his child this way and that way, checking them for injuries and hissing softly when he saw the bite-wound on their shoulder. Fairly deep, judging by the marks and amount of blood. He doesn't blame the wolf though, he can see that it didn't mean to hurt his child, that it had been an accident. Leman picks up his little one and tells them they are going to be alright as he brings them to the apothecary. And hey, if they're lucky then they'll get some nice battle scars from this! This makes his child laugh, momentarily forgetting the pain.

-Jaghatai is not there when it happens. He's in a far away system, fighting a campaign together with his White Scars. It's only when he returns back to Chogoris that he's informed that while he was away, his child tried to tame a wild horse and unfortunately fell off its back and broke their leg. Jaghatai asks the apothecary a couple of questions, mostly about the extent of the injury and how well it's healing, but he's very calm about it all. Except the broken leg, his child is apparently unharmed so there's no reason for him to fuss or overreact. Besides, this is a good lesson for them. This way, they are reminded that just because they are bigger and stronger than other children, they are not invincible.

Visits his child and can't help but smirk when he sees them sulking on their bed, arms crossed and glaring at their broken leg, which is surrounded by a cast. When they see his smile, his child throws a pillow at him, which Jaghatai dodges with no problem. He tells his child to use this time of healing to learn patience, at which they huff pout. It makes Jaghatai smile even wider and he ruffles their hair affectionately.

-Roboute thought his child would be safe in their home. Far away from the horrors of the galaxy, far away from war and bloodshed. He never would have expected it to follow him home. But here he is, cradling his child in his arms, applying pressure to a wound that just won't stop bleeding. The assassin lays dead a few feet away, head crushed by one of Roboute's large hands, but his focus is entirely on his child. Why won't the bleeding stop? Why is there so much blood? Why is it taking so long for help to arrive?

When the apothecaries take over, Roboutes hands are covered with the blood of his child. Even when he washes them, the feeling won't go away. As the apothecaries work hard to save the life of his child, Roboute works equally hard to track down who sent the assassin. It's the only thing he can do, the only thing that can distract him from the anguish and hatred deep inside of him. He can't allow himself to succumb to it or else his child won't recognize him if- when they wake up from surgery. They will make it, he know they will. They are strong, stronger than he could ever hope to be.

[erenstitanweave]

❥HOW WE LOVE III

pairing: various x reader (vi, caitlyn, vander)

rating: giving/receiving love language headcanons

a/n: so, this is officially a new series! please keep in mind this will be my first time writing for all upcoming characters, respectful criticism and advice on how to write them is welcome! SPOILER ALERT!! reblogs and comments are appreciated, hope you enjoy!!

VI

giving:

poor vi, her eldest daughter syndrome bleeds through every aspect of her life (relatable but we move on)

all jokes (are we joking though??) aside, i think vi would be hesitant to love quickly or even love at all

vi isn't someone who shows her love through words though, so i feel like if she really began to care and love you, she would show it though her actions

i feel like her main type of acts of service would be protecting you in some manner, whether it be verbally or physically

she's genuinely afraid of losing you, so the protective nature would be slightly overbearing in cases where she's on the edge, but other than that, it's pretty standard.

quality time is another big one for her, not just because it's also a way for her to trust you, but because she'd quite literally just want to get to know you better

i could see this being the case whether or not you live the same type of life (i.e: being a zaunite or not)

i feel like she's seen enough to know that regardless of what side you're on, experiences vary for everyone, and she'd just want to know yours and through that, open up to you

small side tangent, but she's TOUCHY.

once she's attached to you, so are her hands. they quite literally are always on you in some way, whether that be through subtle touches (i.e: letting her hand graze against your side when she walks past you, her hands lingering too long as she's holding you, etc.) or through much more obvious ones like an arm wrapped around your waist

receiving:

although she is a protecter by nature, this causes her to be very wary of people and not very trusting of just anyone

i feel like she wouldn't just prefer acts of service but she would need it in order for her to begin to trust you

acts of service, subconsciously or not, are vital to slowly letting down her walls and letting her become trust worthy of you, but once they're down, it's game over

we see in the show how she is once she trusts someone, she shakes off the shell she shows the world and just becomes herself.

i feel like she'd love someone who can't keep their hands off her (except in the obvious situations)

even lingering gazes would make this girl WEAK and she knows it, so just imagine what having your hands all over her does to her brain (short answer: she short circuits)

much like vander, i think a part of her craves words of affirmation because of how her past mistakes constantly haunt and consume her being

even though a part of her knows it isn't her fault things turned out the way it did, a part of her mind won't allow her to believe it

even if she never might truly believe or accept this fact, hearing you tell her good things about herself and praise her makes her head spin with this feeling she can't explain, but all she knows is that it's one she'd never let go

VANDER

giving:

vander to me is probably one of the more protective characters in the show and i think his love languages in terms of giving reflect that heavily

i personally think he'd adore quality time the most, being the man he is, he doesn't really get much time to himself outside of his kids and dealing with the Lanes

it doesn't really matter what kind of quality time to him either imo, i think he'd be most comfortable with just being in your presence, even if you two aren't saying anything

one of his favorites moments though, is seeing you with his kids

he adores seeing you with them, the sight warming his heart knowing the family he works so hard to keep together is happy

words of affirmation i can see being another huge one for him, he'd definitely let you know that you're doing good in whatever you may be doing or even just making it through each day

he'd often pull you aside to let you know though, wanting his words to only be for you and not the prying eyes of others (or the kids potentially listening in on you both)

i could see vander being into physical touch, but only very slightly if it's in public

if you were behind the bar with him, he'd ever so slightly graze the small of your back with his palm or subtly grab onto your waist as he cleaned off the bar

he's an asshole though (lovingly, of course) and would do this especially if you were talking to someone just to get a laugh out of it

he'd be extra careful with this though, as he knows that he constantly has eyes on him, ones that could be dangerous to you if he overdoes his affections

receiving:

i could see vander loving words of affirmation in return, he definitely needs to hear that he's doing a good job taking care of his kids (especially when he feels like they fuck up because of him)

i also can see him holding a lot of doubts about past decisions in all aspects, so just hearing you tell him that he's doing good and that everything will be alright grounds him more than anything

even just telling him that he's a good father, even with his faults and past mistakes will make him feel so much better, no doubt making him fall for you even more than he thought possible

he's the biggest sucker for physical touch too, especially really subtle ones just for the two of you

don't get him wrong, he loves big gestures of physical affection, but he's not alone with you often, making the subtle ones happen a lot more often

he definitely loves holding hands and interlocking fingers especially, the latter being the one you two do more often when around most people

but when the last drop is closed to outsiders and is usually just benzo, the kids, and yourselves, he's all over you

he'll mostly have you in his lap if you're not off with the kids, or just hugging you from behind

CAITLYN

giving:

this girl is a bit of a tough one for me i won't even lie, but she's very well meaning in most aspects

i feel like she'd be into quality time and gift giving honestly

hear me out though, living in piltover her whole life and only recently seeing for herself how the world is and how things can change in an instant makes me think she'd gravitate towards spending time with you in one way or another

it doesn't even have to be explicitly spending time together either, just the fact that you'd be near her would be enough, especially if you're close enough to where she could protect you if need be

her protective nature is one reason why time with you is so sacred to her, not only that she'd be able to cherish her time with you, but that she'd truly be able to appreciate life in it's entirety

the gift giving aspect simply stems from her being wealthy (well not really)

i just see her as someone who expresses herself and what she wants to say with actions, and those actions are gifts

doesn't matter what you like honestly, she'd get it somehow. luxurious clothes? boom, right there on your shared bed. foods or sweets? she somehow has the entire stock right in front of you with a small smile on her face

both of these, to me, just stem from her innate desire to make you happy

she wants to give her lover the world, and with all she's seen in such a short amount of time after being spoonfed certain things about the world, she wants to make sure you're happy with her for as long as you both live

receiving:

receiving is a slight improvement but honestly she screams physical touch and words of affirmation yearner

think about it, being as skilled as she is, she's probably gotten praise about it from everyone

from you, though? it's way different in her mind, especially if you actually talk about why you give her the praises you do

she's expected the praise by now, but to her, it'd feel different because with you, it didn't feel..obligatory or forced

it wouldn't feel like the stuffy, fake pleasantries she'd be used to being in such a high place of power all her life, but something much more sincere and loving

she'd crave it, even going so far as to push herself beyond her limits just to hear you praise and support her for doing so

physical touch to me is another big one for her, i could see touching being a huge factor for her simply because of the intimacy

she most likely has never had anyone as close to her as her lover, so the sheer intimacy with even the slightest of touches knowing that she will only allow this from you is mindblowing for her in the best ways possible

[genderqueerdykes]

tired transmasc from earlier. My discomfort with those who believe in "transandrophobia" is not from self-hate nor from radfems. It’s from listening to transfems. And I don’t believe men or masculinity are bad at all!! I am in community with with men and mascs and with women + fems all the time. It’s just plain ignorant to say we don’t have male privilege and are actually oppressed for being men. We do have privilege. The whole "everyone is saying men are evil!!" thing sounds so much like incel behaviour it’s really off putting.

hello again! thanks for dropping by, let me see if i can help explain things better, and as to why it's not okay to put down other trans men and deny that they are experience oppression just because you, one person, believes they are not. dont take this personally, but much like gravity, you not believing in it doesn't mean it's not happening. it's happening, you're just refusing to acknowledge it. this is the equivalent of plugging one's ears and humming when someone else starts talking

i'm gonna call this behavior for what it is, because yourself & every other self-flagellating trans man & transmasc who says transandrophobia doesn't exist because it belittles trans women are just hurting people ON PURPOSE with a thin guise of saying "listen to trans women!!!!!" i really hope you understand that trans women can see through that. we can tell that you're doing this specifically to hurt people, not to give trans women a platform to stand on. you think you are telling people to listen to trans women, but what you are doing is SILENCING trans men & mascs in order to do that. you can't do that to your own gender. you're silencing yourself in the process. you're participating in transmasculine erasure and this is not a good thing. don't be proud of that. don't be proud of erasing the things your siblings go through.

I have to be really, really honest with you and tell you that this kissing up to trans women for brownie points stuff is really, really obvious and none of us like it. Like I'm not being mean. Please don't take this in a sarcastic tone. I am stock serious when I say that trans women & transfems can tell when you are doing things to pander to us to act like you care about transfems and transfemininity. We can tell this is desperate virtue signalling to not look transmisogynistic and nothing else. I'm serious. You are hating people on purpose with the guise of trying to help trans women. You do not have to silence someone else in order to let trans women talk and listen to them.

