#it’s him even if it’s just his back lmao

[caramelkoo]

no questions asked— jjk

Jeon jungkook wants nothing more than to get settled with his girlfriend, but what if her fear of commitment makes him take a step back? Will he do it, or will he be able to changer her mind for good?

pairing : Jungkook X reader

genre : established relationship, smut, fluff

word count : 6.6k (im begging for forgiveness)

Based on this ask <33

warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature, oc is an anxious girly (same), mentions of emotionally unavailable parents, jungkook is a man of dreams, simp boyfriend jungkook, car sex, unprotected sex (be safe), begging, reference of titanic if you squint, yeah that's pretty much it.

a/n : this took million business days lmao but finally it's here. the sweetest anon requested a drabble but i couldn't do it and as much as i tried to make it shorter, it got stretched to 6k words 😭 so im deeply sorry anon. the rest of you who enjoy longer fics, dig in. I love you guys so much, you might not know this but yall are my besties for resties. kisses. 💌

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Your boyfriend is going to propose to you.

Oh god

Oh. my. God.

Anxiety is not a foreign feeling for you. Although this time, it’s an indescribable sort. Something which is lingering in the deepest pit of your stomach for a lack of better word. Besides, there’s a mayhem inside your head, the voices are loud and intimidating, causing you to bite your lip to a point where they bleed while also staring at nothing. 

Jungkook has been nothing but secretive— the poor boy has no idea that you have already seen the navy blue box sitting inside his side of the drawer. You can swear it was totally unintentional.

In your defense, you had been searching for your glasses and that was the only place left to fish around. Nobody could have prepared you for the utter shock when your eyes fell on that box and so for a minute or two you just stood there, horrifyingly still and stunned. However, you recovered quickly, because to be quite honest it was about time one of you mustered up enough courage to ask the question.

It’s supposed to make you thrilled right? So why does something feel… off? 

“Penny for your thoughts?”, as soon as Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, you snap out of it and flash her a forced smile. 

“Yeah-” you begin, “Yeah uh- I’m just thinking about nothing in particular.” 

“_____ you’re an amazing girl but you gotta work on those lying skills.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. You shouldn’t even have bothered in the first place, the girl can read you like a book. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours huh?” 

She picks up the book before scanning it with the barcode scanner all the while you marvel if you should tell her or just let it go, but then you also know how she would become a pain in the ass if you don’t spill the beans to her. Anyway, she can;t make you overthink it any more than you already have. 

You bite your lower lip before saying, “I feel like Jungkook is going to propose.” 

If looks alone could kill, you would have been buried deep by now with the way the man wearing an olive green cardigan, probably in his 50s, gives you side eye when Cherry drops the book with a loud thud on the counter. 

You wince.

“I’m sorry what?” 

When you subtly signal her to pick what she’s dropped, she takes a hold of the book, apologizes to the man who— you’re hundred percent sure hates your guts now, and resumes her work. 

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ha! Girl you better start telling me more or none of us are going home today.”

She’s talking to you but her hands keep shuffling between scanning the books and expeditiously typing on the keyboard.

A spark of hesitation finds a way inside your heart. The thing is, you’re not sure. Do you want to marry the love of your life? Absolutely. Do you think you can keep the marriage going and stable? No. 

There you said it.

And that kills you because jeopardising your bond and connection with Jungkook is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe, it’s because nobody in your family has been able to keep their inner spark alive after they had gotten married or you might as well blame it on the relationship your own parents have had before your eyes. 

For everyone who couldn’t see past the walls of your house, your parents were an ideal couple. A pair who were equally efficient and successful in their respective areas of life. With your father being a renowned businessman and your mother holding the title of a world famous fashion designer, they couldn’t have been a better partner for each other, right?

Wrong. Too bad you had the honor of being an onlooker of their facade slipping away before getting replaced by their real impudent selves. 

But that’s all you could do though. You were merely just an audience. Someone who could see everything shatter before her eyes and not do a single thing to put an end to it. 

Constant fights, fuming with jealousy over one of them achieving more than the other, sabotaging each other.

All hell broke loose when they began making you take sides. 

You think mommy is better don’t you, honey?

You should be proud of your dad, ____. You’re living such a luxurious life thanks to me. 

For the love of god you were five. What does a five year old know about luxury or human ego? What could you have possibly known about who is better? In your eyes, they were your mom and dad and not some squish mellows placed side by side from which you had to take your pick. Let’s not even start with the emotional unavailability they provided you with.

A knot lodges in your throat and you struggle to get the words out. “I happen to see the box inside his drawer”

“You’re sure it had a ring inside- Wait, don't answer that”, she shakes her head as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

No shit.

“But that’s a good thing right? I mean you guys have been seeing each other for a while now and marriage is the final stop.” she continues and you can’t help but feel terrible, because she is making sense. 

A sigh leaves you, “Yeah no- I mean yeah it is but I didn’t expect him to take the initiative so suddenly. No hints were dropped at all. Marriage is, gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it seems intimidating to me.” 

The queue has finally dissipated at this point so she faces you fully showcasing her engrossment in your dilemma. The girl feeds off drama but refuses to get involved in one.

Her expression morphs into something between horrified and sympathetic. “_____, is that because of your parents?” 

Your heart skips a beat. This whole time you and only you had authority over this thought that your fear of marriage is deeply rooted in your own parents’ fucked up relationship. A belief that lay sly and unseen.

Only after those words left Cherry’s mouth did you realise how venomous they sound. It makes you aware that the fear was not as concealed as you intended to keep it. What are you supposed to do when you find out that somebody else knows about your deepest terrors? Run? Hide? Or simply not say anything? 

Your mouth feels suddenly dry. “What?” 

Cherry takes a hold of your palm and rubs it gently, “If it is, I want you to know that it’s not the case for everyone. Marriage is a beautiful concept, a lovely commitment. Are there some pitfalls to it? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. The way two people come together and resolve them-”

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket causing you to flinch. Releasing your hands from her hold, you take it out and see your grandmother’s number stare up at you. 

“I’ll just be back.” you excuse yourself just as a woman places a stack of books on the counter.

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“Hey, beautiful” you greet her, a smile lighting up your entire face.

“My baby, did I catch you at the wrong time?” her voice is like a balm to your heart. So warm and comforting. It reminds you of your movie nights with her where you didn’t have to be anything or pretend. You just had to exist and she made it worth it. Always. 

“Now you know even the devil himself can’t stop me from talking to you.” 

A loud chortle reaches your ears and you imagine her throwing her head back, laughing. 

“I was calling to ask if you and your eye candy of a boyfriend are visiting home this year for thanksgiving, dear?” 

Dear lord, you can’t believe you forgot about that.

Your eyes widen, and just when you think you could bubble up some other lie, she speaks up, “You forgot, didn’t you?” 

Yeah, bold of you to assume you can do that and get away. You actually need to work on your lying skills. For whatever reason. You want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one because of how gloomy she sounds.

“I’m genuinely sorry, grams.” pinching the bridge of your nose you continue, “I’ve just been busy with work and barely making ends meet. I promise this is the first and last time I let it slip my mind.” 

With the job you have, there’s only so much cash you can count and while you would love to make a career out of writing, the thought of publishing your own book sends shivers down your spine.

Every time you open the draft a new mistake pops up, taking a percentage of your self confidence down the drain. You’re only human. A microscopic slip catches your attention and you start questioning your life choices. 

“Honey, come home and give yourself some time off, what do you youngsters like to call it? Oh yes, grind. Yeah?” 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Wow someone has been too into love island lately.”

Cherry raises her eyebrows from across the room and you mouth her the word ‘grandma’. She nods with a smile on her face, going back to work. 

A long stretch of silence hangs in the air before you hear her ask, “_____, what else is wrong?” 

The smile which has been adorning your face this whole time instantly drops. You blink.

Once

Twice

Thrice 

“I don’t understand.” Liar.

“You know what I mean, baby. I want you to tell me more, because I know something has been bothering you. What is it?”

Humans are so funny sometimes. They can be as close to you as your own soul and not have a hint of your torment. Meanwhile, there is your grandmother, who despite being so far away from you just….. knew. But again, it has always been like this hasn’t it? 

Whenever you got tired of your parents throwing stuff around the house, making each other lick the floors, trying to make their own and your life a living hell, she knew. 

She was the one who allowed you to cry, and assured you that she would not call you dramatic if she happened to hear your sobs.

You were allowed to cry,

You were allowed to ask for help,

You were allowed to not hold back.

Sucking in a deep breath, you release it, “Everything else is perfect, grams.”

Mr William is always the first person to greet you everyday when you reach the apartment. He’s been working as a guard for years now and you’ve grown quite familiar with him. While being the sweetest man you’ve ever come across, he also brings his wife’s yummiest tarts for you whenever she makes them. Arguably, they deserve more hype than they get.

“She knows how much you love her tarts” he says, making you feel immense gratitude towards his kindness. 

This particular night, he seems…. restless. He’s shifting from one foot to another as you shut the cab’s door behind you. Striding over to him, you mentally try your best to figure out his uneasiness. 

Clearing your throat, your throat as you ask, “Is everything alright, Mr William?” 

Only after he hears your voice, he gains his composure. Or so he tries. 

He hands you a piece of paper which feels a bit wet and you wonder what could have been so intense that the man began having clammy palms.

It’s nearly concerning, not to mention it doesn’t help with your own anxiety at all. If not, shoot it up. 

“Your boyfriend dropped by around lunch time, miss. He handed me this and asked me to give it to you as soon as you come back from work.”

He couldn’t have given it to you yesterday when he was with you in the first place? Weird.

“I see, but why are you so tense? Has something happened?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My wife has been sick and I was supposed to leave early but I figured it would be better if I gave it to you safely before going home to her.” 

Fuck

“You could have given this to me later. Your wife comes first, sir.” you gulp, “Please, I appreciate your gesture but she needs you more. Thank you so much and please let me know if I can be of help.”

He releases an empty chuckle. “Thank you, Miss” 

With one last nod you walk inside the building while also hoping he doesn’t call you for help. Not because you won’t do anything it takes to help him, but because you hope it wouldn’t come to it. The moment you shut the apartment door behind and turn on the light, the piece of paper steals your attention. Without waiting any further, you unfold it, coming across Jungkook’s writing. 

The note alone feels like he whispered it into your ear before placing the softest kiss on your skin. Your lips stretch into a serene smile as you stride over to the bedroom, turning the doorknob as your gaze catches a purple bodycon resting on top of your bed. It is accompanied with a bouquet of pink tulips as well as a bar of Dubai chocolate. 

Your head that has been nothing short of a commotion is now finally at peace. Not entirely but at peace nonetheless.

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Jungkook was 12 when he went on his first roller coaster ride. He was, like every other child, afraid. Afraid that he might fall and hurt himself so bad, he wouldn’t ever be able to get up. The roller coaster had a massive drop followed by a corkscrew which took him upside down. Until the moment Jungkook saw a woman in yellow dress buying a bunch of tulips from the flower shop he very often visited, he had never felt his stomach bottom out as strongly as it did during that drop back then.

There she was, chatting with the florist as if they’re best friends. He could see her behind the glass picking out the pink tulips before sniffing them. Meanwhile, Jungkook stood across the road, soaked and enchanted as he wondered if he should ask for her number or chicken out. Eventually, the latter won. 

But here’s the thing, Jungkook is not one for losing. He hates losing, even the term makes him want to peel his own skin off. 

He saw her hair first, becoming curly locks reaching down to her waist and just above her hips. Granted that his line of sight only allowed him to see her side profile, he assumed she was gorgeous. It was not unlikely for him to see beautiful women on a daily basis, but something about her just sucked him in. His eyes could not leave her face and he believed even if they tried, he would pluck them out just to punish them. Was it weird that his hands itched to hold a woman he doesn’t even know? 

What’s her name?

Where does she live?

What’s her favorite color?

How does she like her coffee?

There’s a japanese phrase called koi no yokan which means that you eventually will fall in love with a person you meet. You’re going to grow so fond of that person that you would want to see no one by your side but them. She was that person for him. 

He rubs his hands for the nth time in a futile attempt to warm them up, waiting outside ____’s building. How is this evening going so slow? He has been here for perhaps half an hour now, so why does it feel like it’s been a decade? 