If you do not want transfems & trans women to be silenced: do not silence someone else. You do not solve this problem by silencing someone else. We solve the problem by listening to each other, not forcing the other to sit in silence while only one person talks. You don't solve the problem by doing that exact thing to someone else. You're creating a new problem.

privilege is a power structure, trans men do not suddenly shoot up from oppressed woman to neurotypical cishet white able bodied man in terms of status in society. i need people to get this into their heads that trans men do not and will not ever shoot directly up the privilege ladder and instantly become abusive and predator and holding power over all the other queers. like this is completely fabricated. you can stop believing that now, it's quite literally made up by trans/rad fems because they do not interact with trans men irl to see that they struggle.

trans men are not oppressed for being men: they're oppressed for being TRANS men. the trans part is what they're being oppressed for. do you not see transmascs and trans men as trans? because if so that is highly disturbing. and don't call that "regular transphobia" because that's not true and you know it isn't trans men and mascs are oppressed... for being TRANS men. seriously. you gotta stop focusing on "men bad" so hard that you literally forget that trans men are trans. back it up. like seriously i'm dead serious. back it up one step. before you focus on the "man" part, think about the "trans" part and how you're basically denying that trans men are trans because you are so wrapped up in radfem hate. TRANS men do not become cis men after they come out. they don't become cis men after transitioning. this, quite literally, is transandrophobia. what you said right there is an example of transandrophobia. sober up, you are not thinking clearly.

the thing is that we do not have male privilege wholesale as a group. that is a lie you have been told. you have to realize most trans men never gain any form of cishet male privilege. some trans men may pass well, but if the word gets out that they're trans, they are no longer respected or viewed as a man at all. especially if you're a man of color. trans men may have an amount of privilege depending on the situation, like being someone's manager, but it is not male privilege in every situation, nor is it anywhere near the privilege that cishet perisex white abled men have.

when we have this type of conversation, we are assuming that all trans men are 100% cis passing who will never be questioned. which happens, but that does not mean those trans men do not struggle. in fact, trans men like that suffer greatly in terms of reproductive care. cis passing trans men are often outright denied reproductive care, and some need that to live. some need to see a gynecologist for a variety of reasons, and being a cis passing man can shoot you in the foot. trans men struggle in health care almost universally. trans men are constantly misgendered in medical settings, and are very often treated as though they are cis women by medical staff no matter what. trans men and mascs are also very commonly assaulted by doctors and other medical professionals

most trans men do not get paid more at their jobs. trans men struggle to get promotions. trans men struggle to get employment in male dominated fields. most trans men still deal with homelessness, sexual assault, physical assault, domestic violence, addiction, misogyny and more. trans men deal with corrective rape. trans men deal with stalking. trans men do not magically have it better in society the second they come out. it creates a whole new host of problems

gaslighting strangers and telling them they're not being abused and oppressed isn't helping anyone. i'm serious. please stop this behavior because you are the one hurting people. care about trans men and mascs. you don't have to throw transmascs and trans men under the bus in order for trans women to be heard. we don't need to be pandered to like this. it's not flattering or helping anyone. you don't need to kiss up to people who literally hate your gender.

i need you to understand that people who talk like this hate transmascs and trans men. they don't like you. they don't care about you. leave those kinds of environments. you're going to regret it if you don't. if you're thinking about your oppression aaalllll day long its all you're ever gonna see and eventually, it's gonna crush you under its weight. be careful. that's dangerous thinking.

[megalony]

You Big Wimp

It's been far too long, but here is a new Luca imagine from Swat. I hope you will all like it.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper

Swat masterlist

Summary: The team are more than surprised to find out that Luca, as big and tough as he is, has a phobia of needles. And how that has caused a few situations with him and his wife.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're gonna be okay for the tournament right? We don't have to start looking for a replacement do we?"

Twisting to the left, Luca glared across at Jim and flexed his right hand as if to make his point. He stretched his arm out in front of him and clenched his fingers into his palm to try and get his wrist back into working order and ignore the tension sparking all around the joint.

The team didn't have to worry about him. By the time the arm wrestling competition came around in three days, Luca would be all set and ready to win it for Swat.

They had been having an annual tournament all week with different activities and games and Swat was desperate to win considering how they had lost for the last two years in a row.

Arm wrestling was always the catergory that Luca got picked for, it was his speciality and even though Swat had lost for the last two years, Luca always won the arm wrestling matches. He hadn't lost those points for Swat yet and he wasn't planning on losing again this time. He would be fine for Friday, he wasn't about to let someone hustle in and take this win from him just because his wrist was playing up a little from an old injury.

"I don't see why you won't just go to the infirmary and get a shot. They can give you anti-inflammatory meds, something to take the tension away. It'll work better than painkillers."

Deacon shrugged his shoulders as he moved around to sit down at the kitchen table. It wasn't often that they all got time to sit around and eat rather than to grab something and eat on the go.

He couldn't see why Luca wouldn't just give in and go get an injection. It would take five minutes and it wouldn't hurt, it wasn't like having a biopsy. One small injection and Luca could be given meds to take away the discomfort and any swelling he might have and it would help him recover faster.

They had all seen the herbal remedies he had been trying to get one of the ladies he knew to make for him. And the paste he'd been putting on his arm and the physio were all in replacement of one little shot every day for a few days.

"I don't need it, Deak."

"You'd rather keep on with that weird physio-lady you get to help you?" Jim rose a brow while he sat down opposite Luca at the table and grabbed a fork to start eating.

With a deep sigh, Luca reclined back in his seat and moved both arms to lock them behind his head. He scratched at the back of his head and dragged his fingers through his short, spiked hair which flexed his muscles pushing out against his tight sleeves that were cutting into his upper biceps.

They weren't going to relent. Why couldn't they just see that he didn't need the damn injections?

His eyes narrowed and a frown formed in his tense features as he groaned and tilted his head back.

"Look, I- I don't do needles, okay?" His feet began to tap out an uneven rhythm against the tiled floor and he looked away from the team when he caught their confused expressions staring back at him.

"You've got a phobia of needles? Being shot at doesn't bother you, but a little needle does?"

It wasn't something he went around telling people, Luca wasn't exactly proud of his fear of needles. He didn't tell people that such a small, inconvenient little thing made his blood curdle like sour milk and made him sick to his stomach. He didn't tell them that needles were bad enough to make him blackout even with just the look of them coming close to his arm.

He hated them. He always had. And needles weren't the same as knives or bullets. Luca couldn't control someone shooting at him and if that ever happened, he wouldn't see the bullet hitting him, he would only feel it. Needles could visibly be seen slowly entering the body and he'd had bad experiences with jabs when he was a little kid. That instilled the fear into him.

He dropped his arms from behind his head to slump both forearms down on the table when the team tried to stiffle their laughter.

He watched Hondo lean over the table to grab his drink before he leaned against the back of Chris's chair. Hondo had a broad grin spread across his face and he rose a brow while his free hand moved to his hip.

"Luca you've literally been stabbed before." He wasn't trying to make fun, but Hondo couldn't make much sense of that.

Being afraid of a needle in comparison to a knife was strange. A knife was deadly, intent to harm. A needle was usually life saving and over within a few seconds with no lasting damage.

"I can't control it. I don't like stuff going in my body like that, it's freaky."

He had been stabbed in the middle of a fight. It had been unexpected and he didn't see the knife until it was too late and it slashed against his forearm right down to his elbow. That was different. That wasn't something entering his body almost towards the bone. That wasn't something that physically made him feel sick and queasy and turned his head to mush.

He huffed when he felt Chris nudge her elbow into his arm while she took a bite of her sandwich.

"Who'd of thought a big guy like you can't handle a little injection." Chris laid her head on Luca's shoulder and grinned up at him to show she was only joking around. They all had their fears, even if the only fear of Luca's they knew about was a tiny needle phobia.

"What about other people? Don't tell me you'd freak if you saw one of us getting our shots done." Jim was only joking and he stabbed his fork down into his food but when he looked up, his smile turned bewildered.

He watched the way Luca's expression fell and his eyes cast down to the cup of coffee he had been nursing for the last ten minutes. Jim leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes as he let out a low chuckle.

"Seriously?"

"What, so if one of us went and had our shots in front of you, that would panic you?"

Deacon grinned and tilted his head to one side. He couldn't imagine going to the infirmary and getting an injection and having Luca panic or be sick if he were to witness that.

A sudden thought took over Deacon's mind as he wondered what Luca did about Amelia. He knew Luca's daughter was six. What did he do when she needed her immunisations when she was a toddler and she had to go to the doctor? Had he never had to take her to hospital and watch her get emergency shots or bloods done or injections when she was sick?

Deacon couldn't count the times he had seen each of his kids have their shots or had their bloods done when they had come over very ill and needed to go to the emergency room. It was baffling to him that Luca was an esteemed member of Swat but something as small as this set him back.

"I can't help it, man. Look, I took (Y/n) to the emergency room last year and they had to take bloods from her. That needle came out and I… fuck, I conked right out on the floor. They had to stand (Y/n) up and get me on the bed."

Luca hung his head down and took a sip of coffee at the memory that still plagued him when he thought about his one phobia.

He ground his jaw when he felt Chris trying her best not to laugh as she continued to lean her head on his arm. And the rest of the team looked over at him with raised brows and smiles lighting up their faces.

Jim shook his head and let out a chuckle. "No way."

"Your wife got injured and she had to give up the bed for you?" Hondo brought his mug to his lips to distort the smile he couldn't quite hide. He could imagine how embarrassing and worrying that situation would have been if they had gone in with (Y/n) being ill but ended up with Luca having a funny turn too.

"Hey, I got backlash for it, okay? Soon as I came round, she told me either get up or get out, and I haven't forgiven myself for it. I can't help it, I just see a needle and my brain shuts down."

It wasn't like Luca agreed with his body's reaction or like he planned it or did this on purpose. He couldn't help the way his brain reacted when he saw a needle, it was programmed into him to panic or shutdown whenever he came into close contact with a needle.

And he hadn't expected to faint like he did when (Y/n) wasn't well. He took her to the emergency room, he looked after her and held her hand and tried to calm her down. But as soon as the needle came into contact with (Y/n)'s elbow, Luca suddenly couldn't see anything and his ears started to ring.

It was like his mind was sure a needle was going to somehow harm his wife rather than help her. The experiences he'd had as a child were horrid and he'd suffered a lot of complications after some of his routine injections. And when he had been hospitalised, he was forever being poked and prodded with jabs and having bloods drawn.

It left Luca scarred for life and seeing (Y/n) or anyone else having needles jabbed into them made his mind go blank.

He had been shocked when he came around in the emergency room and found (Y/n) glaring down at him through tears, asking if he would kindly get up so she could sit back down. The nurses had been rather worried that a well-built, strong police officer had suddenly collapsed for no apparant reason.