And funnily enough, the only person who can put him out of his misery is _____. At this point, the guy fears he wouldn’t be able to so much as look her in the eye, but not doing that will be the end of him too.

He looks down and lets his hands run over his black button down shirt, wondering if she would like it. She loved seeing him in black on the first date. A loud click clack of heels grab his attention, perking his ears up. He looked up and there she was in all her glory. 

Jungkook releases a breath and rubs his chest as if his heart hurts. As if it’s telling him how unworthy he is of this woman who is walking up to him, who may be as nervous as him but still chose him as her man. 

The woman who could have anyone she wanted wrapped around her pinky finger gave her days, nights and evenings to him. She smiled at him, for him and if he was lucky, because of him.

_____ stops before him while he’s still adjusting to the sight of her. “How do I look?” 

Unreal, exquisite and way out of his league.

He shakes his head from side to side, thinking of a single word that would suffice the answer to that. He fails and so instead he runs his fingers down her forearm until he reaches her soft hands and takes it into his own cold ones. 

Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he begins. “My imagination of you in this dress has got nothing on this vision.” 

Her face morphs into the softest expression of love, “And exactly how many times have you imagined me in this dress, Jeon Jungkook?” 

He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching hers. “I can’t answer that. You want to know why?” 

“Why?” Her voice is emotionless. His thumb grazes her lower lip as he tries not to smudge her nude lipstick. “Because if I do, we’ll have to go back into your apartment and try not to wake your neighbours up.” She swats his chest and softly pushes him back, dissolving into a giggle. 

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” she says as her eyes shamelessly check him out. His sleeves are halfway folded stopping just below his elbow, beautifying his tattooed forearms.

He’s also wearing his favorite blue baggy jeans with his usual black chunky boots. The same ones he goes for when he knows _____ might not be able to bear the pain caused by her heels, so he ends up swapping them with the boots.

He would argue carrying her all the way to her apartment instead, but settles elseways. 

Jungkook opens the car door for her and only after she’s well seated, he runs to his side and takes off. 

The ride to the restaurant is quiet despite the obvious tension that doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. As much as he would like to spend the rest of the night snuggled into bed with her, he knows there is something more significant than that. So instead he indulges in caressing her thigh. 

“After you, angel.” He places a hand on the small of her back. 

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The ambience looks straight out of the movies. Like a paradise. Violinists are playing a chorus of Fuck her gently by Tenacious D far across the room. 

Jungkook catches an unknown look on her face. “Something’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head, flashing him a smile. “I love this song.”

He places a tiny kiss on her temple. “I know, baby. C’mon.” 

You know how women have this killer instinct of knowing if and when somebody’s watching them? It’s like they have a separate pair of googly eyes on the back of their head to protect them from creeps. 

From the moment you have entered the place, the man in the wine shirt has been making a hole in your face with the way he’s been staring at you. 

Is your dress too revealing? Are you showing too much skin?

“Oh I forgot to tell you. Your grandmother called earlier today.” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts. 

You gulp down the last piece of steak before answering. “Let me guess she asked you to join her for thanksgiving?” He nods, a bright smile on his face. “I told her I would love to.” 

A cheeky smile unfurls slowly on your face. Jungkook loves your grandmother. Maybe a little bit more than you do. Just a tiny bit though. Last year when you and he visited her, he was the first person apart from you to get a hug out of her.

Your grandma is not much of a hugger by the way. Her hugs are totally exclusive. 

“I’m sure she loves having my ‘eye candy of a boyfriend’ there.” 

Jungkook snorts, placing his fork down. “She called me an eye candy?” 

He dissolves into a fit of laughter when you answer his question with a nod. 

“See now that’s the biggest achievement I have had in a while. I mean what are the odds your wife’s grandma calls your an eye candy-”

Something sours in your stomach. The steak here tastes awful or maybe it’s just you feeling pathetic that as soon as he says ‘wife’ your expression morphs into something so dreadful that it causes him to stop. What are the odds that you just gave him a reality check and dragged him out of a fool’s paradise?

“Angel, what’s-” 

You stand abruptly, cutting him off yet again. His eyes bob all over you, and then a sad frown puckers between his brows. 

“I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” You say as you grab your handbag as quickly as you can before leaving him there. Confused and wondering what the fuck just happened?

Few minutes later, just as you’re walking outside the washroom and making a way towards your table someone’s voice causes you to stop midway. 

“Excuse me.” 

Turning to face the person, you come face to face with the same man from earlier. The one wearing a wine colored shirt along with a nasty expression. You believe he’s trying to look cocky but is failing miserably.

“Can I help you?” 

A slow smile spreads over his mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice that the man you’re here with seems to upset you in some way.”

An awkward chuckle leaves you. “The man is my boyfriend and I don’t think it concerns you if he’s upsetting me or not.” 

He walks a little closer. Oh no, this is bad. 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “But clearly he’s not being a good boyfriend, is he?” 

The audacity of this man.

You huff out a frustrated breath, “Listen, you need to shut up and stay within your limits. It’s not healthy going around poking your nose into everyone’s business.” 

His sly smile grows even more as he steps closer than before. 

The hair on your body stands up, and not in a good way, but in a very uncomfortable way. You suddenly regret the idea of leaving Jungkook’s side. Bad, bad decision. 

Currently, you have two options. You can either just walk off and act like nothing happened, which by the way, is a safe option or you can kick the man in the balls and then act like nothing happened.

Since you're much more accustomed to the former option, you decide to do just that but when his hands grip your wrist with an iron grip, you settle on the latter. 

You knee him between the legs with an intention to hurt him as he grunts in pain, his hands gripping where you just kicked him. 

“You fucking bitch.” 

Before he can say anything further, you storm off. Your phone buzzes inside your handbag and you automatically assume it to be Jungkook’s call. As soon as you spot him across the room, you feel the clouds parting, there’s a feeling threatening to arise. It’s something between protected and anguished. 

Anguished because you let your mind speak so deafeningly that it silenced the oh so loud love Jungkook has for you. And protected because you know for a fact that if he had any idea about what that man just did to you, he would not think twice before dragging him by the hair before bringing him to his knees in front of you to apologize. 

He stands once he sees you and you waste no time running towards him. Your arms go around him as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately embracing you in return, securing you against his chest.

It feels warm.

Concern laces his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Breathe” 

You don’t even realise you’re panting unless he says that. You’re aware that at this point the way you flung yourself at him must have got everyone’s attention. But you genuinely don’t care. It might as well be an auditorium full of people watching you hug your boyfriend like an anchor, you just don’t care. 

You realise that’s exactly what Jungkook is. Your anchor. Someone who didn’t even ask as to what happened before he straight away began consoling you. 

His hand envelops the back of your head in a protective way while the other soothes your back. 

“Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to.”

“Yes, please.”

His body shakes as though he just nodded. “All right, let me pay real quick and we’ll leave yeah?”

Your voice is muffled against his chest. “Yeah.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he lets you go. The small folder on the table grabs your attention. He opens it only to find a note inside of it saying— “It’s on me, gorgeous”. 

You can see the wheels in his mind turning, but before he starts asking you any questions which may or may not cause a breakdown of yours, you say, “I’ll explain it to you outside. Can we please go?” 

“Let me see wh-”

“Please?” He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Yeah- Yeah let’s go.” 

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At first when Jungkook saw that note, the first emotion that he felt was rage and a very serious one at that. But it was soon replaced by realization. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that something nasty went down after _____ left to use the washroom. Something he can’t wait to get to the bottom of. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her to be pressured to answer the more obvious question. 

Jungkook’s girl is attractive. She’s kind and empathetic and fucking stunning which makes her worthy of all the attention she gets. Of course men are going to want to be with her. 

Initially, it bothered him. A lot. 

Now, though? He’s grown rather used to it. However, it has never come to having someone pay for her in a restaurant. Even the thought of someone so much as speaking to her in an inhumanely manner makes him want to punch a hole through a wall. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

The silence is too loud inside the car. He can hear ____’s heart beating loudly or is it his own?

She’s leaning back with her head against the headrest. When she doesn’t respond, Jungkook speaks again, “_____ baby, will you please at least look at me?” 

Her eyes connect with his and he flashes her the softest of smiles.

Taking her hand, he kisses the inside of her wrist where he can feel her pulse. 

Thump thump thump. 

“I want you to give me something, angel. Anything.” 

He can see her gulp before admitting, “There was um… there was a guy outside the washroom and he kind of tried to force himself on me,” she closes her eyes for a brief moment, “Maybe I’m just being dramatic, but I handled him.” 

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He was right. His hands fly out to open the car door before _____ holds him back. “Don’t. I said I handled it.”

He turns back, his voice leaking with anger along with something more barbaric. “And I’m proud that you did, but if I don’t go in and beat that asshole into a new one I won’t be able to call myself a man worthy of you anymore. I need him to know that he can’t fuck with my girl and go about his goddamn day.” “Jungkook, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.” 

And he does. For now. 

He leans back, running his hands over his face with frustration. For a few minutes he and ____ just stare outside the front glass of the car. The parking lot slowly gets empty as people leave for their homes one by one. 

Just when he thinks  _____ has dozed off, her voice reaches him. “Can I get one more hug?” 

“Come here.” 

He takes her into a warm embrace before kissing the top of her head, settling his lips there. His anger has yet not fully dissipated, but having her so close calms his heart. It calms his whole being. Her touch, her breath against his skin, her presence heals something in him.

Therefore, he made up his mind about spending his whole life with her. The little slip of words, which by the way was totally unintentional, soured _____'s expression and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

She’s scared but he fully intends to let her know that she doesn’t have to.

______ unwraps herself from his arms and pushes back. Just enough for their noses to touch.

She shakes her head, “Don’t give me those eyes.” 

Jungkook holds back a smile. “What eyes, angel?” 

“The same ones you give me when you want something dirty to happen. Those big brown eyes of yours.”

He lets a chuckle slip out. “I’m down if you are.” 

When she offers him her own laugh, gosh it’s as though he comes alive. If he could bottle up the sound, he would. Something passes in _____’s eyes. Lust? Desire? He can’t pinpoint. 

He wants to kiss the hell out of her though and he wants to do it desperately. Her eyes drop to his mouth and he takes it as a sign to lean forward and press his mouth against hers. 

Her lips part ever so slightly followed by her gripping Jungkook’s collar to bring him even closer. So close as if she wants their souls to intertwine. 

The feeling is very much mutual. 

She gets up from the passenger’s seat without breaking the kiss and straddles his lap. Her legs on either side of his thigh as their core’s touch. Jungkook is not sure how long he can endure this sweet pain of waiting. 

In all sincerity, he’s been holding himself back from the very moment he saw her walking up to him in that dress. Do with that information what you will. 

Now, he just wants to say fuck it and get inside her— only that he can’t, because he wants her to take her time and ask for it. Then and then only he will fuck her. If it’s inside this car then so be it. 

The kiss is electric and filled with passion, tingling his skin in all the right places as she matches his enthusiasm with her own.

______ pulls back with a deep breath, leaving Jungkook panting heavily. 

“Please.” she begs. 

A strand of hair falls on her face. He tucks it behind her ear. “Please what baby?” 

“Please fuck me, Jungkook. I want you so bad and I want you right now.” she whines.

He grins. “At your service, ma’am.” 

He hears _____’s light chuckle as he gets out of the car, carrying her with him while also making sure she doesn’t hit her head on the hood. She detaches herself from him once they’re out and settles in the back seat. Only after ensuring she’s comfortable enough, Jungkook follows her. 

His body lays on top of her and he wastes no time as their mouths collide. Her finger grip the hair on his nape and he groans with pleasure, his cock going thick. He rubs it on her lower stomach to show her how much he wants her, gaining a moan out of her. 

Jungkook’s head goes fuzzy with every passing second. He almost comes when she lifts her hips up and rubs a slow circle against his cock. 

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling back from the kiss. _____’s cheeks are heated and lips are swollen. He did that. Her man did that. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tinted glass and his big car. 

_____ lifts her head up and kisses his sweaty cheek, swiping his forehead with her palm. “You’re sweating, honey.” 

“Yeah, I tend to do that in your presence. Do you know how hard it was for me to stay sane after seeing you look so unbelievably gorgeous?” 