It hadn't been one of Luca's finest moments.

***

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) lowered her head down into her hands and tightened her arms until her elbows were pinned into her sides. She wasn't sure if she felt like she was going to faint or be sick and neither option seemed appealing considering where she was at the moment.

She didn't bother to open her eyes when she felt a body sit down in the chair beside her. She knew who it was.

Luca's frame was etched into her mind and she knew every ridge, bump and muscle on his body. She felt the way his knee nudged into hers and when his palm pressed down on her lower back, she wanted to smile.

The feeling of his hand gliding over her back in smooth circles was comforting and his arm moulded around her as he leaned over until his chest was pressing down into her arm. His other hand curled around her knee and he attached his lips to the top of her head, curling around her like he was a safety blanket.

Luca always knew how to calm her down and make her feel better.

"How you feeling?" He murmured the words into her hair while he cast his eyes around the waiting room.

He had gone to the reception desk to sign (Y/n) in and he had been told that they wouldn't have to wait long. There were only a few other people in here and from what Luca could see, they weren't drastic or in dire need.

"Still hurts," (Y/n) mumbled and leaned herself to the right so she was tucked into Luca's chest a bit more. She felt how her words made his already hard chest tighten and tense up.

He hated to see her in any kind of pain, the same went for Amelia.

Lowering her head from her hands, (Y/n) switched to bind her arms around her middle and she flopped to the right until she could bury her face into Luca's thigh. She felt his arm curve over her back so his hand was beside her arm, resting on her stomach and his other hand took to carding through her hair as he slouched back in his chair.

Luca had been more than worried when he came home from shift this afternoon and found (Y/n) was burning a fever and starting to experience stomach cramps. That didn't bode well when she was almost three months pregnant so he'd asked his parents if they would look after Amelia so he could bring (Y/n) down to the emergency room.

He kept his hand on her waist, trying to smile when he felt (Y/n) curl her hand around his wrist while she kept her face meshed into his thigh. He felt each slow, drawn out breath she took to try and make herself feel better and calm down her system.

And he moved his other arm so his elbow was resting on the back of the chair and his hand started to rub across his jaw and the back of his neck. He slouched back a little and continued to look around the waiting room, trying to occupy his mind and distract himself from the worries going through his head.

Situations that he couldn't control never settled well with Luca. It was one of the reasons he was good at driving Black Betty down at Swat. It gave him control and something to focus on. When situations were out of his control, Luca didn't know what to do with himself and if they turned bad, he started to talk himself down and try to find things he could have done to make things better.

"(Y/n) Luca?"

(Y/n) wasn't sure she had the willpower to sit herself up when she heard her name being called, but she found it didn't matter. Luca leaned over her and his hands slid around to hold her chest so he could carefully reel her up off his lap.

His hands slithered down to hold her hips and once they were both stood up, he manoeuvred (Y/n) so she was in front of him and his arms were bolted around her waist to hold her up. They walked in tandem as (Y/n) leaned her cheek against his bare arm that felt freezing compared to her burning skin.

They followed the nurse through the double doors and down into one of the assessment cubicles.

When she motioned to the bed, Luca helped turn (Y/n) around and ease her down so she was sat on the side of the bed. Her legs swung back and forth, her feet just scraping the floor and she clung to the edge of the bed until her knuckles tensed to make sure she didn't sway and flop back on the bed.

"Okay, the notes say you're having stomach pains and a fever." When (Y/n) nodded, the doctor looked down at the form in her hands. "And how far along are you?"

"About eleven weeks, I think."

(Y/n) didn't look over at the doctor, she wasn't sure she could. And when she managed to look up at Luca, the pain and worry pooling in his eyes made her frown deepen. He had been so, so happy when she told him a few weeks ago that she was pregnant again. (Y/n) didn't want to lose their baby, she'd never gone through an experience like this before.

"If you sit back, I'll do a quick exam."

(Y/n) lifted her legs up so she was sitting on the bed properly and she leaned back against the pillow. But her hand immediately reached out for Luca. He tangled his fingers with hers and squeezed tight, smoothing his thumb across the back of her hand while he stood as close to the bed as he could manage. With his other arm bolted across the middle of his chest to try and contain the little composure he had left.

He watched intently as the doctor stood on the opposite side of the bed and lifted (Y/n)'s shirt. She pressed around (Y/n)'s stomach, clearly looking for any tender spots and Luca hoped it was a good sign that (Y/n) didn't flinch or cry out or gasp at any tender areas.

She said when he came home that it was cramps rather than a specific pain or crippling agony she had been feeling. Luca prayed that meant that maybe there was just a minor complication or hopefully that this was nothing to do with the baby and (Y/n) was just unwell.

The doctor then found a thermometer and placed it in (Y/n)'s ear, nodding as she confirmed the temperature and wrote it down on the chart.

"Have you been sick?"

(Y/n) glanced over at Luca before she meekly nodded, muttering 'a little' beneath her breath. She hadn't thrown up much, only once and it hadn't been substantial and she hadn't been sick since.

She felt Luca squeeze her hand and when she looked up at him, he arched a brow. She hadn't told him that.

"We'll need to take bloods, either this is a stomach infection or you could be experiencing a miscarriage."

(Y/n) held her breath and sank her teeth down into her lower lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. This might not be a miscarriage. She prayed it wasn't. They wanted another baby, they were just about to start telling their family and friends.

She tightened her hand around Luca's and moved her other hand to press down into the bed so she could sit up properly rather than recline back at an angle. She brought her knees up a bit and leaned her cheek against Luca's arm when he stood closer to her.

It was a comfort to feel Luca kissing the top of her head while he murmured "It's okay," into her hair.

Both their eyes set on the nurse after she snapped on a pair of gloves and wheeled a small metal trolley over to (Y/n)'s other side while the doctor moved out the way to jot down some more notes.

The nurse got a needle and vile ready before she picked up a blue strap and slid it just above (Y/n)'s elbow. The band felt like teeth cutting into (Y/n)'s right arm as it sank into her flesh to cut off her circulation.

She tried to hold her arm out straight and focused her sight on her knees rather than the needle. She had already been sick once and she didn't feel well, watching the bloods be taken might make (Y/n) feel drowsy and lightheaded. She kept her cheek pressed into Luca's arm that felt sturdy and tense beneath her touch and she took comfort in confiscating his arm and tapping her fingers against the back of his hand.

A wave of unease washed over Luca when he watched the nurse tap the clear plastic vile with a purple lid to make sure it was attached properly to the needle.

He didn't like needles.

Luca couldn't remember the last time he'd needed bloods to be taken from him and he wasn't sure he had ever witnessed (Y/n) having her bloods taken. The same went for Amelia, their five year old was in good enough health that she had never needed to go to hospital or have her bloods checked, she only needed routine appointments.

The sight of the needle made Luca swallow harshly and he couldn't help but grimace as he looked over at it.

His teeth punctured down into his bottom lip and he dug his fingers a bit too tightly into the back of (Y/n)'s hand while his other hand started tapping against his chest. He hadn't thought she would need to have bloods done when he brought her down here. This wasn't a sight Luca was used to seeing and it was making his stomach churn like a cement mixer.

He could feel bile rising at the back of his throat and his stomach started to jumble and twist as his head started to tingle like all his blood was rushing down to his toes.

The moment the needle sank into (Y/n)'s arm, something passed over Luca and bells tolled in his ears as spots danced in front of his eyes.

(Y/n) couldn't help the morphed sound that passed her lips when her left arm was suddenly yanked down. Her body jolted to the left and she almost toppled off the bed if the nurse hadn't of grabbed her shoulder to steady her and pull her back up on the bed.

She yanked her arm up until her fingers slipped out of Luca's sharp grasp and her eyes widened in horror when she watched her husband, that machine of a man, crumple to the floor.

She watched the way his legs curled oddly beneath him and he crashed onto his left side with his left arm caught between his chest and the floor. And his right arm flopped out on his hip like he was still trying to reach out for (Y/n); he had enough grip that he could have pulled her to the floor with him when he collapsed. His head lolled against the floor and his eyes closed and when (Y/n) looked at his chest, she noticed he was taking very light, shallow breaths.

"Luca." (Y/n) whined and dropped her head down and brought her left hand up to cradle her temple when the nurse slid the needle from her elbow with only one drop of blood in the vile.

(Y/n) knew Luca had a phobia of needles, but he'd never fainted like that before. And she didn't expect his phobia to extend to witnessing other people with needles. She thought it would have been a personal kind of thing.

"Oh dear." The nurse pulled the strap from (Y/n)'s arm, dropping it and the needle onto the tray as she hopped up from her stool to scurry to the other side of the bed.

The doctor frowned and followed the nurse, both women moving to kneel down beside Luca who looked like he was passed out drunk rather than having fainted from the sight of a needle. (Y/n) couldn't believe him. If she knew he didn't like witnessing other people with needles she would have told him to look away or even step out of the room.

Why did he watch if he didn't like them?

"Is your husband not well? If he's not he shouldn't really-" The doctor glanced up at (Y/n) who sighed defiantly and cut her off.

"He's not sick, he has a fear of needles." (Y/n) grimaced as she huffed the words and moved to wrap both arms around her waist.

This was a fine time Luca picked to pass out and need some assistance. He should have looked the other way or stepped out of the room, but then again, (Y/n) guessed he hadn't left because he wanted to stay with her and support her. But being passed out on the floor didn't count as much support for (Y/n) at the moment. He was inadvertently becoming a hindrance.

"Okay (Y/n), could we just get you to stand up for a moment so we can lay him down and get him sorted out?"

(Y/n)'s eyes looked between her husband and the doctor and she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed when she realised Luca wasn't about to wake up without some help. She found herself nodding even though she didn't quite agree.

They needed to sit Luca up and bring him back around, they could sit him in a chair rather than heave him about. He was a big guy, he was heavy, (Y/n) could barely take his weight if he ever leaned on her when he was drunk or feeling sick. They were going to struggle getting him from the floor onto the bed.

But she didn't argue. (Y/n) was in no fit state and no right mood to start arguing with the doctor.

"Seriously Luca."

She eased her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled onto unsteady feet. One arm stayed bound around her waist while the other reached out and pressed onto the equipment trolley beside the bed. She used it as leverage to keep herself upright, considering how her head was spinning and her system felt like it was about to breakdown.

Well if they wanted to get Luca up onto the bed, (Y/n) wasn't in any fit state to help them. She would let them do it themselves.

She stayed hunched over in the corner, trying to stop her vision from blurring and keep her eyes open properly to watch them get to work. She watched them check Luca's pulse and assure that he was breathing properly before they worked on easing him up in between them.

It looked like a struggle.

It seemed to take a lot of effort and (Y/n) rolled her lips together, grimacing when they finally managed to get Luca onto the bed. He seemed to take up the expanse of the bed like it was too small for someone as well-built as him. One leg bent out with his knee hanging off the side of the bed and his left arm flopped down over the edge of the bed as his head lolled to one side.

They hustled about, setting an oxygen monitor clip onto his index finger and checking his temperature too, just in case (Y/n) was lying and Luca was actually coming down with something rather than suffering a phobia.

(Y/n) sighed when Luca's head slowly started to loll to the other side and he seemed to start to come back around. At least he hadn't been out for long.

She shuffled over to stand beside the bed, one arm still encased around her throbbing middle while she curled her other hand around Luca's broad shoulder. Her head tilted to one side and she pursed her lips, waiting a little impatiently for her husband to wake up.

Her fingers danced out a rhythm against his shoulder, tapping every now and then while the doctor leaned over him and carefully pulled up one eyelid so she could flash a light across his pupil.

"Are you back with us, Mr Luca?"

Luca's head twisted to the left, trying to pull out of the doctor's touch. It was like instinct, he knew the hand on his left shoulder was a comforting one, a touch he was very familiar with. And he brushed his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm, nudging his nose against her skin as he tried to open his eyes and look up at his wife.

"Wh- oh crap," His right hand reached up to cradle his temple that was pounding like someone had bashed a hammer down on his head. He could feel the blood pulsing through each artery and vein in his head and the feeling made it seem like his head was swelling up like a balloon.

When he blinked a few times, his vision finally seemed to clear up and adjust to the bright lights in the room. He pushed his head back into the pillow so he could look up and confusion was clear on his face when he looked at (Y/n).

She still looked in pain, but she was hovering over him. That wasn't right. Why was she the one standing leaning over him like this?

He flexed his hands to stop them trembling and pressed his left hand down into the bed while his right hand curled around (Y/n)'s arm. He felt her hand move from his shoulder to press into the centre of his back and he could feel the doctor reaching out for him too. They both helped him sit up which seemed to overpower his head for a moment before he took three deep breaths and tried to restart his system.

Luca's eyes started to widen and his pupils began to dilate as he looked up at (Y/n) with something so innocent and child-like in his eyes that it made her stomach do summersaults. For a moment, the irritation she felt started to dwindle away because she knew Luca hadn't done it on purpose or planned for this. He couldn't help it, not fully.

"Either get up or get your own room, please." (Y/n) huffed through her words and sighed, lowering her head when she felt another wave of discomfort flood through her.

If Luca didn't feel great then he could flop down into the chair beside the bed or ask them to find him a room to get properly checked out, not that he really needed it. But he couldn't sit there for much longer when (Y/n) needed some pain relief and she needed her blood done as soon as possible to find out what was going on with her.

It was almost sweet how Luca seemed to recollect what was happening and his face fell as his jaw dropped open. He nodded profusely and stumbled onto wobbling legs. His knees locked into place to stop him from going down to the floor again and he moved his hands to (Y/n)'s waist so they could swap places and she could sit back down on the bed.

Luca didn't need any medical attention. He didn't need to be seen to or have a doctor check him over, he was here to get (Y/n) help and he didn't want to take that help and attention away from her.

He couldn't believe he'd just done that.

How embarrassing. He was a member of Swat. He was part of the police. Luca ran into situations with a gun and protective gear on to stop him from being shot at or stabbed or attacked. He went into dangerous situations and faced real harm and danger and none of that phased him, but the sight of a harmless needle going into his wife's arm set him off kilter.

"Sorry baby, sorry."

His lips attached to (Y/n)'s temple and he moved one hand to cradle the back of her neck, practically begging for her to understand and forgive him. He hadn't meant for that to happen. He had never fainted at the sight of a needle before, but then again, he wasn't in many situations where he had to witness people getting injections or shots or bloods taken like that.

(Y/n) briefly narrowed her eyes up at him but she managed a tender smile and moved her hand to squeeze his bicep.

"You big wimp." Her voice was flooded with affection and she leaned to kiss his arm. It never ceased to amaze her that Luca was a member of Swat, and yet he was so loveable and warm and soft and the kind of person people would expect to be working with children or in a relaxed environment.

When the nurse tried again to tie the band around (Y/n)'s arm, she looked between the couple and motioned to the needle and blood vile. She still had to get a blood sample from (Y/n) and send it down to the lab.

"Sit down and look away." (Y/n)'s words were more of an order and Luca found himself nodding his head rapidly.

He bent to kiss her cheek before he let his jelly legs give in and he flopped his weight down into the plastic chair beside the bed. He pulled it closer but made sure to tilt his head down. His fingers laced together, hanging his hands between his parted thighs and he hung his head down low until his neck started to ache. His eyes trained in on his work boots and he took deep breaths, making sure not to lift his head.

He wouldn't move an inch or look up until they told him the bloods were done and the needle was safely away from (Y/n)'s skin.

His thumbs brushed over the back of his hands and his foot began to tap against the floor, beating out a rhythm with the heel of his boot. At least he didn't feel like he was about to keel over again, he knew as long as he didn't look at another needle, and probably the blood that was being drawn, he would be okay.

A shiver tore down the back of his neck when he felt (Y/n)'s hand suddenly stroke the back of his neck and he felt her fingers scratching through the short hair at the back of his head.

"Are you good?" Her voice was quiet and her words caused Luca to lift his head in her direction.

The way he squinted up at her with that corny, lopsided grin made (Y/n) smile softly while he reached behind him to take her hand and lace their fingers together. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles.

"Apart from a bruised ego." Luca quipped back while the nurse smiled and disappeared from the room to send the blood sample down to the lab.

(Y/n) gave his hand a tight squeeze and pulled his arm so she could coil their hands to her chest. Her other hand moved to run up and down his arm and she watched him as he pushed up from the chair and moved to stand beside the bed. He could be closer to her now the threat of needles had been removed and there was nothing else that was going to make him feel queasy or nervous enough to pass out.

"Most guys faint at the birth, my fella faints at a needle."

The way (Y/n) shook her head and rolled her eyes had Luca's heart doing summersaults and he managed a small laugh as he leaned over and attached his lips to her temple.

What could he say, he was a different kind of guy.

[concretejunglefm]

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 2).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies ->part 1.

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst.

WC: 3.2k

Dividers: Silent-stories.

It's a Friday night, in Vegas no less, and instead of being out on the strip, Sloan has dragged you to the hotel bar.

"Is there a reason for why we're in here and not out on the strip right now?"

"Because, the night is young and there are plenty of hot people here for you to mingle with." She says, nudging your hip. You look out at the sea of people and make a face, using your glass to hide it from Sloan's view while taking a sip of your drink, as you make your way through them from the bar to a booth. 

You hadn't come here seeking a hookup, instead, you wanted a chance to clear your head. However, that had become impossible since the reason for your mental turmoil was now occupying the room next door.

You fall into the booth with a huff, moving over for Sloan to scoot in beside you as she leans in closer to speak to you over the music.

"You know what they say, to get over someone you need to—"

"Don't you dare say get under somebody else."

"Guy or girl, either will do." Sloan shrugs.

Sadly your experiences with women ended just as tragically as they did with men.

"Have you ever noticed how hot Jolly is?"

Sloan's unsolicited comment about Noah's bandmate and friend draws your attention as you follow her gaze and witness five familiar faces entering the bar. It doesn't surprise you and yet now you wish that you were anywhere but here.

"No, I can't say that I have." You're hopeful she catches the disinterest in your tone.

"Oh come on, look at him. Those tattoos, that long hair, the accent! God he's dreamy." She says, bringing her straw to her lips, taking a sip of her drink. "I bet he's a charmer too, a real gentleman."

"Are you really gushing over him right now?"

"A girl can look, can't she?" She briefly glances at you before returning her gaze to Jolly, who stands at the bar with his friends. "Besides, there's something about his age that really ignites my daddy issues."

"Okay, I think you've had enough of this." You reach for her glass, pulling the mixed cocktail away from her.

"I wonder if he likes to be called daddy."

"Please don't." You grimace at the thought.

Your mind had been plagued by what ifs when it came to Noah and his ex. The last thing you needed was to imagine any scenario involving his bandmate and his preferences in the bedroom.

"I'm going to ask him." She declares, shuffling herself to the edge of the booth.

"Sloan!"

"What? I told you, you need to go find someone to help you get over Noah and I need someone to just get my leg over." She laughs and you roll your eyes.

She's like a cat in heat when she finds someone she's interested in. You just wish it weren't someone so closely connected to Noah, and that she wouldn't abandon you right now to pursue them.

You watch her approach Jolly from across the bar, following her usual routine of leaning against him, brushing herself closer, and whispering something in his ear. Almost like clockwork, he finishes his glass of brown liquor and slips off with her.

She's too predictable.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet Noah's as you scan the bar. He notices your gaze and raises his glass in a toast. You decide to ignore it, downing your drink and the remaining contents of Sloan's before slipping out of the booth to head to your room for the night, maybe you'll even order room service.

Hopefully tomorrow will have a better start to it.

"He has got to be fucking kidding me." You grumble under your breath, huffing as you roll over and pull your pillow over your head to muffle out the sound currently coming through the wall you share with Noah.

Between the rhythmic banging against the wall and the high-pitched moans you keep hearing, it's safe to assume he isn't alone in there. If his intention had been to annoy you, unfortunately, it was working. You assume it's just another one of his many tactics to get under your skin.

So far, this weekend has been anything but peaceful, and you're starting to regret coming.

Even the tv does little to drown out the noise that is coming through the wall your bed is against.

Eventually, the noise all becomes too much and you find yourself throwing the covers off, drag yourself out of bed with a hefty sigh, deciding to confront the matter at hand and potentially tell him to shut the fuck up.

Rapidly knocking on Noah's hotel room door, you huff and the moment he opens it, you're met with him shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His chest glistens with what could easily be sweat or maybe water. From the sounds you'd heard coming through the wall from his room, you guess it to be the first, especially when you hear the heaviness in his breath.

"Oh hey, we're not being too loud are we?"

Your eyes narrow on him. You hadn't even spoken a word for why you were here, but he had already apparently figured out your reasoning.

"If you're entertaining guests, do you mind keeping it down?" You attempt to peer behind him and into the room, Noah purposely moving his larger frame to block you.

"Sorry. Had no idea we were being that loud." There's a smug grin on his face and what you wouldn't give to slap it off him.

It's two in the morning and perhaps for Vegas that is still early, but for you it's the middle of the night.

"Of course not. So, what unfortunate girl did you manage to convince to come home with you this time, huh?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

You have no genuine reason or explanation for asking him this, as if you genuinely care to know. Besides, the room has now fallen silent, compared to the incessant noise you were hearing through the wall just moments ago.