She passes him a lazy smile, “You’ve always been so good at controlling yourself, haven’t you?” 

“Not anymore.” He sits up, knees on either side of her body and starts unbuckling his belt all the while panting with excitement. His pants slide halfway down letting his cock spring free. Thick, angry and leaking with precum. His shirt goes next.

______’s eyes flash with lust as she bites her lower lip. The straps of her dress have slipped down, leaving her tits bare and open for Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.” he leans forward as she runs a hand up his bare spine, hooking her legs over his hip.

“Please.” she whispers. 

A loud thunder outside the car grabs Jungkook’s attention. Nice, he’s so horny he didn’t even realise that it’s raining. Another rumble of thunder drowns their panting breath but he still only focuses on the woman beneath him. The goddess of a woman who trusts him with her body. How lucky he is to call her his own. 

She brushes his hair out of his face, her thumb dusting over the mole on the bridge of his nose before her hand follows the path of his tattooed arm, his rib, his ass, until she wraps a fist around his dick. 

He pushes into her hand. “I need to grab the condoms from the console, angel.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the car filling with the pants and whimpers before she says, “I want you bare. I’m on the pill.” 

Jungkook has never gone without condom nor has he considered going without one, but this woman right here just asked him to get inside her bare and fuck if it doesn’t tempt him.

And so he gives in, but not before asking, “Are you sure?” 

“As sure as one can be.” 

He nods, bringing his lips back to hers. His hand finds her thong under the dress as he slides it down her legs. Then he strokes a single line up and down her slit, wetting his finger with her cum. When he brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks on it, _____ all but whimpers. 

His cock follows next and he does the same with it, rubbing himself up and down her slit as he coats himself in her before he presses his thumb down on the head of his cock, curls his hips forward, and pushes into her. 

Tortuously slowly, inch by fucking inch. 

She’s so warm and tight for him. He’s not sure how long he can take before he shoots his load inside of her. 

“More.” she pleads, her face morphing into the most beautiful expression of pleasure. 

Jungkook pulls back and pushes again, watching more of a length disappear inside of her. He’s not even halfway in and she’s already crying out his name. 

Leaning in, he bites her neck in an attempt to give her his all. All his love, all his nights and all his life. The question is at the tip of his tongue but considering what happened inside, he quickly holds himself back. 

“You’re doing so good for me, my angel. Taking me so well,” He thrusts again. “You’re made for me, aren’t you?” 

She cries out. 

“What was that?” She throws her head back. “Yes. Oh my god” 

Thrust. “Yes, what baby? I’m gonna need you to say it.” 

Jungkook takes her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she cries out again, “I’m made for you. Fuck.”

He releases the nipple with a loud pop. “That’s right you are.” His pelvic bone is flush with hers, ____’s legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. She dusts her fingertips up and down his spine while he slowly kisses along her jaw.

When she pushes her heels into his ass, urging him to move, he pulls out part way before pushing back in again. 

She lets out a moan quickly followed by his own. _____’s hands run over Jungkook’s abs, nipples, and wrap around his shoulders. 

He’s fucking her slowly, taking his time, feeling her body and letting her feel his too. Every brush, every graze, every breath is precious to him.

Soft and intimate. 

So when the next words leave Jungkook’s mouth, he blames it on the moment. “Marry me.”

_____’s eyes which were closed earlier, savoring the very moment, pop open and his movement halts. 

“What?” 

“Fuck. Okay, I know this is not a position or place a woman wants to be proposed in, but I have to say this before I go insane. _____, I know you’re scared and I also know the reason behind it. Of course, I won’t ask you why you kept that part a secret from me, because I respect you and want you to take your time. But baby,” he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, “I need you to know that I will die before I let anything like that go down between us. I love you so much you don’t even realise. Sometimes I even shock myself with how much I cherish you. You’re a gift to me, a gift which brings out the best not just in me but in everyone she meets.”

He places a small kiss on her forehead before continuing, “I can go anywhere, see everything but it still wouldn’t match the level of affection I hold for you in my heart. Still wouldn’t match the beauty of your smile, you amazing woman. You’re all I have ever wanted. So please, make me the happiest motherfucker in the world by saying ye-”

“Yes” 

‘What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Now will you please shut up fuck me like you promised, husband?” 

He bites her jaw, “Oh, I’ll fuck you so nice you’ll be begging for more, wife.”

Soon enough, _____’s lower lip trembles as her orgasm takes over, and he has the privilege to watch it all. The fluttering of her lashes, the marks of her nail down his arm and the way she calls him her husband again when she’s able to find her words. 

He’s so gone.

About half an hour later when he asks her again as to what changed her mind about marriage, she says something so deep yet in such a casual way, he wants to cry. 

“When I hugged you inside, you didn’t ask questions. You just let me be and that may seem like a miniscule thing for someone else, but for me it was enough. Enough to stay with you until I turn all wrinkly and grey haired.” 

[ditzydoe444]

jason todd fingering the attitude out of you but when he asks if you're coming you say no with a little smile and then he just goes faster lmao

MDNI 18+

“n-nnggh,” you moaned as jason was knuckles deep into your cunt, his fingers moving quickly making the most lewd noises come from your cunt.

his strong arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you flushed against his chest. “close sweetheart?” jason whispered as his grip tightened.

you shook your head, biting your lips to hide a smile, though you failed anyways, a small grin escaping your lips.

“hm, guess i’m not working hard enough.”

jason’s speed picked up in a matter of seconds, completely abusing your cunt as your arousal coated his fingers, soaking them completely.

“bet you can’t make me come,” you said as you tried a pathetic attempt to hide your moans. “a big strong man like you can’t even make a girl come is pathetic.”

“careful there sweetheart, don’t want you to get ahead of yourself do we?”

the arm that was wrapped around your waist, holding you securely dropped rub your clit, making you squirm against him. his pace increased, his fingers going in and out of your cunt at a speed that was torturous making your arousal spill out and get shoved back in.

“j-jay!” you whined as your back arched, without his strong grip on you, you were a shaking mess

“calm down sweetheart, i thought you said you weren’t close.”

“m-mph!”

you were a mess, kicking the blankets off the bed while your head was thrown back with your eyes shut.

your folds were puffy and swollen, your clit so sensitive you squirmed everytime he rubbed it. “careful there sweetheart, don’t want you to come and make a mess everywhere do we?”

[arbitrarykiwi]

Captured in Low Resolution

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong (Player 230) x fem reader one-shot

Summary: while in your boyfriend’s music studio you finally remember to ask him about that teeny, tiny, low resolution photo that’s taped to the corner of his main computer screen. It’s been there for a while, edged curled up and ink faded to the point where you can’t even see what it is! (4k words)

Warnings: prolly ooc thanos…I just felt this in my soul and had to write it, Sfw, Just wanted to write somethin cute for this silly lil crazed man, proof read but am dyslexic so expect errors LMAO

You didn’t know it but one of Choi Su-bong’s favorite pictures of you was the one he has hung up on the corner of his computer at his studio.

It’s so small, grainy and faded due to the shitty printer he used to print it on. It’s also folded at the edge, rolling up into itself the smallest bit and blocking damn near most of the image.

As you sit on the edge of the computer desk, legs kicking aimlessly as he sits in the desk chair right next to you. He’s leaned back, one of his hands on the mouse as he clicks along the computer screen, eyes trained on the file of music he was working on. His other hand was resting on your thigh, right above the knee, fingers tapping against your flesh in concentration.

You look back over to the small image taped to the corner of his computer, fingers reaching out to try and un-curl the edge to see it better. It’s still such poor quality.

“What even is this picture?” You call out, fingers running over the paper. “Hm?” He says, very obviously not paying attention, his eyes moving from the computer screen over to you.

You pout playfully at him, “Can’t believe you’re ignoring me” you say, crossing your arms. He rolls his eyes and moves the chair he’s in over a couple inches. The wheels drag on the floor until he makes it to his destination, situated between your legs.

His arms reach up, crossing the desk and going behind you so his hands grip at your ass, pulling you to the very edge of his desk, your feet resting against his thighs. He looks up at you, hands massaging up your ass and around to your hips. “I’m payin’ attention now! Ask me again.” He whines turning to place a short kiss on the inside of your knee as an apology before pulling away.

You giggle, looking down and grabbing his face. You hunch over and tilt his face up, placing a slow kiss on his lips. When you pull away, you reach back over to the small image and pull at the corner. “I said what even is this picture. It’s so blurry. I can’t make it out.” You mumble, eyebrows furrowed as you squint to try and see what it was.

He looks to the little picture you’re fumbling with and then back to you, a confused look on his face. “You don’t know what it is!?” He says almost as if he’s offended. He removes one hand from your hip, pulling it back to quickly fish his phone out of pants pocket.

You watch as he unlocks it, blown out pupils darting across his phones home screen until he finds the app he’s looking for- photos.

He’s opening the app and begins to scroll through his camera roll. You can see glimpses of pictures- shoes he bought, pictures of weed, pictures of his shows, pictures of you and him, random memes he’s saved.

And then suddenly he stops, clicking on a certain photo in his camera roll then flipping his phone to you.

You immediately see the high definition colors match the pixels of the poor quality photo. It’s of you, in the drivers seat of his car. With the direction the photos taken, he’s in the passenger seat. The purple floor board lights that are in his car are the only lights that illuminate the photo- you can see it’s night outside the window behind you.

Your hair is in a messy style, you’re wearing a pair of his pajama pants and one of his shirts. Both articles of clothing practically swallowing you. One of your legs is hiked up on the car seat, shin pressed against the steering wheel. You have a takeout box of your favorite food in your lap, one hand holding up the food that your were most likely in the middle of eating, the other picking at the side dish that’s still in the box. You’re laughing in the picture, presumably at something he said.

You look at him, not really thinking this exact picture was worthy to be on the corner of his main computer as a permanent relic over the year. There’s plenty of better ones. But he cuts off your thoughts, “s’my favorite picture of you, baby.” He says with a wide grin pointing at the phone. “You look so cute and it reminds of that night and you always look so fuckin good when you’re driving my car.” He rambles passionately.

“Anytime I’m stressed out because these stupid fucks here don’t listen to me- I look at that picture, remember that night, and suddenly I’m not wanting to kill them.” He says pointing over to the small picture taped to his computer.

He was referring to the many people he had working with him on his music on a daily basis- his manager, his drug addict friends, different collabs he has- they all enrage him frequently, but with that picture of you there as his saving grace, he’s saved himself from losing deals and getting into fights. All he had to do is look at that little picture and he was taken back to that night- the anger he had towards whoever pissed him off in the studio would subside and he’d be able to finish whatever needed to be done in the studio without further problem.

You giggle, hands reaching out to grab his phone from his hand. Wanting a closer look at the picture, still not entirely sure when or even where it was taken. When your eyes scan the image, your smile widens- finally remembering the picture.

————/————/————

You guys had been dating around 6 months at the time, you think. You remember you had begged him to take you out late at night to get your favorite food to go. You were starving and you were set on the one thing that just had to have no delivery option. He had made you drive his car, saying that if he were to go with you and get you the food you wanted- you would have to drive.

You agreed excitedly, slipping on your shoes, grabbing his car keys that hung next to his front door and nearly bolting out of his apartment and skipping all the way to the parking space his car was in.

You didn’t know it but Choi Su-Bong thinks he realized that he was head over heels in love with you that night.

Yes he knew he adored you, loved you- hell he was never one for settling down until he met you a couple years ago- you changed him. But that night he swears he fell for you all over again in ways he didn’t think was possible.

You don’t hear it, you’re halfway to his nice sports car, but he chuckles to himself, just watching you. You’re simply adorable. Your excitement for your favorite food even this late at night made his tired smile grow wider. He was really smitten.

He’s entranced by the way you expertly throw the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot of his complex. You’re humming to yourself happily, doing the little dance you always do when you’re about to get food you like.

You’re so excited about the food you don’t even take the extra couple seconds to set up the Bluetooth like you normally do- you always wanted to have music in the care. It’s adorable, he thinks, just how determined you are to get your late night eats.

What’s even more adorable though is the way your eyes light up, a gasp coming out when he takes over aux, putting on that one song you play constantly. The one he swears you can listen to 16 times back to back and love it just as much as you did the first time it came on.