"Well…" Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, a sheepish expression crosses his face, which causes your own brow to furrow.

Then his words are cut off by the sound of a familiar giggle, your eyes widening as you hear the stretched out sound of his name from a voice which turns your blood cold. "Noooowah."

"No, wait! I can explain!" Noah reaches for you as you quickly turn back in the direction of your room, almost catching his fingers in the door when it slams shut behind you.

You spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, the sound of Noah's ex's voice playing on repeat in your head after hearing it come from his room. You more so hate the fact that you're allowing it to bother you at all, but the look on his face had almost screamed guilt to you.

What you hate even more is indulging in a Google search, which inevitably leads you down a rabbit hole, revealing that his ex-girlfriend will indeed be present at the festival they're scheduled to perform at on Sunday.

By morning, you're grumpy and sleep-deprived, but the thought of staying in the room next to them for any longer becomes increasingly irritating. With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, quickly showering and changing. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you decide to explore the hotel and send Sloan a text, informing her of your plans.

"Excuse me?" You look up, only to find yourself once again face to face with the same asshole front man you've been trying to avoid.

It's been an hour of peace this morning and somehow, even in a busy hotel, he still manages to cross paths with you.

"What?" You say through gritted teeth, before you realize that the voice hasn't come from him.

It had been feminine and soft, coming from a young girl who stood nearby, with two of her friends.

"I'm sorry. I was wondering if you would mind taking a photo for us? We're such huge fans of him and..."

You don't need to hear the same old drivel. 

Huge fans, their first time meeting him, would love a group photo, yada yada yada. It wasn't your first time standing on the sidelines and becoming an unofficial photographer for him and the fans who spotted him while he was out.

Catching sight of Noah's face, you see him raising his brows as if to express his silent shame regarding your rudeness directed at the young girl.

"Of course she wouldn't mind." He quickly interjects before you have a moment to register and refuse, forcing a smile as you take her phone from her.

"I'd be delighted." It was a lie, but you could hardly say no now. You'd already been an asshole once.

Lifting the phone, you glance at them through the screen before calling out. "Say cheese." They all comply in unison, the girls striking poses and huddling close to their idol, while Noah raises his signature peace sign.

As soon as you return the phone, Noah has already slipped away and headed back towards his group bandmates, who are eagerly waiting for him.

"Asshole." you mutter to yourself, only to overhear the girls as they begin examining their photo and giggling among themselves.

"Do you think he's single?" One asks.

"I hope so. I might try and shoot my shot with him if he is." Another responds, and you roll your eyes before casting a quick glance behind them, back in Noah's direction as you speak, making sure your voice is loud enough for him to potentially hear.

"I heard he ghosts girls once he gets bored of them." You look back towards the group of girls after catching Noah's head turning slightly in your direction.

"Then I'd just have to make sure he didn't get bored of me." The first girl responds.

"Good luck with that." You throw out a fake smile, catching Noah and his group of friends walking back in your direction. "Just make sure to get yourself tested if you're stupid enough to become one of his groupies." 

As Noah passes by, you turn your full attention to him, speaking more to him than to the girls you're warning. "You never know where he's been."

"There you are!" You hear Sloan before she slips her arm around yours, dragging you away. Leaning in closer, she briefly glances back to the group of girls you had been standing near before asking. "Who are they?"

"Some of Noah's groupies." You make no effort to hide the annoyance in your tone, Sloan catching on and nodding.

"Right. Well, forget about them and Noah."

That had been the plan, you think, but you bite your tongue instead of letting the retort slip, following her lead through the hotel until you reach one of the restaurants serving breakfast.

"I've heard this place is great." She declares, slipping into a booth as you shuffle in on the same side next to her.

"Well after last night I could really do with a sugar rush right now." You reach for the menu, looking over the pancake options.

You pay no mind to the sudden influx of noise behind you, until you hear Sloan's voice. "Hi Jolly."

You whip your head around, almost giving yourself whiplash in the process, and see the table behind you is now occupied with the familiar sight of the Omens, Noah sitting himself on the booth which backs right onto your own.

"Oh, didn't see you there."

"Funny that." You force a grin and turn your attention back onto the menu before hearing him chime up once more.

"What are you thinking of getting? I heard the pancakes are great."

You know the question is directed to you. You can sense his presence, the heat of his gaze hovering just inches away from your shoulder as he scans the menu in your hands. In a sudden burst of energy, you slam it down onto the table, turning your head just enough to be face-to-face with him.

"Do you really have to sit here? A whole restaurant and you choose here."

"It's got the best view." A smug grin breaks out across his face.

"What?" Your voice inches a couple of octaves higher as though ready to scream at him before he draws your attention to a nearby window.

"Of the strip."

As quickly as your blood pressure has risen, it lowers again and you almost feel dizzy from it. 

"I think I'm going to be sick." You mumble, turning yourself back around and leaning forward against the table, holding your head in your hands.

"Late night or something?"

He just doesn't know when to stop. Even worse is his friends don't even make an attempt to stop him or advise him to shut the fuck up.

"Not as late as you." You throw back, lifting your head and briefly glancing over your shoulder. "Besides, it's kind of hard to sleep when your neighbor is making a ruckus all night. What time did your guest slip out last night, hm? You didn't want to invite her for breakfast?"

"Guest?" Folio asks. "We didn't have anyone in our—ow!" He cuts off as you catch Noah jabbing him in the side, furrowing your brow at them.

"What can I say? She's not as high maintenance as most girls."

"By that you mean she's easy."

"Easy to please, easy to leave."

Right at that moment, a server approaches your table, completely disregarding yours and Sloan's, as she attends to the group of guys at the table next to you. 

This makes you what you think is irrationally angry, until you hear Sloan mutter under her breath. "Bitch." 

You have to press your lips together to prevent your laughter from escaping, and then, from behind you, you hear Noah's voice.

"They're with us too." A glance behind reveals him pointing a thumb in your direction.

Once the server has taken your orders, you hear Nicholas speak up, looking over into your booth as he asks. "We were planning on going to a laser tag place this afternoon if you want to come?" 

"No."

"Yes!"

You and Sloan respond in unison, turning to look at one another as you respond with the same answers again.

Forcing a smile, you lean in as you speak under your breath to her so as not to allow any of the guys, particularly Noah who is sitting in the booth which backs against your own, to hear. "I thought this was a girls weekend."

"Are you really going to pass up an opportunity to shoot the man who broke your heart in the chest? Even if it is fake?" She argues and you contemplate it.

You can't deny the idea isn't promising, perhaps even therapeutic.

"Good point." You nod and pull back, turning your head to look over at Nicholas. "Okay, we're in."

Though you don't look, you swear from the corner of your eye, you catch a grin forming on Noah's face.

"I can't believe that you've convinced me to do this." Looking over to Sloan, you shake your head, pulling on the vest for your laser tag session before stepping up to her for help tightening it where needed. 

"Would you rather be back at the hotel in the spa?" She gives you a look and you quickly cave, mumbling a 'no' under your breath.

Unlike Sloan, a spa day was hardly something you found enjoyable. You were more of an active person, and a game of laser tag, where you could potentially shoot your ex multiple times without feeling guilty or causing any harm, provided you with a much-needed form of therapy. 

"Then it's settled. You're all ready." She declares and gives herself a spin for you to admire her new combat laser tag look. "How do I look? Do you think Jolly would like it?"

"I think you could wear a black bag and still pull it off." You laugh, slipping out from the changing area and back into the waiting area. "Did you really hook up with Jolly last night?"

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell." Sloan raises a hand to flip her hair back over her shoulder.

"Please, you've told me, in excruciating detail, might I add, the things that have happened pre first date between you and someone else."

"I don't know what you mean. Some of us are a little more classy than those who will give their ex-boyfriends a quick jerk off in the tour bus bunk."

You scoff, your mouth dropping open. "Jolly told you about that?!"

Stepping up to the counter, you both receive your laser guns and hold yours up in aid of your threat that follows. "He'll be the first on my hit list."

The upside to running around in the dark with only LED lights lighting the way is you have yet to actually run into your ex. The room is big enough to spread out and hide, as well as avoid crossing his path. You almost start to wonder if he's here at all until you literally run into him.

The first thing you do is raise your laser gun to him and shoot before he bursts into laughter. "We're on the same team, you goof."

You look at the target lights on his vest and then the ones on your own, seeing they're in fact both red. "Fuck you." You grumble and attempt to shoot him again, though it causes no damage.

"You really want to shoot me that badly, huh?"

'Oh, you have no idea." Even in the dark your eyes lock dead onto his, feeling nothing but pure anger towards him.

Between his smug attitude this morning and the events you witnessed last night after banging on his door, you were more than prepared to take him down if necessary.

"Listen, about last night." 

You're both standing in the open, exposed to anyone who might still be in the game. Instead of suggesting that you move, you give him the chance to explain himself, especially since you notice movement behind him when you glance over his shoulder. 

"It's not what you think."

"Like I haven't heard that one before, Noah." You scoff, your gaze shifting back to him.

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are but unfortunately for you, I don't care." You take a step closer to him, your gun pointed at his chest once more.

"Have you not learnt that you can't do anything with that, yet?" He chortles and you gaze up at him,  a wicked grin crossing your lips. 

"I can't, but he can." You gesture behind his shoulder with a nod, and just as you do, Folio sneaks up behind him, firing his laser and causing him to be ejected from the game.

"How does it feel to be stabbed in the back by someone you thought you could trust?"

You're aware that he understands the metaphor here, that Folio's actions represent his own, and leaving him with a final smug grin, you dash to one of the dimly lit corners of the spacious room to complete the remainder of the round with the few of you who remain.

Although your team technically loses, it feels like a victory for you because it means Noah has lost. Considering his reputation as a sore loser, you find amusement in watching him sulk as you finally exit the laser tag arena.

Tagged: @fadingangelwisp @blade-dressed-in-red @deathblacksmoke @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @geminigirlfromfinland  @fuck1ng-queen @ichoosetenderomens @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @Chey-h @halfalgorithmhafdeity @annthepenguin @samanthasgone

[creatie123]

CHOI SU-BONG/THANOS X PREGNANT!PREADER PART 2

Part 1 Part 2 part 3 Part 4

tw: mentions of suicide, abusive tendencies, strong language, light manipulation, emotional whiplash, drug use

“Green light!’ the doll calls out.

We all start walking forward. When the doll calls out red light the man, 456, shouts out for everyone to freeze. I can't help but flinch every time. We have made it to about half way when a girl starts screaming. She laughs and says something, then there is a loud bang. 456, starts yelling orders. For people to not move. I'm confused until a lady screams and people start running. There are many loud bangs as the voice on the intercom reads out a list of players that are eliminated. 