He just can’t stop staring at you, a small smile on his lips as he just watches how you drive, one arm outstretched so your hand is on the wheel the other arm is rested against the window on your side, your thumb playing with the nails of your other fingers- feeling the glitter and gems of the fresh set, tracing the raised chrome “T”- the extravagant set courtesy of your boyfriends money.

He watches as you hum along to the song, as it continues you begin to sing along, your voice blending with the stereo. He can’t but help chuckle to himself when he notices your hand drumming against the steering wheel, your head bobbing along to the music. It was 2am and here you were, as energetic as ever, singing your heart out.

He admires how you seem to recite the lyrics like they’re mixed into the blood that’s in your veins. It’s like you don’t even have to think about what word follows the previous, it just comes to you like you’re the person who wrote the song.

You can feel his gaze on you and your singing is halted by a laugh bubbling up your chest when you can see him out of the corner of your eyes just watching you- your eyes darting over to him in the passenger seat, eyebrows scrunched in a questioning look before looking back at the road. “Why ya staring at me?” You say with a giggle, eyes going back to the road.

“Hm..” he hums in response, reaching over the center console to interlock his hand with yours, your arm that was once on the window moves to replace the other so you can hold his hand, your other hand takes the wheel. “I can’t just admire my girlfriend?” He finishes, giving your hand a squeeze. He even adores the way your eyes roll at his words, letting out a sarcastic “I ‘spose you can.”

He lets out a low hum in response, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. He doesn’t stop looking at you for the whole ride, taking in every detail of you.

You expertly maneuver his car along the expressway as you head to your destination with a determination, and throughout the whole drive he just finds more and more things that he finds endearing about you. He was going to have to make you drive him places more often if it meant he got to observe you like this.

You make it to the drive-thru, pulling around the curve and waiting patiently at the large light up menu. He begins to type on his phone, writing out his order so you could easily read it out when you got done ordering what you wanted.

You list off your order and he begins to hand you his phone, open to his order he just wrote out, but you don’t even turn to him- instead you list off his exact order perfectly without even having to grab his phone.

He sits back with a surprised laugh, you really did know him. It was charming how much you knew about him- even the little things like his order at this fast food place that you two have only gone to maybe 3 times.

You had to be a fucking witch, He thought, you had some sort of spell over him that made him fall for you effortlessly at any little thing you did.

You let out a sweet “Thank you!” To the worker as they tell you to pull up, turning to begin to pull up. You turn to him, doing a small excited dance and extending your hand out to him.

He grabs your outstretched hand, taking it in his and turning it to place a kiss on your knuckles as he grabs his wallet out of his pocket. When he pulls back, he rotates your hand back and places his card in your hand.

You give the card to the worker, paying. You get the card and receipt back, the worker closing the window and headed back to the kitchen. When you hand him back his card you lean over the center console and place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my love.” You say in a sweet tone that has him thinking he’s tripping- and he knows he didn’t take any pills today.

My love.

He’s replaying it in his head, trying to get the words and the way you said it permanently etched into his head. He’s not sure he’s ever been able to experience something so wholesome and exciting than when he met you. And every day he was continually surprised that you could still have such an effect on him with the little things you did.

“Of course, my beautiful flower.” He coos, hand reaching across the center console to stroke his thumb across your cheek a couple times. Your attention is pulled away from him by the bags of food being held out to you.

You take them happily handing them over to him for safe keeping as you pull around to the empty parking lot.

As you guys sit in the empty parking lot, eating the food- you told him you wanted to eat it then and there, not wait for the drive home- and who was he to say no to his sweet girl!?!- one of his own songs comes on the play list, his own voice coming through the speakers and filling the car.

“Oooohh!” You say excitedly, “that’s my mannn~!!” You call out in a sing song voice. He laughs, leaning over to place a quick kiss on your neck. When he does he can smell your perfume, it’s a scent he’s become addicted to. He lets out a low hum against your neck as he stays connected to you, sucking a small purple bruise into your skin. You bite your lip and giggle, reaching one hand up to run through his hair.

He pulls back from you, settling back into the passenger seat. He continues to eat, humming along to his own song. He swears his heart beats out of his chest when he’s about to take a bite out of his food and you begin rapping along.

It’s soft mumbles, just to yourself as you nod your head along to his music. You recite the lyrics perfectly. Sure, he knew you were subjected to listen to his music when you sat in his studio as he worked- but to know the lyrics like the back of your hand like this…he’s head over heels.

He watches on for a moment, just letting you be in your own world, not faltering once as you rap along to the recording of his voice. “How’d you learn this?” He questions with a laugh of disbelief, fuck, you’re so precious.

You look over to him, shocked he was even paying attention- you thought he was invested in the food that sits in the take out box on his lip like you were. “I listen to it all the time, duh! It’s on my liked playlist for when I drive.” You say confused, like you were surprised he was surprised.

His head is spinning to say the least. Maybe it was because he used to run around the worst type of people possible, always using him and not actually supporting his music. Or maybe it was because the ditzy flings he had before meeting you never cared to really listen to his music, only wanting drugs or sex. He wasn’t sure but he thought he was dreaming.

Choi Su-bong fell head over heels in love with you that night. He realized you were truly a precious little gift all for him. A pretty thing to show off and to keep him in line. Someone who loved him, and his music enough to learn all the lyrics and add it to your personal playlist. The way you were in the drivers seat of his car, wearing his clothes, singing his song has him launching over the seat to kiss you.

You nearly drop your food- clutching it to your lap as you kiss him back. It’s sweet, slow, and methodical. You can’t help but to melt into it. His lips move against you in practiced movements, his teeth gently bitting at your bottom lip- pulling it just a bit as he pulls away.

He moves back into the passenger seat and begins to go back to eating like nothing happened. You try and mirror him, trying to be stoic as you pick through your take out box.

He hears you giggling to yourself, and when he looks over and sees the sight- you trying your best to focus on your food, smile spread on your lips that were still wet from the kiss- he takes his phone out and takes a picture.

————/————/————

Back in the studio, you look back up to him, a wide smile on your face as you finally remember the night the picture was taken. “Awh!!! You’re such a softie…” you coo out reaching out to pull his face towards you, placing kiss after kiss along his face. When you pull back he scoffing, shaking his head dismissively, trying to act like you don’t affect him the way you do.

But you do.

“Not a softie..” he mumbles as he pouts. You look to the photo again, then back to him raising an accusatory eyebrow. He rolls his eyes at your persistence, “Fine…maybe you have me a bit soft…but you can’t blame me baby! You’re so fuckin perfect…” he says his hands running up the sides of your waist as he focuses on you. You jump off the desk, moving to climb into his lap on his desk chair.

He hums in approval when you sit down on his lap. He studies you, observing you like you’re an ancient marble carving on display in a museum. “My pretty baby.” He mutters, reaching up his hands to run them up the sides of your neck and to hold your face. “Mhm, your pretty baby.” You respond leaning in to kiss him. “All yours.” You mumble against his lips. He nods, biting at your lip. As he keeps the kiss going, he takes the small photo that you still held and tapes it back to the corner of the computer- where it belongs.

————/————/————

When he decides he’s done working in the studio for the day You stay the night at his place. Your mind buzzing with a perfect idea to surprise. You anxiously await to get started with your little project for when he goes to bed- you wouldn’t want to spoil it!

Hours later, he’s asleep on your bare chest, purple hair ticking your neck. One of his arms is thrown across you, pulling you tightly in his grasp. For someone who’s so intimidating and outgoing, when he’s asleep with you-he’s so soft, vulnerable. It’s a drastic change that only happens around you- and it’s one that you cherish every moment of.

Anytime you adjust yourself in bed, his arm around your torso holds you tighter like you’re going to run away. You never do though, you always stay with him. You try your best, and eventually manage to pull your phone off the bedside table, clicking it on to begin your plan.

The bright light of your phone floods the dark bedroom. He murmurs in his sleep, beginning to stir, his painted nails raking lightly at your rib cage when he moves. You quickly dim the brightness of your phone- a tricky task with one hand but you get it done. Your other hand runs along his arm and back in feather-light touches. It seems to settle him back into deeper sleep, his face rubbing against your chest, like he’s trying to get closer to you in any way possible and his hand relaxing once again.

With him back asleep, you continue your plan. You’re ordering the biggest print you can of the photo he loves so much, in the best quality, with the nicest wood frame you can find.

It takes a couple weeks to get everything and put it together. But soon you finish it and strategize on how you’re going to present it to him.

One day you found yourself in his studio. He’s at his desk, the small picture of you still taped to his computer. He’s working on some new music, his face focused as he sits at his desk, his mouth moving as he whispers lyrics to himself, trying to come up with something for this new song.

He eventually turns to you, offering to go out and get you food. And how could you say no? It gave you the perfect opportunity to see your plan into its final stages.

When he leaves the studio to go pick up food for the two of you, you get to work. You hang the picture up right above his monitor. It’s a tough job for one person, the large frame almost too big for you to hang up. But you struggle through- needing to see the end goal- his reaction.

You take a step back, looking on at the new addition with a proud smile.

Oh! Last thing!

You walk back over to his desk, leaning over it and removing the taped picture that was on the corner of his monitor, keeping it tucked into your palm. You smile to yourself, returning back over to your spot on the couch.

When he returns a while later, plastic bags of food for you. His eyes don’t even notice the new addition to his studio, he just looks straight to you on the couch He walks over to you, placing a kiss on your forehead then handing you the food.

“You go ahead and eat, baby. I really gotta finish this up.” He says, his eyes going back to his phone, an annoyed expression on his face. His phone rings out notification after notification, blowing up with messages that are surely rushing him to get the first draft of his lyrics submitted. His words are terse, almost harsh, but you know it’s not directed at you- it’s directed at the individuals hounding him on his phone.

He walks back over to his desk, he throws his phone down on the wood, eyes immediately diverting to his computer, ready to get back to work. Not even looking up to the wall.

He’s annoyed, he just wanted a nice calm day with his girlfriend but all these people bothering him about his music and raps just make him so fucking annoyed. When he feels himself getting more and more aggravated, his eyes immediately look to the corner of his computer monitor, trying to find solace in looking at the little paper picture he had taped to the screen, only to realize the small crumpled picture of you that he had taped there is gone.

He looks over his shoulder back to you, his eyebrows furrowed and a pout on his face. “You take my picture of you down?” He asks, you can hear the upset in his voice, it almost makes you break and spoil the whole surprise you set up.

You nod in response, biting your lip to try and keep your excited smile at bay. You open your palm, showing him that you had the small image. “What?!” He exclaims, turning fully back to you, his back now facing the wall you desperately needed him to look at. “Why would you do that?!” He says, looking at you worried, the frown on his face deepening.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, walking over to him and spinning him around to face the wall. Your finger pointed up at the once empty space above his computer monitor.

When he finally looks at the wall, his mouth drops open. When he looks up he expects to see the same old bare white bricks, but he doesn’t, he’s completely wrong. How could he have completely missed that?!

There’s a large framed copy of his supposed favorite picture of you, right above his main computer monitor. Much better than the small, grainy paper image he had taped to the computer.

You’re about to ask if he likes it when he cuts you off, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you around. “You’re literally the fucking best!” He cheers excitedly. He puts you down and you’re smiling like an idiot. “You like it?” You ask, looking up at him, your arms interlocked behind his neck. “Baby…” he says, leaning down and holding your face to place a long, overly exaggerated kiss you your lips, pulling back with a ‘muah!’, “this is the best gift ever.”

His thumbs stroke your cheek gently, he’s staring at you with an adoring gaze that makes you melt. “You needed somethin’ a little better than this small lil thing. It was gonna fade…even more than it has.” You say holding your palm face up in between the two of you. “So I wanted to get you something that wouldn’t fade and have it to where you can actually see what it is.” You say poking at his chest with a joking, scolding tone.

He nods, laughing, placing a kiss on your forehead before removing his hands from your face and grabbing the old image. His thumb runs across the image, a soft smile on his face. He then looks up to the wall where the new picture hangs, taking a couple steps towards the desk.

“Fuck you’re stunning, sweetheart.” He breathes out, studying the framed photo of you, it’s a constant reminder of how lucky he is. “This is just what I needed, thank you..” He says, just studying the picture with a love-struck look. He truly has won the jackpot with you.