456 finally gets everyone's attention telling them to get in single file lines with taller people in the front. I hide behind a tall girl. She was the girl who I was behind in the stairwell. The intercom repeats the rules before the doll calls out ‘green light’ again. 

We have almost made it to the finish when my stomach starts cramping and I lean over to grip the girl's shirt groaning in pain. 

“Hey are you ok?” she asks.

“Yes yes. Just.. just a stomach ache.” If people know I'm pregnant they may think I'm weak.

When we cross the finish line I look back out over the crowd and see the amount of blood sprayed over the field. I double over and spill my guts.

“Celina.” I hear his voice.

I freeze and go to walk away but a hand on my upper arm spins me around.

“What the hell are you doing here?” su-bong asks me.

His pupils are huge and I give him a disapproving look. I shrug his hand off my arm and turn to walk away, getting mixed with him is not something I want to do right now. Once again I find myself being forced to look at him. 120 grabs me and pulls me behind her. Glaring down at him. He scowls up at her before turning to walk away.

She turns too look at me with concern. “Friend of yours?”

I place my hand on my stomach. “Uhm..”

Her eyes widened “oh.. Oh!”

“Shhh. Please I cant have people thinking i'm not a good teammate.” she nods.

When we are all taken back to the main room I feel fatigue set in and I immediately go to lay in my bed thankfully I don't have blood on me like most players so I don't need to take my jacket off yet, not like I want to. The scars that litter my arms I know would cause unwanted attention. 

“Uhm… 121?” I hear a soft voice behind me.

“Hm? Oh 222, hi.” I say

Behind her are an elderly woman and a younger boy. 120. Is also with them.

“Can I help you guys?”

“We were wondering if you would want to team up with us?” she asks.

My eyes widen and I feel unnecessary tears well in my eyes. I nod my head

The sliding suddenly opens and the man with the square mask starts talking. A lady begins begging for him to let her go. Before I know it we are in the process of taking a vote for who wants to stay and leave. We started with 456, I watched su-bong skip up to the button and press the o, our eyes met for a second before I turned away. When my number is called I slowly walk up to the button my hands trembling. The internal debate of getting out alive but the mountain of debt I have. I hope to survive and get out with the money. Suddenly I felt a kick in my belly. I gasp and lean over the button. Guilt racks my heart as I forgot I am not deciding for only myself anymore. A tear escapes my eye, as I hit the x, the room shining red for just a second. I hear a mix of sighs of relief and disappointment. I receive my patch and go to stand beside 222 and the elderly lady. Even without looking I can feel his eyes on me. When the voting is done I feel tears escape my eyes when I see that we will be staying for another game. I walk back to my bed in defeat. When I got there su-bong was already sitting there with his friend.

“So I wasn’t just high. You really are her babe.” he says getting up.

I back away from him falling onto someone else's bed.

“What are you doing here babe?”

“Don't call me that su- thanos.” he would always get annoyed if I called him su-bong in public.

“Don’t be like that, I have missed you girl.” he says grabbing my wrist and pulling me down so I am sitting in his lap.

Panic as his arms wrap around my stomach and his body stills. At that exact moment my child has chosen now would be a good time to be active. And I can feel him kick my stomach. Right. Against. His. hand. 

“What the fuck. Are you-” I shoot up out of his hold and bolt off to the bathroom.

Slamming the door open I kneel in front of the toilet and empty my guts. Tears burn my eyes at the burning feeling in the back of my throat and the aching in my chest. The door to the bathroom slams open and I hear su-bong calling out my name. He sounds beyond furious. I sit huddled on the toilet clutching my stomach. I remember all to late that the door is not locket as its slams open omitting a crashing sound when it hits the wall.

“Are you.” it wasn't a question at this point.

I simply nod, I try but the tear will not stop.

“Is it mine.” again it was not a question.

I nod. Before I can blink he is kneeling in front of me staring at my stomach. He reaches out slowly being met with a little kick in return. His face is full of hurt confusion and anger.

“How far along are you.”

“24 weeks.” I whisper, dropping my head.

“How long have you known.”

“I found out at 14 weeks.” 

“And you left me at 10.”

“Su-bong I-” I am cut off with him slamming his fist into the wall. I flinch and shrink into the toilet seat.

I yell out as his fist tangles in my hair and yanks my head back to look at him. His jaw is tense and his pupils are shot.

“How did you find out.”

“I-I.”

“Dont fucking stutter when you talking to me bitch.” he spits yanking my hair again.

My scalp burns with the abuse. “I found out when I was at the hospital!” I cry.

“Why the fuck where you at the hospital, celina.”

“Su-” a sharp tug on my hair corrects me. “Thanos, please stop hurting me.” I sob.  

“Baby you know I hate repeating myself.”

“I wanted to die!” I sob.

His motions freeze. I think I could hear his breathing stop for a moment.

“You. you tried?” I nod the best I could with his grip on my hair.

Before I know it I am being pulled into my ex’s arm. He cradles my head to his chest and I bury my face in his chest letting out all my frustration and sadness and anger. And god damn it i missed him. I missed my su-bong.

“Can I see?” I hear him whisper.

Sniffling, I pull back and look at him, “see?”

He looks at my stomach.

“My arms are… gross.”

He just cocks his head at me like a stupid fucking puppy not understanding why its getting scolded. This is why I hate it when he is on drugs. He gets so bipolar.

“I want to see,” he says placing his hand on my stomach again.

I sigh. With trembling hands I unzip my hoodie and let it slide down my area. My short sleeve shirt is just slightly too tight against my growing bump. Despite wanting to see my belly his eyes immediately lock onto my arms and his face contorts into an emotion I have never seen on his face. I wrap my arms around myself. 

“Before I came here.” he pauses, placing his hands on my shoulders and running them down to take my hands. “The recruiter found me on a bridge. I was gonna jump. There was my debt and then the drugs and before I knew it you were gone and I didn’t know where you were. I missed you so much baby.” 

I’m the one to pull him into me this time “su-bong-”