[bbyg4rl]

i'm your JJ ✧

cw: JJ x Kie's sister!reader, fluff, slight allusion to sex, happy ending !

summary: JJ cant avoid his feelings for his friend's sister anymore. inspired by this request.

a/n: this lowkey so cute thanks i started kicking my legs while writing LMAO hope this is what u expected anon <3

You were just grabbing a glass of juice and making your way back to your room when your sister, Kie, stormed into your room behind you.

"I'm having JJ over tonight. Don't come out of your room."

"It's my house too. I'll come out if I want to" you shot back.

"Just don't, okay? you're annoying enough as it is" she replied, rolling her eyes as she walked out.

time jump

you buried yourself in your pillows trying your best to drown out the sound of the movie playing downstairs. you could faintly hear your sister make excuses to JJ about why you weren't hanging out with them, claiming you "weren't feeling well". The lie made you want to storm down and snap at her, but every time you reached for the door handle, Kie's words struck you like an alarm clock, the words froze you for a reason you couldn't quite discern and sent you back to your bed where you resumed trying to muffle the sounds of the tv.

suddenly, there was a knock at your bedroom door, you half-expected Kie to be on the other side, ready to take more shots at you but you were surprised to see JJ, he softly opened the door, searching for your face in the messy room. As soon as he spotted you, he rushed over and sat on your bedside, his hands gently reaching for your face.

"Hey, mama. how you feelin'?"

"Shouldn't you be downstairs with Kie?" you replied sarcastically.

"Don't answer my question with another question y/n. besides, your sister can handle herself for a little while. I'm here to check up on you, babycakes" he said, smiling at you as his hands combed through your hair.

You couldn’t help but smile at the nickname. "Thanks for checking up on me, JJ, but I’m fine. I just wanted to stay in my room today" you replied softly.

You didn't quite understand why you were covering for Kie. Maybe a little part of you felt guilty for feeling what you felt for JJ, especially since you knew Kie had a thing for him. She made it painfully clear, dropping hint after hint, but somehow, JJ seemed oblivious. His attention never strayed toward her. His eyes were always on you, never missing an opportunity to admire you, darting to you every time a joke left his lips.

Your train of thought was interrupted by JJ's calloused hand stroking your cheek.

"You're not really a 'stay in' kind of a person, mama. Tell me what's wrong, you know you can tell me anything. I'm your JJ"

You shot him a wry smile, "You're cute, JJ"

"You're just stating the obvious, baby" he quipped, flashing one of those smirks that always made your stomach flip.

"Why do you even wanna know what's wrong? You want me or something?" you teased.

"You have no idea how much I want you" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" Your eyes widened. Did he just say he wants you?

"Just come on down, babycakes" he said, cutting off any chance for a reply as he slipped his hands under you, lifting you bridal style. Before you knew it, he was carrying you downstairs.

You felt Kie's eyes boring holes into your back as JJ placed you on the couch beside Kie, pulling a blanket over you and settling in beside you. Your heart raced, waiting for an outburst to tear its way through your sister, knowing how much this must be killing her.

The three of you quietly settled in to watch the movie. That is, until you noticed JJ’s hand slowly inching closer to yours, eventually resting on top of it, his thumb occasionally swiping across the back of your hand.

As the movie went on, your mind wandered, You couldn’t help but notice how close JJ really was to you, his hand on top of yours, his knee brushing yours, his shark tooth necklace rising up and down on his chest with every breath he took.

An idea popped into your head, The movie wasn’t all that interesting anyway, it wouldn't hurt to spice it up now, would it?

you slipped your hand from under his and scooted closer, thigh pressing against as his. His breath hitched as you adjusted your blanket to cover his legs before resting your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing tent in his shorts.

"Y/n" he whispered, voice strained, not daring to look at you.

"Hm?" you responded feigning innocence, as you moved your hand higher before abruptly pulling it away and standing up.

"I'm gonna get more popcorn" you declared, only then noticing that Kie had fallen asleep in her spot.

Grinning to yourself, you made your way to the kitchen, thoughts of JJ swirling in your mind. You were rummaging through the cabinets when you heard JJ’s heavy breathing behind you.

"What was that, Y/n"

"What was what?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about, mama." he growled, his tone low and agitated as his hand snaked around your waist pulling you into him.

"Don't do that again " he murmured, pressing a small kiss to your hair before walking back to the living room.

Your face flushed as you stood there, stunned. The difference between the JJ who had come to your room earlier and the man that had just pulled your ass into him excited you. He wasn't usually this bold with you, but lately his resolve seemed to be breaking and his control was faltering, his obsession with you becoming harder for him to hide. Not that it was ever really hidden.

Finally, you found the popcorn and returned to the living room. The rest of the night passed in relative silence, with only quiet glances exchanged between you and JJ.

When it was time for him to leave, he shot you a smirk and gave Kie a quick side hug before heading out the door. You made your way to your room and flopped onto your bed, only to hear a knock on your window moments later.

It was JJ, with a shit eating grin plastered to his face. You opened the window to let him in.

"JJ? I thought you left-"

Before you could finish, his lips were on yours.

Pulling away slightly, he looked into your eyes. "I couldn't leave without kissing you, I can't pretend no more, baby. I need you"

You smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss. You’d been waiting for this moment for so long. He slowly led you to your bed, laying you on your back as he climbed on top, his hands rested on your sides, as he deepened the kiss, his knee between your legs, teasing you.

You cupped his face, pulling it back to look at him. "What am I gonna tell Kie?"

"Tell her I’m your JJ."

check out my other works ! masterlist

[jaggedamethyst]

easy (part 2) (bucky barnes x gn!reader)

content: secret relationship/established relationship, miscommunication/misunderstanding, angst, self-doubt, mentions of death, cheating (kind of), not proofread

notes: part two this this...good luck lmao (a short one but it’s the right length i fear)

main masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

You’d been woken up by the sounds of knocks on your door. They started off normal and quickly became more frantic…aggressive, even. 

The sound of your name made you sit up on the floor. Suddenly, the door pushed open—revealing Bucky there. His hair was disheveled, clearly having run his hands through it. He hadn’t bothered with saying hi, kneeling in front of you and looking you over.

He cupped your face, “Are you okay?” He pressed into you more, nudging you to sit up. “What are you doing down here?”

You reached out to him, making sure you hadn’t tricked yourself, that he was really here. 

He continued, “What happened? Sharon said you disappeared and she couldn’t find you.” 

Somehow Bucky was missing the point. You could only blink at that, knowing that his energy was so misplaced. Why would he care about you right now when this entire relationship had so quickly gone awry? Why would he focus on you being on the floor when he ruined this—him. 

Bucky spoke again, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “I called you a shit ton, where’s your phone?” 

“Don’t know.” 

He paused, confused at your first and only words to him being so carelessly spoken. “Steve said he saw you—that you just…ran.“ 

You nodded. You had ran. Swift motions out of the building and to your place weren’t enough to erase the imagery in your brain. The way Bucky had seemed so carefree—so happy. With someone who wasn’t you, most importantly. A woman who looked so remarkably different than you. 

Your skin and body physically repelled him—pushing him away without a thought. Moving to stand, you watched his face twist in hurt. 

“How was recon?” 

“It was fine…am I missing something?” 

You ignored the question, asking your own. “You said Steve told you he saw me?” He nodded. “Did he know who I was?”

“Course he knew who you were—he’s my best friend.” 

You bought your in front of you, wringing them together. “Does she?” The question was meant to quell your anxiety, but instead made the prospect of him cheating infinitely harder to swallow. You looked at him expectantly, an answer seeming to escape him—despite you both knowing what happened that evening. 

“Does who?” 

“Natasha…Romanoff…the one you went on recon with.” You moved your head as you slowly spoke the words—breaking it down for him. “Does she know about me? About us?” 

“You know that we keep this a secret for your safety. We’ve talked about this a thousand times-“ 

“No, you keep it a secret and you've talked about it.” You moved to sit on the couch, “I agreed because I love you and I understand the stress of your job. But what I saw today,” you shook your head and looked up at him across the room. “That wasn’t a secret for my benefit. It was for yours.” 

“That’s just not true.” Bucky moved from his spot, finally, stepping across the room to sit beside you. “You have to understand my perspective on this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was the cause of anything happening to you.”

You twisted your entire face, staring up with an incredulous look. “Did you stop to consider how much worse it would be to have to live with the knowledge of you doing god knows what every time you’re not here?” You paused, feeling his hands attempt to wrap around you. Moving back instantly, you continued, “What happened with her? What haven’t I seen?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky waved his hands in front of him, emphasizing his words. “Nothing happened-“ 

“I saw you. Sharon showed me the feed, Bucky.” 

His face glazed over in realization—not that you had seen him with her, but that you had seen him with her. Bucky’s head started to move on its own, searching for how to make sense of this for you. “That wasn’t what it looked like.” 

A huff escaped you. Without a second thought you got up and moved toward the door, Bucky right on your trail. “If we’re gonna act like this you can just go.” You put a hand on the door handle, raising a brow at him. “You of all people know I won’t sit here and look stupid. Not when I’ve already wasted so much time waiting for you.” 

A moment passed, the reality of what you were saying lingering in the room. The two of you had talked about it before, how you’d waited so long for someone like him to appear. There’d been years of self discovery and “loving yourself first” before Bucky showed you that someone else could. When that happened, you settled for the relationship existing in its very specific confines—under the lock and key of his life’s restrictions. Even then, he’d get a call; people needed him. Bucky would go away for however long, and you’d wait. The amount of time spent yearning for the world to suddenly be quicker for you, for him, was immense. In every instance it seemed that despite the relatively common cosmic occurrences he’d faced, none of Bucky’s opponents could grant your wish—to get the man you loved back to you sooner. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. You watched his hands ball into a fist, angered with himself. The mechanical whir of his arm filling the empty space. “I don’t feel that way about her.” 

You scoffed at that. He sounded so textbook it was physically making you ill. 

He continued, though, “She’s been my friend for a long time. We spend a lot of time together…and I wanted to tell her about you.” He inhaled, “But I didn’t. I don’t know why.” 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

“Of course not…and she kissed me. I regret making her feel like there was even a slight chance of me seeing her that way—because I don’t. I can’t.” His voice wavered, “Can’t because I only love you.”

He reached a hand out to you and it caused you to move away from him—impossibly closer to the door. 

“Bucky…I don’t think I can do this.” 

“Doll, please-“

You waved a hand, interrupting him, “Wait—just…listen.” You let go of the door, fully looking at him now. “I don’t think I can be with you if it’s like this.” He let you continue, “I know you want to protect me, but all of this has hurt me more than it could’ve ever helped. I feel so removed from you—like I don’t know you outside of our apartment walls.” Sweat had accumulated on your palms, making you realize how anxiety-inducing this had been. “I haven’t felt confident in myself around you in…a while-“

“But-“ 

“Bucky, please.” He nodded, stilling himself in commitment to let you speak. “That’s not your fault…but I think I need space to figure out why that is.” 

Bucky whispered your name, a shakiness on his voice. “I just…can’t stomach the idea of you dead…dying...because of me.” 

“I would’ve.” You moved to open the door. “I think I would’ve been fine facing death as long as everyone knew I loved you first.” You stepped back from the threshold and offered him the space to step out. “But they don’t. Nobody knows except us. That hurts.” 

Bucky didn’t speak as he stepped toward the hall. His entire figure seemed to hang lower than normal, and it pained you to see. You felt the heat of tears in your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. There was a sort of satisfaction in facing this—breaking up with Bucky. It was always going to happen, you reasoned, so bearing your soul…crying…would’ve been too easy.  

tags (tried to get everyone who asked lol)

@julvrs @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 @preeyas-world @ilovemcuff @winchestert101 @caity1995 @hereforfun-31 @cjand10 @nadinekr @wintercrows @read-just-cant @behindmygreyeyes @ordelixx @pklol @bookworm3570 @largarei @fairlyfatale @kittenkiryu

[dollopole]

No, this is not rambling, this is breaking my heart😔So the brave one decided to talk about it! (half of my reblogs are of people I’ve probably sent to therapy with this one, lmao)

And I agree!

Imagine you’re doing everything, everything you can to save someone, you know there are little to no chances for the man you care about to survive a battle wound, even when everyone around you, for your whole life told you you’re powerful enough to conquer kingdoms and rule the Gods, but you’re there, wishing to be able to bring back a man from the dead, the man you love, and you go back to a phase of life where you didn’t even know what magic you could do, and you’re not prepared, and then Arthur lies there, still, and gone, and Merlin can’t take it.

It was wrong, it happened wrong, something was wrong.

Arthur was finally able to see him for who he was, and that freedom spread to the king too, he could finally be himself too, so he touched Merlin more, he was honest with him more, and yes, it was because he believed more than Merlin that he was going to die, but it’s just that little piece of the puzzle Arthur needed.

Oh, it’s him, it’s all of him, and now I can long and want and tell him, but no, no, because I’m going away forever, and I need him to know in some way that I care, I always did, that I love him, like I always did, that I respect him, like I’ve always done, and I’m a fool and I’m too late, we both are, but let me grab him like a gentle lover would, let him ruffle his hair for the last time like we’re still those two idiots who had a brawl in the lower town ten years ago, where I was full of myself and you still sparkled with life, a life that came out of your every pore.

Let me hold you while I ask you to hold me, let me touch you truly, let me see if I would have been wrong.

I wasn’t.

He wasn’t, they both weren’t, they knew and yet, it was too late.

Merlin realised too late, and Arthur knew he would have been slow, and he tried to bring peace to his long time friend and counsellor and lover, for one last time.

Just this once, let me tell him.

So we don’t want to talk about how Arthur purposefully brushes his cheek on Merlin’s, more than once, how Arthur leans on him, with his face, and does everything he can to keep it close to Merlin’s, and that if Merlin hadn’t lowered Arthur on the ground, Arthur would have more than probably caressed their faces together, just like Merlin later did with Arthur’s forehead—

Fine. Let’s not talk about it.

[thewertsearch]

Well, let's take a look!

Ooh, we've even got a faux-loading animation. Clearly, the video's creators have invested a lot of effort into making it feel like authentic Homestuck.

I never really thought about this, but - yeah, Derse's army would still be around for the final battle. They won, after all.

These foot soldiers - even the big ones - should be fairly trivial for the endgame trolls. Future Dave was fighting Underlings this size in Accelerate, and he was still weaker than an endgame Terezi.

lmao, poor Tavros.

Don't worry, buddy - it'll all be over soon.

The King's got dragon wings, and I'm willing to bet he can use them, as Sgrub is highly unlikely to respect the square-cube law.

He's not just huge - he's maneuverable, too, like an Oozaru. This is going to be even harder than I thought.

Overpowered as always, Eridan. And remember, these are the lasers that his Angels resisted for several minutes. Those things are freaks.

Man, it really sucks when your final boss has a trait designed to one-shot your species. Say what you like about Perfect Jack, but at least his voice doesn't melt the kids' brains.

I really like this moment, where Karkat makes the first move, and Terezi instantly backs him up. Despite everything, she really does respect his leadership.

"yOU WANT TO GO FIGHT A TIT?" SaY nO mOrE, bRoThEr! :o)"

The latest in a long line of acrobatic fucking pirouettes.

And first blood goes to our glorious leader!

[revelboo]

Would Thundercracker's human friend from Better Open the Door ever be able to convince TC to let them go home? (Their actual home lmao)

Or would he just plain refuse to see reason forever?

Like, he seems reasonable enough, if a bit... Clingy. And lonely. And sad.

I mean, I'd gladly be his friend, and talk about movies with him. But being kept in his room like a glorified pet is a bit much.

He would when the guilt kicks in hard enough, wanting to prove he cares and listens, even if he hates it. That said, he’s absolutely going to spend every free minute he has stalking you from above in his alt mode to keep you safe.

Better Open The Door Pt 15

Thundercracker x Reader

• Drowsing sprawled on him, it’s strange to feel so comfortable. One of his hands on the small of your back and the other on your butt. Resting your chin on him you study that handsome, alien face that’s become so familiar to you. Knowing you’re falling for him despite still being unhappy with him and you’re tempted to ruin it all. Trying to gather up the nerve to ask again, because if he really cares about you, he has to understand he has to let you go eventually.

• Optics brightening when he feels you move on him, he tucks his chin to see you. And you look so lovely sprawled on him, servos flexing on you when you yawn. “Sleep okay?” He asks and you lay your cheek back down against him. This moment. He wants to keep it forever. The way you look waking up in his arms, hair messy and eyes sleepy. “I’m probably not a very comfortable bed, am I?”

• “You’re warm.” Painfully aware of your own nakedness when the servos of one hand slides up your spine and his other hand gently flexes on your butt. And there’s his spike hardening against your hip. “Already? It’s hard to have a conversation when you do that,” you protest. And he smiles crookedly at you, expression almost boyish and not at all ashamed.

• “You have that effect on me,” he admits, cupping your chin and tipping it up. Venting when you lean up on him, mouth brushing his in a much too brief kiss. “Not so fast.” Servos threading through your hair to cup the back of your head, he tugs you back to him, mouth lazily exploring yours.

• Laughing as you break away and his servos lazily comb through your hair, you push up to straddle him and his servos skim up your body and then back down to rest on your hips. Remembering his words from the night before. That he’d said he loved you when he barely knows you. Even if the way he looks up at you is almost worshipful. “Can we talk?” Does he even really understand what love is or is he just fascinated with those love stories he watches?

• Servos wandering to cup soft skin, he rumbles at you. Do you think you really need to ask? That there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you? “Of course.” Servos stroking over you, he wonders if he can bond you. What it would be like to feel you tangled in his spark, touching him intimately. Why are you frowning at him? “Is something wrong?”

• “No, it’s just- It’s nothing,” you say, one of your hands covering his as it wanders and squeezes. And he’s frowning at you now, reaching up to tap a servo against your bottom lip. Waiting expectantly and you cringe. “You know you can’t just keep me here forever. Right? I have family and they must be worried.”

• Expression closing off, he catches your wrist when you start to pull away. Upset with him. Hasn’t he taken care of you? Protected you? “You’re not a prisoner,” he says, voice flat. Empty as his spark constricts. Was it only fragging to you? Nothing more? “I just want you to be happy. Safe.” And if you don’t want him, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch over you even if you don’t want him. Set you free and protect you from a distance as it kills him. You’re everything to him. “Is that what you want? To leave?” If so, he’ll stay as close as he can, let you have your freedom while you can, because as soon as the war starts up again, he’ll bring you back home to him no matter what you want. Can’t lose you.

Previous

Probably a good idea to add a warning to the first chapters of it and TFA Blitzwing’s fic

[sexy-monster-fucker]

You’re My Achilles Heel

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Hotch and Reader find themselves in a predicament when a fellow agent ended up being at the office after hours.