The door to the bathroom slams open, cutting off what I was about to say. We both whip around to look at who just entered.

~~~

hi everyone I am happy that I got to post this chapter so soon, I am sorry about the second cliffhanger in a row, I cant say anything other than I hope you think them as much as do. Let me know what you think! or if you want me to take a brake from this story and focus on a specific request, my requests are always open!

till next time

-Creatie

[trippinsorrows]

Please insert the masterpiece here 👇🏽

Please and thank you 💜

masterpiece way too much, friend, but here you go! 🥺❤️

Roman’s entrance into the school is both silent and powerful. His determination and focus are undeniable. Not a glance is spared or directed toward a single soul outside of the secretary that sits at the front desk as he swings the doors open to the front office.

“Where is she?” Is the first and only thing to come out his mouth. He’s not repeating himself, either.

Thankfully, for the staff that is, he doesn’t have to.

Roman turns to the left when he hears rushed footsteps and is instantly met with Leya’s small form rushing toward him.

Naturally, he moves to one knee to catch her in his waiting arms as she throws her tiny body into his much larger one. He holds her. Close.

“Daddy….”

His eyes shut at hearing her voice. So soft, innocent, grateful. Relieved. It’s as if he can feel the tension and distress melting off her, replaced with the comfort and warmth of his embrace.

“I’m here,” he reassures her. Roman kisses her temple. “It’s okay.”

He moves his hand up and down the small of her back, uncaring and not bothering to ask the specifics of what happened. She was upset, obviously had an episode, and asked for him and Solana to be called, his wife unable to leave the doctor’s appointment she’s currently at with their son, leaving Roman tasked with retrieving their daughter.

And, he’s got her now, so that’s all that matters.

Roman stands up, still holding her, aware of how she keeps her arms wrapped around him. He glances at the clock on the wall. It should be around her lunch time. “Do you want me to take you to get something to eat?” She shakes her head against him. No. He sighs, already knowing her answer to his next question. “You want to go home?” Another head shake. A different kind. Yes.

He figured as such and prepares to order the secretary to have someone retrieve Leya’s backpack and lunchbox when she tugs on his shirt.

He looks down, eyebrow lifted, expression quizzical. Leya lifts her hand, shaking her wrist causing the friendship bracelet she made with Solana and her sister a couple months ago to jiggle.

And, right away, he just knows.

“You want Lina?”

Leya nods.

And without question or hesitation, Roman moves over to the desk. “Get her stuff. Pull Lina, too.”

A flustered expression from the pudgy woman. “Sir—“

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” Though his tone is even and calm, his expression is anything but. The woman gulps and picks up the phone, clearly alerting the appropriate parties.

Roman moves away, continuing to hold Leya, walking her around, comforting her when he hears it.

“Daddy!”

Lina rushes over to him, hugging his leg with expected excitement. However, it’s a bit short-lived as her eyes shift to something more concerned. “It’s okay, sissy.” Leya moves around just enough for Roman to understand she wants to be let down. And as soon as her feet hit the ground, Lina has her arms around her sister. “Daddy’s here now and me too.”

Hearing and seeing it briefly does something to him. They’re sisters and best friends but also something so much deeper. Lina’s protectiveness and dedication to looking out for her sister is so much deeper. And whatever it is, he couldn’t be more grateful.

As Lina holds Leya’s hand, Roman moves over to the desk and signs them both out. He also takes a quick second to text Solana and let her know the plan.

Snatching the girls bags from the annoying ass teacher or staff person i.e. whoever he’s gonna have fired by the end of the week for hovering too long, Roman moves back to one knee to propose another question. The same, but one he thinks might evoke a different answer now that Lina is here.

“How about I take you both to get something to eat before we head home?” Lina’s smile is bright, and he can see the interest gleam across Leya’s face. “Whatever you want.”

Lina looks over at Leya, the two sharing an unspoken exchange before big sister answers for the both of them. “Popeyes!”

Roman both wants to groan and laugh at the same time. One time. Only once did Jimmy take the kids out to Popeyes one night while babysitting, and ever since then, it’s become their latest fast food obsession.

He chuckles, kissing both of their foreheads. “Popeyes, it is.”

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 13

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- Hiii! Remember I will be posting a new chapter every Thursday. If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please let me know! Don’t forget to like and repost! <3

Remy’s POV

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, trying on the costume that I ordered. I was going to be sexy Scream. Billie was going to her party dressed as Todd from Bojack Horseman and insisted that I dress up as Princess Carolyn, but honestly I just wanted to go for something more… I don’t know, sexy?

I take a picture and send it to her, hoping for approval.

Immediately I get heart eye and fire emojis, followed by a FaceTime call.

I answered, pointing the camera at the mirror and posing in different ways. “What do we think?”

“Hot. But you’d look hotter as Princess Carolyn.” Billie teased.

I rolled my eyes, reverting to front camera again. “Too bad, Todd.” I stuck my middle finger up at her, then set my phone up on my dresser pointing at me from the waist up. “What time are you getting here tonight?” I asked, unzipping my costume.

“Around 10, probably.”

Turning around to face the other wall, I dropped my bodysuit around my ankles. “You still coming over?” I had to repeat myself, figuring she didn’t hear me. “Billie. You still wanna come over later?” I turned around, clipping my bra back on.

“Sorry, yeah. Duh.” She finally answered. “And those cinnamon rolls better be ready when I get there.” She emphasized.

“They will be. I just have to make the icing.” I pulled on some sweats and grabbed the phone, walking over to my kitchen.

“You mind if I bring someone to your party?” I asked, setting the phone down on the counter as I reached for a bowl and ingredients.

“Not at all. Do I know them?” She asked.

Suddenly my phone started buzzing. “Hold up, I gotta get this call. It’s work.”

“Call me back!” Billie said, before I hung up and answered the next call.

“Hey, Rachel, what’s up?” I held the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I mixed the ingredients together.

“Hey, Remy, is this a good time?” She sounded a bit sporadic.

“Uhh, yeah, what’s going on?” I hesitated.

“Sooo… Remember that interview we did for the digital article we were brainstorming for? The one for the app?”

“The one we did with RAYE?” I put the whisk down and adjusted my phone.

“Yes! That one!”

“What about it?”

“So, Joe wants it up by tomorrow. Something about needing to beat People magazine? An insider told him they’re publishing a similar piece with her.”

“Well, yeah, she’s definitely getting more traction.” I said, already knowing what comes next.

“I know you’re gonna hate me, but I really need you to go to the office, get on my computer, and finish the article out. Oh- And set it to be published by tomorrow in the morning!” Her high pitched voice was fast and panicked.

“Rachel, I had plans tonight and-“

“I’d do it myself but I’m all the way in San Diego at this conference thing. Its mostly done, and saved to my drafts. It’s really urgent.” She pleaded, knowing Joe would be extremely pissed if she didn’t follow through.

“Sure, I’ll be on my way in a little bit.”

“Ugh! You’re the best! I owe you one! Don’t forget to credit yourself on the article too!” She squealed.

“Oh, trust me, I won’t.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you later, don’t worry.”

“Love ya, girly! Thanks again!” She hung up.

I groaned, finishing up the icing and shoving the bowl in the fridge. In my room, I threw on a yellow baby tee, some wide legged jeans, and put my hair in a red claw clip. I stopped by the round mirror next to my apartment door to check on my face, fixing the minor details, and walked out with my beige crossbody bag.

At the office when I accessed Rachel’s computer, I quickly realized I had a lot of work to do. I sat for hours editing, deleting, then retyping her work. My eyes were shutting on me as I concluded the article, exhausting my brain to come up with anything impressive.

My phone began to ring, making me jump. I answered the call, my heart racing from the sudden scare.

“Hey, I just landed!” Billie sang.

“Fuck. Hey, I’m sorry, I got so busy and I’m stuck at the office right now-“

“Remy!” She moaned. I could hear her disappointment through the phone.

“No, don’t worry, I’m wrapping it up! Just head over to my place and wait for me in there. You still have my spare key, right?”

“Yeah.” She said, monotoned.

“I’ll be there so soon, just put those cinnamon rolls in the oven and by the time they’re ready, I’ll be there with you.”

“Okay, Rem.” She said goodbye.

I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders back, sitting up straight. I used every single one of my last brain cells to come up with a brilliant conclusion to the article. I let the interview speak for itself and included some quotes from the amazing Raye, but I found myself in the biggest case of writers block I’ve ever had. All I could think about was how much I hated Rachel in this moment for making me do this myself, knowing Joe would give her all the credit.

Eventually, after an hour and a half, I finished what could possibly be the worst article I’ve ever written. It wasn’t bad, just rushed, and I usually don’t work well under pressure. Before posting the article, I stared at the space underneath, where credit is usually given to the writer and editor. I hesitated to delete Rachel’s name, and typed in my own. I stared at it some more, deleting my name and retyping Rachel’s full name, then my name under editor. I sighed, setting the article to be posted tomorrow morning at 8am.

I shut the laptop and grabbed all my things, rushing out the door.

When I arrived at my apartment building, I pressed the elevator button a million times, ending up at my door and unlocking it as fast as I could.

I opened my door, psyched to see my best friend, only to see her passed out on my couch in her comfy clothes. I quietly closed the door, hanging my things on the tiny rack. In the kitchen, was a half empty baking tray with cinnamon rolls. The icing was poured over, and the rolls were starting to get cold. I put them away, covering the top with foil, and cleaned up a little.

I tip toed over to my couch, wondering how she was able to fall asleep on a two seater comfortably. She was curled up in a little ball, with my pastel crocheted blanket covering half of her face. I smiled down at her, feeling awful I made her wait so long alone. I wanted to welcome her home with open arms, and fresh, warm cinnamon rolls.

I turned off the tv, and turned down the lights, leaving only my soft, warm, reading lamp on. I patted her lightly. “Billie… I’m home.” I brushed the hair that fell over her eyes behind her ear, and leaned down to hug her tired body. I buried my face in her neck and took that sweet, familiar scent in, bringing a smile to my face. I wish I could carry her to my bed, but let’s be honest, I don’t have any upper body strength. “You’re so warm, and you smell like cinnamon rolls.” I whispered.

She let out a slight moan and stretched out her curled up feet. Her lashes fluttered open, turning her neck a little as I sat up. “Hi!” I smiled ear to ear.

“Remyyyyy!” She stretched her arms out, wrapping them around my neck.

“Hiii! It’s me!”

“I missed you.” she pulled me into her chest. I crawled on top of her and laid there, propping my head up to see her.

“I know, I’m sorry I made you wait. It was an emergency.”

“You know what else is an emergency?” she said, lifting a brow, jokingly. “Me kicking your ass for not spending any time with me while I’m here.”

“Stop!” I laughed, deep down feeling awful. “No more. I’m all yours for the rest of the weekend.”

She placed both her hands on my face, looking at me for a moment, before squishing my cheeks together. “You better be.”

I placed my hands on top of hers, taking in the moment. I had missed her so much. Nothing was going to keep me from spending time with her. She deserved my undivided attention for making the time to see me. I believe she felt the same, her eyes scanning me as I smiled up at her.

“Okay. I need to see this costume in person.” She broke the silence.

I laughed, “Okay, let’s go.” I stood up, pulling her into my room.

I pulled out the costume and began to undress. Billie sat on my bed, her legs criss crossed. “So, who are you bringing tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m probably not gonna bring anyone anymore.”

“Aw, why? They cancelled?” She leaned back on her hands.

“No, it’s not that. I just wanna hang out with you there.” I pulled up my nylon tights.

“Nah, bring your friend, Rem. We can all hang out!” She shrugged.

“Really?” I smiled, squeezing into the tight bodysuit.

“Is it Rachel?” She asked, signaling me over to her so she could zip me up.

“No. It’s this girl.”

“At least it’s not some guy.” She laughed, sliding the zipper up, adjusting my straps.

“Well, no it’s not a guy, but it’s this girl I’ve sorta been talking to.” I admitted, nervously.

I’d never really been in a serious relationship with a woman, at least not in the way I had with a man. I don’t think I’d ever told Billie I tried with girls, despite them being some of my favorite interactions. They were too short lived to bring up. I knew how hesitant she was about my relationships, and didn’t usually bring them around her until it was serious. Especially because I had been used to get near Billie before. Especially by girls.

“Like, as friends?” She turned me around, keeping her hands on my shoulders.

“No…” I pursed my lips.

“Wow! I didn’t know you-“ She blinked rapidly, looking shocked. “That’s awesome, Rem.” She let go, realizing she was still holding onto my shoulder straps.

“Yeah, it’s kinda a new thing, I guess…”

“No, I’m just… Why didn’t you ever tell me? I mean you know I’m-“ She scooted to the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off the side. “I’m sorry, this is just the first I’m hearing of this Remy.” She giggled, her eyes wide.