CW: secret relationship, oral m!receiving, swallowing

a/n: just for the record, HOTCH WOULD NEVER lmao but it’s my fanfiction AND I DO WHAT I WANT also yes I do keep naming these Fics after song lyrics lol

~~~

This little secret rendezvous had really gotten you this time. 

Knees pressed firmly into the linoleum floor, feet arched under the weight of your body, hands clasped together in your lap. Lips swollen and face flushed. Mouth completely full of your boss’s length.

Finding yourself entangled with him one night when he brought you home from work. A long case had tensions high and everyone’s bodies exhausted. Aaron Hotchner, the man whose desk you were hidden under, had offered to drive you from Quantico. Leading to shared glances and awkward smiles the whole way home. A sloppy kiss, ending with the two of you tangled in his backseat.

Unable to get your hands off each other ever since. Hands lingering on parts of your body they should not be. Purposefully taking longer routes so that he could slip his fingers under your pantyline. Staying late on weekends so he could bend you over his desk. Sneaking off for quickies in the bathroom.

Evolving overtime to bringing each other small snacks and drinks that you had learned the other liked. Leaving little sticky notes with inside jokes you had made at the other’s house the night before. Casually texting each other compliments. Planning dinner together. Deciding who would stay with who.

A secret that you both had to keep.

Cohabitation was strictly off limits. Especially between a Unit Chief and his subordinate. Hotch was willing to bend the rules when necessary, but never publicly.

So when someone had knocked while you were kneeled before him, he panicked. An emotion that was unfamiliar to your stoic leader. Pressing you back into the cubby under his desk. Trying his hardest to act natural when Agent Rossi came in.

How could he have forgot to lock the door?

“Hey, Aaron,” Rossi stared down at the folders and files in his hands.

Hotch swallowed hard. Back stiff against his chair. Looking over at the clock on his wall. Convincing himself he misread the time.

“What are you doing here so late?” Hotch cleared his throat. Trying not to look down at you through the small slit between his body and desk. Because the sight of you would have completely ruined his facade. Continuing to bob your head up and down his shaft.

“Needed to finish up this case report,” Rossi nonchalantly walked over to the front of Hotch’s desk. Jaw clenched as he fought the flare of his nostrils when you took him completely into your mouth. Holding back yourself from gagging.

“Right. You can just leave it here,” Hotch gestured with shaky hands towards the edge of his desk.

Your hands ran up the back of his calves. Gently caressing the material of his slacks as your fingers held on for support. Tongue flat on the underside, feeling every vein. Loving the taste of his salty precum filling your mouth.

Shaking with anticipation. Unable to believe that you were doing this. Especially with Hotch. Catching his brown eyes above you, dimly glowing with the reflection of the lamp. Watching as his gaze softened for a moment before swiftly jumping back to Rossi.

Beginning to speed up on his member. Sloppily taking him in and out. Hollowing out your cheeks giving him full access. Causing him to exhale a little louder than intended.

“Everything alright, Aaron?”

Hotch’s mind was running wild. Barely able to keep the conversation going between himself and Rossi. Especially when you licked a stripe up his cock. Focusing on his breathing. If he could even remember how normal people breathed.

“Of-f course. Just been a long week,” Hotch’s steady voice attempted to reassure Rossi. Brows resting harshly against his forehead. Hand coming up to rest against his face. Deciding to lean back in his chair to seem more casual. Not realizing how delicious you looked under his desk.

Giant eyes doeing up at him as your lips perfectly wrapped around his girth. Fluttering your mascara covered lashes as the corner of your mouth curved into a smile. Hotch gave you a look that told you to not make him do anything stupid.

“This job can be stressful. Maybe it’s time you hop back on the saddle,” Rossi smirked. Insinuating that Hotch needed to get laid.

He had no idea what he was talking about.

Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes. Momentarily looking down at you still smiling from his laugh. Amused that all his coworkers assumed he was some uptight loner.

Thought these people were supposed to be profilers?

“Come on. I’m not saying to do anything crazy. Just go down to the bar and find some pretty, young girl to have a good time with. It’ll help you loosen up a bit,” Rossi rolled his shoulders, smiling.

Hotch rested his forehead against his hand. Secretly staring down at you. Lust blown eyes meeting yours. You felt Hotch twitch between your lips. Knowing he would finish soon.

“I’m fine, Rossi,” Hotch cleared his throat. Scooting forward and forcing his cock further down your throat. Loosing any semblance of joy he had on his face. Attempting to hide how close he was to cumming.

Almost blowing your cover when you lost your balance. Having to dig desperate fingers into Hotch’s calves. Tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you gagged. Slickness between your legs pooling in your panties. The thrill of the situation causing your heart to throb in your ears.

“Whatever you say, kid,” Rossi threw his arms up. Spinning on his heel and heading out the door. Hotch carefully watched Rossi’s shadow disappear behind his curtains. Sighing loudly as he leaned back in his chair. Neck straining over the head as he caught his breath. Not even realizing he had been holding it.

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. A glimpse of his perfect teeth as he smiled. Noting how handsome he looked from this angle.

Hotch’s hand fell onto your head. Lacing through your locks. “For Christ’s sake,” he breathed out.

You sucked off him with a pop. Replacing your mouth with your hand while you heaved. Smiling up at him with plump lips. Hint of drool glistening on your chin.

“You’re too good for me,” Hotch complimented, hand tracing down your cheek.

“I thought you were gonna cum in front of Rossi,” you snickered. Kissing up his shaft. Continuing to stroke him. Causing him to groan.

“I was,” Hotch chuckled, eyes closing and brows furrowing. Mouth agape as the muscles in his face contorted with pleasure. Hips rutting forward against your hand. A sign that he wanted back inside your mouth.

And how could you not give him what he wanted?

Taking it agonizingly slow as your lips met the curly hair at his base. Pulling back and wrapping your hand around him. Meeting your lips with each grope of your hand. Squelching sound filling the room. Mixing with all the soft grunts and moans Aaron gave you. A symphony perfectly orchestrated for you.

Hotch held on tightly to your head, using it as an anchor to thrust into your mouth. Chasing his high. Salty taste dancing on your tastebuds. Loving that he was this desperate. Loving how even now he needed to take control.

A few mumbled curses later, Hotch was coating the inside of your mouth. Holding you in place as he shuttered. Moaning your name as his hips bucked. Swallowing every drop he gave you. Leaning back on your legs as you smiled. Catching your own breath.

Hotch’s body relaxed. Legs spread wide and shoulder slouched. Eyes squinted shut as he savored his post orgasm glow. Tucking himself back into his pants and extending a hand out to you. Pulling you into a deep kiss. Hunger taking over his movements. Lips trailing down your neck, pulling sweet giggles from you. Ready to return the favor. Hands groping the plump of your ass as he tucked his nose into the curve of your shoulder.

Both of you jumping when someone knocked.

Again?

Rossi peaked his head in.

You and Hotch had gotten into a position that looked like you were going over some paperwork together. Awkwardly pretending like both of your hair was not messed up and that you smelled like one another.

Smiling as you shortly waved at Rossi.

“Y/N? I didn’t even see you out here,” Rossi questioned.

“Guess you missed me. You know me. Always trapped at that desk.”

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I love writing for Hotch <3 my inbox is always open for requests! Reblogs and Comments are appreciated! //

{tags}

@cherriready ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @khxna ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @megangovier ~ @maybe-a-pilot ~

[nightfury-2001]

also can i just talk more about how awful the cinematography/shot composition is in a lot of the live action httyd stuff we've seen so far. idk maybe i'm just missing something - i don't have any sort of formal education in filmmaking or anything like that - but a lot of the shots so far seem to be a straight downgrade from the original film. like it honestly seems like they don't know what they're doing. it's truly baffling

^ e.g., one of my favorite shots from forbidden friendship. in the original, both toothless and hiccup are positioned close to the center of the frame. there's a gap between them, which may seem like a small detail but it's one that means a lot i think. the gorgeous pink sky is behind them, while the surrounding cliffs and trees frame them. toothless' perked ear plates are fully visible, allowing the audience to get a better idea of the curiosity he's feeling. his wings are also cleverly hidden/tucked away behind his back, giving him an incredibly strong silhouette.

compare that to the live action version. hiccup is centered, with toothless close beside him - parts of his left wing and leg are literally behind hiccup. instead of them being against the sky with the cliffs and trees framing them, the cliffs/trees are directly behind them. the entire thing is more zoomed in, leading to things like toothless' ear plates being mostly out of the frame. toothless' silhouette also isn't as strong with his wings visible like that.

idk. it just looks bad. and don't even get me started on what they've done to the downed dragon lmao

[sovamurka]

Thinking about how Ma Meilleure Ennemie can be considered a continuation and an interesting thematic expansion of Enemy.

"No shit, lmao, they both have the word enemy in them".

Like, yes, that's exactly the point.

But there's more to it than meets the eye.

We all know that Enemy in many ways is meant to be from Jinx's perspective (music video supports that) - it's HER internal worries, it's HER exhaustingly sad sarcasm, it's HER wreck of emotions that she can't stop.

The song explains why and how she basically convinced herself that she's a curse and will never be a saint no matter what she does.

She exclaims that everybody wants to be her enemy. For her this word means "the person that everyone hates, the person who everyone abandoned, the person for whom no one prays or hopes".

And then in Ma Meilleure Ennemie Ekko... agrees with her - she IS his enemy. But to him this word has so much more meaning and underlying feelings than just "the person I'm against, the person I hate".

For him enemy is also someone who's always near - if not in body, then in mind. Someone who truly shares history with you and can hurt you in more ways than one.

Who you hate so much because you had too much love in your heart for them.

Hatred is not the opposite of love, it's just love with a minus instead of plus, the true opposite of love is indifference. And Ekko feels anything but indifference towards Jinx, even though he tried so many times to convince himself otherwise.

First verse of the song is basically his admission that she's an essential part of him - no matter what he does, no matter how many times he forces himself to forget, no matter how much he tries to keep his enemy out of his mind.

He knows he should stay away, he knows he should keep his own heart under hundreds of locks to not let anyone break it again. But he can't help it. He still loves her despite everything, including his own self.

That's why he also agrees that she's indeed a curse. The most beautiful one. She haunts his thoughts and he hates himself for finding comfort in it. But it's better to be in a bad company than alone, am I right?

The chorus of Ma Meilleure Ennemie sounds almost like a last resort - a mutual attempt to push each other away.

To make matters worse, the whole "meilleur/pire" (best/worst) dichotomy that is constantly present in the song literally from the beginning, is a simple yet clever play on a famous wedding vow - "Pour le meilleur et pour le pire" (translation: for the best and the worst of it). The more they try to convince each other that they should not be together, the more they intertwine their fates because they repeat this vow again and again.

And then in the second verse of Ma Meilleure Ennemie Jinx finally lets herself say things she was so afraid to say before. Lets her feelings and thoughts be known in the most vulnerable way possible. Not with Enemy's upset angry screaming but with this gentle melodic whisper.

And what does she have to say about her feelings towards the person who she shares so much complicated history with?

That his name cuts her open every time she hears it. And that's why she doesn't say it - it hurts her so much.

Ekko's name literally echoes in her mind. Jinx can't even say for sure whether this pain she feels comes from hatred that formed over the years or from pure sweetness, softness and gentleness that she still keeps in her heart for him.

And then comes Je t’avais dit: “Ne regarde pas en arrière” (translation: I told you not to look back) which is such an obvious Orpheus and Eurydice myth reference when you say it out loud.

Albeit, their situation is an interesting take on this myth.

Let me explain. Orpheus had a chance to bring his wife Eurydice back to the land of the living if he guided her there without looking back or else she would end up in the underworld again. There are several versions of the myth that give different explanations on why Orpheus turns back, but they all agree on one thing - it was done because of love.

However, in Ekko's case it's kind of a reverse situation - Jinx will disappear if he turns away from her.

That's what, in my opinion, Turn Your Back and I'll Disappear song means, actually.

And here, at the end of second verse, Jinx explicitly tells Ekko that he shouldn't look back. He should leave past behind, should leave her behind, let her disappear from his life and from this world altogether or else everything will get infinitely worse.

But of course he doesn't, of course he turns back (time) again and again.

He does it because he loves her, just like Orpheus loves Eurydice.

Despite not having much screen time, timebomb still managed to tell such a wonderful intricately woven story.

I analysed just a small part of Jinx and Ekko's symbolic lyricism. Believe me, there's still so much more to talk about and uncover since this story is told through different forms of art that are all worth your attention.

[bkgsdoll]

okay i NEED katsukis bathroom pov, gotta know what he was thinking and how he got his frustrations out 🙏

a little embarrassed that this took me like three weeks to get out.. its just a tiny ass drabble LOL sorry abt the wait anon!! > <

꒰ ♡ notes: nsfw, masturbation, 414 words lmao, context here :D

”fucking shit.”

the frustrated student curses under his breath as he shoves past the annoying blonde girl practically begging to date him, making his way to the bathroom. katsuki doesn’t even go to stupid shit like parties anyway, but of course when he finally decides to, this happens.

he almost stumbles before twisting the knob on the door, not even bothering to knock. he hisses at the tightness in his jeans, damn this is so uncomfortable. why the hell did you have to be on stage? in that tight ass outfit too? he’s seen mean girls so he gets the reference, he’s not uncultured. but the way you were swinging your hips and appealing to the crowd… what a slut.

he slams the door shut, locking it immediately and quietly sighing at the muffled christmas music. his back hits the wall as he quickly unbuckles his belt and tugs down his pants, pulling out his rock hard dick. he grunts, thumb slipping over his bright red tip. he hisses again, hand quickly wrapping around his length.

his fist jacks up and down, not wasting any time. his eyes squeeze shut as your name starts tumbling from his lips. he couldn’t care less if people heard his loud groans, he’s just a man. which is pretty hypocritical actually, since if he was busting to take a piss and heard some loser jacking off, he’d be disgusted.

“fhuckk..” white beads start spilling from his tip, coating his cock as his hand gets faster.

he feels like an idiot, getting riled up over a stupid lil dance and then rushing to tug one out. you'd call him an idiot too. bakugou's eyes squeeze tighter, imagining you saying those words to him. truthfully, he's hardly ever spoken to you. seen you around and whatnot, maybe threw a "g'mornin," your way, but nothing more. though even still, he's here in a rando's bathroom for a reason, right? clearly he has some sort of desire for you?

he mentally rolls his eyes, his hand slowing down. what the fuck is he doing?? was he really about to make himself nut in another person's house? katsuki huffs, annoyed with himself for a few reasons, but rips off some toilet paper to wipe the pre smeared on his dick. he lets out a quiet grunt, tossing the tissue in the tiny trash before shoving himself back in his pants and unlocking the door. and there you are. standing right next to him.

[infevious]