“Jeez, is it that surprising?” I smacked her tummy.

“Yes!” She laughed. “What’s her name? Who is she?” She pulled me on the bed, desperately trying to gather as much information as she could. “Show me her instagram!”

“Her name’s Stevie. She works at Variety with me. She’s an intern.” I pulled up her instagram showing her my favorite pictures.

“Ouu, cute.” She took the phone from my handed scrolling through her whole profile. “How long has this been a thing? Is it like a serious thing?”

“No, no. We’re just talking. She… I don’t even think she knows I like her like that.” I shrugged, laughing a bit.

“Oh, well she definitely likes you. You look her type.” She handed me back my phone.

“Her type?” I looked at her.

“Yeah, pretty girls with pretty eyes, long hair, and tattoos.” She looked me up and down, pointing at my arm tattoos.

I laughed, getting up and walking over to my body mirror. “I hope so.”

She stayed quiet, watching me look in the mirror.

“So? What do you think?” I looked over my shoulder at her.

“You look stunning. Insane.” Billie smiled at me. I could see her through the mirror, her expression turning blank once I turned.

“Is that why you didn’t wanna be Princess Carolyn with me?”

“Kinda?” I turned to her, shrugging.

“You’re such a loserrr!”

“But I’m a sexy loser.” I held my finger up in the air, making her laugh. I took a couple pictures of myself in the mirror.

“Here.” She offered to take them for me, pulling out her phone. I posed, the flash reflecting off the mirror behind me. She leaned back, getting my best angles, as always.

“Why didn’t you tell me you liked girls?” She asked, her voice soft and quiet.

She sounded a bit hurt, like I hid something from her. I couldn’t help but feel like I kept a part of myself from her.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I walked over to her, turning around so she could unzip me.

“How long?”

“Mmm… a while. You remember Cassie?”

She nodded.

“We did some things… I think that’s when I realized.”

“You never told me about that!” She crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” I shrugged, stepping out of my costume, pulling off my tights. “It’s not like I had anything serious with any of them. I’ve only ever told you about my serious relationships.”

“Well yeah, but-“ She stopped herself, looking disappointed. I put a giant t-shirt on over my bra and underwear, and hung up my costume for tomorrow. “You tell me everything. I told you…”

“I know.” I climbed on my bed, getting under the sheets. “I thought you kinda knew, I guess.”

“Well…” She crawled over and made herself comfortable next to me. “Now that I know… You better not hit on me.” She joked.

I laughed, grabbing my pillow and hitting her in the face with it. “You wish.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ow! My eye!” She held her face, wincing her eyes.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” I grabbed her face, moving her hand so I could see. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“Gotcha bitch!” She licked the side of my face and rolled away, almost falling off the bed. She laughed that crazy, loud laugh I loved so much.

“Oh- Fuck you dude come here!” I kicked my feet into her back, pushing her off the edge as she died of laughter.

I got back in my spot, fluffing my pillow and getting comfortable again. She stood up, pushing her hair out of her face and plopping back on the bed with me. “My stomach hurts from laughing so much.” She put a hand on her tummy, breathing deeply to catch her breath.

My full-size bed was just big enough for the both of us, as long as I kicked off a few of my many pillows. I turned on our show, letting it run in the background as we talked a bit more before falling asleep.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” I smile, still paying attention to the tv.

“Me too.” She said, pausing to laugh at something one of the characters on tv said. “So are you bringing Stevie?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Do you think she’ll like my costume?”

“She’s going to die when she sees you.” Her voice sounded genuine.

“Do you think I should ask her out tomorrow?” I looked over at her, putting a hand on my mouth.

She looked at me, not knowing what to say. She bit her bottom lip, shrugging with her eyebrows instead of her arms, since they were warmly tucked under my blankets. “I mean, maybe just wait and see what she says. You don’t wanna push things, you know?” She advised me.

I nodded, looking back at the tv.

“That’s just what I’d do, you know?” Her eyes stayed on me. “But, do whatever feels right.” She added.

“Right.” Nod, snuggling closer to her, laying my head on her shoulder. She yawned, letting me know it was getting late.

A silent while later, I lift my head to see a passed out Billie. After turning my tv and lamp off, I lay my head on my pillow, facing her. She peacefully slept with her mouth slightly open and a furrow on her brows so soft, you could only tell if you looked close enough. I smooth it out with my thumb gently, watching her lick her lips and grunt. Her body turned towards me, our chests parallel to each other. She sloppily threw her arm over me, her fingertips resting on my lower back, which my oversized t-shirt had left exposed. I pulled the bottom hem, attempting to cover up, even though it didn’t matter anyway.

The last thing I saw before shutting my eyes and drifting off, was Billie’s face. She always made soft angry or worried faces in her sleep. I had so many pictures on my camera roll of her funny faces during naps. I smiled thinking about the party tomorrow, and how I get Billie for the rest of the weekend.

I took a mental screenshot of my view and dozed off.

[astro-stars]

Hear me out on this... TWST with a Southern! Reader.

Like, it's the first day of school, and obviously Reader can't remember the names of the two people they just met, so when Ace says one thing or another, complaining about someone called Riddle, they just go "Hm, yeah, sweetheart."

Ace drops his lunch.

Or when they step on Leona's tail by accident, immediately going, "Oh, darling, are you alright?"

Leona couldn't fall asleep for the first time in a while.

Or after Azul's overblot, how can he not cry more, especially when Reader is rubbing circles into his shoulders, cooing, "It's okay, love, let it all out."

The scammer, unfortunately, couldn't look Reader in the eyes for a while after that.

Or when Reader gets mad, like when they cook something for their friends and Grim eats it, their immediate instinct is to go "WITH ALL I DO FOR THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN, WHY DON'T YOU TRY YOUR HAND AT FEEDING THIS HOUSE?!"

By house, they mean the five other first years.

please ignore that theyre out of order😭 its just the order i came up with them!

Ace Trappola

During a Class Mishap Ace messes up a potion and it starts bubbling over, covering his face in soot. Reader chuckles softly and drawls, “Well, bless your heart, sugar, you tryin’ to invent fireworks in here?” Ace sputters, trying to explain himself, but the way Reader says “sugar” makes him forget what he was even going to say. He spends the rest of the class trying (and failing) to act unfazed.

Deuce Spade

When He Gets Into Trouble Deuce gets caught in yet another fight, his uniform a mess. Reader sighs, crossing their arms. “Now, darlin’, I know your momma raised you better than this. You think brawlin’ is gonna solve your problems?” Deuce blushes deeply, stammering out an apology, and promises to do better. He can’t decide if Reader’s scolding feels more like comfort or a proper lecture, but either way, it gets through to him.

Jack Howl

After a Long Run Jack comes back from a run, panting heavily. Reader hands him a water bottle and says, “There you go, honey. Can’t have you keelin’ over on me, now.” Jack pauses mid-sip, ears twitching. He mumbles a quiet “thanks” but spends the rest of the day wondering why being called “honey” makes his tail wag.

Ruggie Bucchi

When He Steals Food Ruggie swipes a bite of Reader’s lunch, thinking they won’t notice. Reader glares and slams their hand on the table. “Now, listen here, sugar. If you’re gonna steal from me, at least have the decency to leave a ‘thank you’ note!” Ruggie freezes, torn between laughing and apologizing. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ll leave a note next time, promise.”

Floyd Leech

During One of Floyd’s Moods Floyd is sulking in the lounge, glaring at anyone who comes near. Reader plops down beside him, ignoring the tension. “What’s got you in such a twist, darlin’? You look like a cat that’s been rained on.” Floyd blinks at them before breaking into a grin. “Heh, you’re funny. I like you.” He’s back to his usual chaotic self in no time, dragging Reader into whatever mischief he has planned.

Jamil Viper

When He’s Overworked Reader notices Jamil trying to juggle a million tasks at once. They gently take a tray from his hands and say, “Now, love, you can’t be doin’ everything yourself. Even the strongest trees need a little support.” Jamil hesitates but lets them help. Later, he finds himself thinking about how soft their voice was when they called him “love.”

Kalim Al-Asim

When He’s Overly Excited Kalim bursts into Reader’s room, talking a mile a minute about his latest idea for a party. Reader smiles fondly and says, “Alright, sugarcube, slow down. You’re buzzin’ around like a bee in a flower shop.” Kalim laughs, realizing he’s gotten carried away. “Sorry! I just get so excited talking to you!” Reader’s warm tone makes him feel even more enthusiastic.

Sebek Zigvolt

When He’s Loud (As Always) Sebek’s voice booms through the dorm, startling everyone nearby. Reader raises an eyebrow and says, “Well, darlin’, you sure do have a voice on you. Could probably wake the dead if you tried.” Sebek pauses, unsure if that was a compliment or not. He straightens up and replies, “Of course! A knight must always be heard!” But his face betrays the fact that he’s flustered.

Silver

When He Falls Asleep Reader finds Silver asleep under a tree and gently drapes a blanket over him. “Sleep tight, sugar. Even knights need their rest.” When Silver wakes up and sees the blanket, his heart skips a beat. He quietly resolves to thank them later, though he’s already blushing at the thought.

Vil Schoenheit

During a Self-Care Lesson Vil insists on giving Reader a skincare lesson. As he critiques their routine, Reader smirks and says, “Well, bless your heart, sweetpea. I didn’t realize I was sittin’ with the beauty queen of Twisted Wonderland.” Vil narrows his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Flattery will get you nowhere—though I appreciate the sentiment.”

Rook Hunt

When He’s Observing Them Rook starts waxing poetic about Reader’s charm and grace. They laugh and reply, “Oh, honey, you’re layin’ it on thicker than molasses on a pancake.” Rook places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “But I only speak the truth, mon trésor!” Reader shakes their head, amused by his dramatics.

Epel Felmier

When He’s Feeling Insecure Epel complains about being underestimated because of his looks. Reader pats his shoulder and says, “Now, don’t you fret, darlin’. Even the prettiest apples can pack the strongest punch.” Epel grins, feeling a little more confident. “Thanks, Yuu. You’re real good at makin’ a guy feel better.”

Idia Shroud

When He’s Awkward Around Them Reader catches Idia muttering to himself about a game. They lean in with a warm smile. “Whatcha talkin’ about, sugar? Don’t keep me in suspense.” Idia jumps, his hair flaring pink. “N-nothing! It’s nothing!” But the way they said “sugar” replays in his head for days.

Malleus Draconia

During a Starlit Walk Reader invites Malleus to stargaze with them, saying, “Ain’t the night sky somethin’ else, darlin’? Makes all the troubles of the day seem so small.” Malleus gazes at them instead of the stars. “Indeed,” he murmurs, though he’s not talking about the sky.

not malleus all on his own

TAGLIST; @soramcduckahyucky

[i-am-a-fan]

@witch-of-the-world

Here’s what I think the characters from LMK would order

*Mk- Mango dragon fruit, lemonade, peach, with 2 pumps of honey (no inclusions) 7/10

*Mei- Matcha latte with 2 pumps of white mocha, dragonfruit inclusions, with strawberry cold foam

*Redson- Pink drink with two pumps of peppermint, light ice, and cinnamon caramel cold foam

*Wukong- Mango dragon fruit refresher with extra peach, light ice, blended, with vanilla, no inclusions

*Macaque- Mango dragon fruit lemonade, light peach, inclusions, and strawberry purée

Sandy- Regular Medicine ball

*Tang- Apple brown sugar iced latte, oatmilk, chai, and pumpkin spice cold foam with cinnamon on top 10/10

Pigsy- Plain nitro cold brew

*PIF- Peach Lemonade with strawberry purée on top (10/10)

DBK- Mocha latte with oatmilk (hot)

*Mo- Pup cup with cookie bits and caramel drizzle (11/10)

Yin- A mocha cookie crumble frap

Jin- A double java chip creme frap

[the-woman-upstairs]

It’s just…so painful to watch Armand readily submit in order to obtain the love he so desperately craves. And while it’s most assuredly a manipulative tactic, it’s still one borne out of fear and desperation. He cannot lose this person he’s come to love and so will become whatever they want, do whatever they want just so they’ll stay with him. But it won’t be enough. No matter how much he acquiesces or seeks to control (himself, others, the environment), he won’t be able to make Louis stay with him in the perfect life, perfect self he built in the hopes of finally being loved. It will all crumble with Armand left alone in the rubble of what he created, the author of his own abandonment.

[aromanticasterisms]

oh man no wonder i'm missing my little guys recently. we haven't seen kaeya in almost a year

[medicinemane]

Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy

You have... very very very very very very very very smart people you know, and they're say something that not only isn't true, but literally is as opposite of the truth as it's possible to be... and you'll... gently inform them "hey, it's actually a bit more like this" and then they just kinda... go on saying literally the exact same thing

I'm not sure if it's just that... I often feel like I must be very bad at communicating, or people must just not notice/ignore a lot of what I say, but... I don't know

Like dearest friend, you've said something as absurd as... I don't know, it's hard to say without saying it, but honest to god about as absurd as saying the United States was a part of the USSR, that level of completely getting it backwards

...and it just doesn't seem to matter when I try to explain it... I legit don't even know if you read what I said

Really end up feeling like I'm going nuts sometimes