Latino kinich who rejected fem!reader's love confession and got sick of her affectionate behavior towards him, so out of embarrassment and shame, miss girl avoided him like her life depends on it but our boy here didn't take her avoidance well 😭😭 it's somewhat angsty and you can ignore this if you want !!

esta dañada

PLEASE REAS a/n: i’ve wrote this like three times and it got deleted everytime 😭 im really lazy and absolutely baked rn so once im sobered up if everykne hates this im rewriting it lmao also im learning spanish so i asked my bsf who is mexican for help so lmk if anything is wrong (i cant really describe the dancing but its called huapangos) cus this is loosely inspired by the song🫡 and if you want a pt 2

song to listen while reading:

———————————————————————————

He didn’t mean for his words to come out as rude as they did, he just wanted to tell you to tone down your affection. He knew he fucked up when even Ajaw shut up for once in his life.

“Oh..y-yeah sorry I didn’t mean to annoy you- ahah..”

He wasn’t blind. He could see how your eyes watered up even though you were smiling. The smile he loved but was annoyed by.

“You really messed up Kinich, she was one of the only people who could tolerate being around you”

He put the dragon in time out and watched as you left. He felt bad for saying it in such a cold manner but he can’t undo the past, he continued to sharpen his claymore as thought to himself; She’ll be back tomorrow.

.

.

.

It was a couple weeks since he last saw you, he felt weird not having your presence around. He tried convincing himself that it was alright and you just needed some time, he knew he was a bit harsh. He finished a commission and began to walk back when he saw you and a male from his tribe feeding a young yumkasaur. You looked happy. Smiling like how you did with him..did you always have that little twinkle in your eyes?

He knew the man, Yaotyl, you were hanging out with. He was popular amongst the women in the tribe; tall, handsome, charming, funny. Kinich stood there looking at you as you pet the little saurian, the man noticed him.

“Yo Kinich! What are you doing here?”

Hearing the name you quickly stood up and whispered something in your friends ear. He waved at him as you two walked away, well speed walked. Weird.. really weird.

“Hah! Told you! She realized how much of a jerk you really are and-”

He quickly threw the small dragon in a time out. Why did you leave so quickly? Did he hurt you that much? Since when were you close to his tribe members? Why did you leave without even waving to him? You didn’t even look at him.

He furrowed his brows as he saw you continue to talk to the male when you were a good distance away. He felt a small pang in his heart. You didn’t even look back.

.

.

.

Mualani was hosting a small celebration for Kachina’s.. something…he didn’t really pay attention to what she was saying. He turned to you and saw you dancing with your friends.. your laughs echoed through his ears. He saw you smile, your stupid smile, he hated it. It was the smile that annoyed him. At least that’s what he thought, the smile he did hate was the last one he saw, the last look you gave to him. He really regretted pushing you away..but there was nothing he could do right now so he just stood there watching as you danced with your friends only paying attention to your beautiful smile.

Su hermosa sonrisa

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch.7

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Levi whispered, though his lips were already on her neck, sucking softly. He inhaled deeply, pinning her against the wall. “You smell too good.” 

The girl chuckled, unfazed. “It’s not me. It’s my roommate. She's the one in heat—her stink stuck to me." 

It was intoxicating, mind-blowing. Levi felt like he was losing himself. Her hand brushed his face, soft as velvet, and for a moment, it seemed too perfect. His brain spun, a haze of imagined pheromones clouding his senses. The omega in his arms had to be the one in heat, right? It all felt too real. 

What...?  

When he raised his head, shaking off the fog, he realized the warmth he’d buried his face into wasn’t her neck—it was his own folded arms on his desk. He squinted against the blur of exhaustion. 

“Meow.”  

His foggy gaze landed on a cold, unceremonious wet nose poking his face. 

Levi groaned, turning his head away. "Not now," he muttered, half-heartedly swiping at the persistent feline. But the cat wasn’t one to take a hint. It resumed its soft, clawless pats against his cheek. 

"Go away," Levi grumbled, already knowing resistance was futile. Burying his face deeper into his arms, determined to stay asleep, though he knew it was pointless. Levi groaned, swatting at the feline. The animal, unbothered, hopped down from the desk, only to start scratching at the window with maddening insistence. 

The sharp sound made Levi sit up instantly. “What?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake the other person sleeping nearby.  

He glared at the white cat, which now wound itself around his legs, purring and drawing lazy figure-eights. 

Levi stared at the animal like it had personally offended him. "What do you want?" He sighed, scratching his undercut, his hair a mess from sleeping at the desk. "Go back to sleep with your owner." If the damn thing responded with words, he swore he’d lose his mind.  

Eventually, he stood, running a hand through his messy undercut. The cat seemed pleased, trotting around the room and glancing back to ensure it was being followed.  

“Your food bowl?” Levi guessed, following reluctantly. “I filled it last night.”  

“Meow!”  

“It has food!” Levi snapped, shaking the bowl to demonstrate. The kibble rattled against the bottom, spreading out enough to cover the previous patch of emptiness in the centre. The cat dove in as if the food had magically appeared. Levi blinked. "...You’re actually dumb." 

Hands on his hips, he watched the cat eat for a moment, his tired gaze drifting toward its fluffy, oversized frame. “You know,” he muttered, “when she said she 'kitty,' I wasn’t expecting a fat lump like you.” 

The cat ignored the insult, contentedly crunching away.  

Levi, on the other hand, felt personally attacked. His good dream was ruined, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Taking a few quiet steps to the bedroom door, he peeked in on Y/N. She was dead asleep—mouth open, arms sprawled out, chest rising and falling slowly. 

“Tch.” Levi scowled. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be waking up, not me.” 

Defeated, he turned toward the bathroom, muttering under his breath. As he pushed the door shut behind him, a loud, offended yowl made him freeze.  

“Shit,” Levi muttered, reopening the door to find the cat squeezing through the gap. 

“No. Out,” he ordered, pointing toward the door like the cat was a misbehaving soldier. The animal, tail held high and proud, sauntered inside as if it owned the place.  

"Listen," Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I’m going to take a shit, and you’re not invited."  

The cat stared at him, unmoved. “Great. You’re as stubborn as your owner.” 

Scooping up the cat, he carried it out of the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. 

But peace was short-lived. 

Scratch, scratch, scratch. 

"For fuck’s sake," Levi growled through clenched teeth, yanking the door open again. The cat waltzed back in triumphantly, jumping onto the sink and leaving tiny paw prints across the surface. 

Minutes later, Levi sat on the toilet, glaring at the smug furball perched nearby. "You’re going to ruin my doors," he whispered. The cat tilted its head, feigning innocence. "I’m warning you, little shit. I brought you here. I can take you back." 

— 

“Levi, they’re about—”  

Hange stopped mid-sentence, staring at the door in shock as Levi opened it. He stood there, not fully dressed, with a white cat perched on his shoulder like some smug, oversized parrot. "What do you want?"  

Hange grinned, trying not to laugh. "If someone told me a month ago I’d see you married and... rocking a cat, I’d have said they were crazy." 

Levi grunted. “He demands to be picked up.”  

Hange raised an eyebrow. “Demands?”  

“It’s shocking how persistent this little shit is,” Levi’s expression was deadpan as the cat headbutted him affectionately, purring and kneading at his shoulder. “I’ve seen Titans less annoying.” 

Hange chuckled, reaching out to pet the fluffy troublemaker. “Aw, he likes you.”  

“Yeah, well, I don’t like him.”  

“Sure you don’t.” 

Hange’s grin widened. “Anyway, what’s taking so long? We should get going.”  

"I need to talk to Y/N before we head out. Don’t wait for me—I’ll catch up." 

Hange’s expression turned sympathetic, though they hid it behind a crooked smile. “She didn’t wake up?”  

"Heavy sleeper," Levi muttered, glancing toward the bedroom. "Apparently." 

Levi sighed, sinking into his chair as the cat curled up on the seat beside him, stretching luxuriously like it owned the place. He rested his elbow on the table, drumming his fingers against the surface. His sharp eyes flicked to the bedroom door, where a narrow crack revealed her silhouette shifting slightly in sleep. 

The quiet was suffocating. The ticking clock seemed louder with every second, a steady reminder of the time slipping away. He’d hoped she’d wake on her own, but clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. 

Pushing himself up, Levi padded silently back into the bedroom. He leaned over her sleeping form, nudging her shoulder gently. "Y/N, wake up." 

She groaned in response, pulling the blanket over her head like a shield against his persistence. 

"Come on," Levi tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "Wake up. Have breakfast with me." 

She mumbled something incoherent, her words muffled by the blanket. 

"Don’t make me drag you out of bed," Levi warned, his patience thinning. 

Finally, she grunted, peeking one bleary eye out from under the covers. "What’s with you tonight?" she muttered, her voice hoarse from sleep. "What time is it?" 

"6:02," Levi replied flatly. 

At that, Y/N turned to glare over her shoulder, her expression dripping with disdain. "Let me sleep," she hissed before burying herself back under the blanket. 

Levi stood there for a moment, debating whether to let her win this round. But no—he wasn’t leaving without talking to her. He nudged her shoulder again, and after several more minutes of coaxing (and a few muttered curses from her), she finally shuffled into his office. 

Now she sat at the table, a steaming cup of tea before her and a plate of white milk bread that looked barely touched. She slumped forward, her chin nearly resting on the table, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. 

Levi sipped his own tea, watching her with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You went to bed late last night?" he asked, genuinely surprised at her zombie-like state. 

"No," she mumbled, blinking slowly as if even that required too much effort. 

"You sleep a lot," Levi commented, his tone blunt. 

Her head lifted just enough for her to shoot him a withering side-eye. "Not my fault you can’t," she retorted, her voice edged with grogginess. "And it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, locked up in here." 

Levi raised an eyebrow at her tone, but he didn’t immediately snap back. He understood the frustration simmering beneath her words, though he wasn’t the type to coddle. ‘Deep breath,’ he reminded himself. Gently, he pushed her milk tea closer to her. “Drink this. Wake up a little so we can talk.” 

Y/N didn’t respond, her head dipping as if she were about to fall asleep right there at the table. She reached for her tea, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. "Can’t we, like, talk at three in the afternoon?" she muttered, shooting him a bleary side-eye before taking a small sip. 

The silence that followed was broken only by the soft purring of the cat, which had moved to sprawl across her lap, its paws lazily kneading the fabric of her dress. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m gone,” Levi finally said, breaking the quiet. His tone was even, though careful, like he was trying to tread lightly. “I’m leaving for the day. Maybe I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. There are important meetings here—military board and investors.” 

“Alright, have a nice day,” she replied flatly, almost like a broken record. She paused, then added, “What are the meetings about?” 

"Work stuff," Levi replied curtly. "Nothing that concerns you." 

Y/N glanced at him but didn’t press further, though her silence spoke volumes. Her gaze lingered, her thoughts unspoken but clear enough: ‘So, you’re one of those husbands.’ 

Levi, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on its back, his legs crossed. His free hand tapped against his teacup, the steady rhythm betraying his rare anxiety. His jaw tightened as he hesitated. He wasn’t good at this. —conversations meant to bridge gaps or soften rough edges. ‘Let’s just... be honest and work from there,’ he told himself. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since last time,” he began, his voice firm but steady. “You shut yourself in your room after that, and then I had to leave for the Capital. I don’t want to keep dragging this out.” He paused, setting the stage for what he knew would be a difficult conversation. 

"I’m—" she started, but Levi cut her off with a sharp, commanding tone. "No. I’m speaking." 

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her annoyance evident, but she let him continue. 

“I didn’t know about the engagement,” Levi continued, his tone unwavering. “I had no intention of calling it off once I found out, but I was dragged into this just as much as you were. This wasn’t my choice either.” 

"It’s hard to explain, and honestly, I don’t completely understand it myself," he admitted. "But there’s another girl—someone from the same family line as me. Our families are considered... special. Stronger than most. That’s what the government cares about. And they want more of us. You know what I mean." 

Y/N’s cheeks flushed faintly as she pieced together the implications. 

“It was either her or me,” he explained. “She’s too young. And, honestly… I’ve lived long enough. So, I accepted.” 

An awkward silence filled the room. Levi searched for the right words to conclude, while Y/N seemed lost in her own thoughts. Her earlier grogginess had faded entirely, replaced by a sharp awareness that made the moment feel heavier. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Levi added, his tone quieter now, “is that I never intended to get married. It wasn’t in my plans. You didn’t want this either. But we’re stuck together, so we might as well try to make it work. Alright?” 

Her gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes no longer bleary with sleep but sharp and reflective. Levi held his breath, waiting for her response. He half-expected her to come back with some snarky comment or maybe even a spark of optimism. 

Instead, she asked, “Why did you choose me?” 

Levi exhaled, his honesty both a curse and a blessing. “You were the oldest,” he said simply, his words stripped of any pretense. 

— 

‘What the fuck did I say now?’ Levi wondered, his irritation mixing with guilt. ‘I was honest so we could work from scratch, at least have a solid base if we end up with a couple of brats in the near future.’ But his words had clearly landed harder than he intended. Her hopeless expression stuck with him. ‘I’ve seen cadets about to die on Wall Maria with more hope in their eyes than she had just now.’ 

“Oi, earth to Levi,” Hange waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him back to the present. “Hey, shorty, I need you here.”  

Levi blinked and refocused, realizing he had zoned out during the endless meeting. The large wooden table in front of him was covered with maps of the island, lines marking train systems, new coastal formations, and areas for expansion. Blueprints, photographs, and important dates were scattered among stacks of documents. 

"I’m just tired," Levi lied, his voice clipped. 

Hange didn’t buy it for a second. "If you’re worried about your wife, don’t. You locked that door." 

“I’m letting her go out tomorrow if she wants,” Levi said offhandedly. “Her post-heat is over, and it’s been nearly three weeks. Summer’s around the corner, and this office is starting to feel like a goddamn oven. I can’t keep the windows shut forever. Almost all the alphas have already gone through their ruts.”  

Hange gave him a quizzical look. “You sure?”  

Levi shrugged, his indifference hiding his uncertainty. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”  

But the weight of those words wasn’t about his sudden marital status. His eyes wandered to Zeke’s letters, filled with orders. Across the table were Kiyomi’s detailed instructions, blueprints for expansion, photos of progress, and debates among the military board about whether Historia should have a child. Levi’s jaw tightened. He pushed his chair back, rising with deliberate movements.  

He approached his squad, who were enjoying their meal break at a smaller table nearby.  

“Oi, listen up, brats,” Levi called out, his tone sharp enough to cut through the chatter. But as he looked at them, his brow furrowed. ‘Each day I’ve gotta look up more. For fuck’s sake, how much taller are these kids gonna get?’ 

Sasha beamed, food halfway to her mouth. “Did you have dinner, Captain? This is amazing!” 

Levi allowed the smallest of smirks to slip through.  

“What is it, sir?” Mikasa asked, her quiet voice drawing the group’s attention back to him.  

Levi inhaled deeply, bracing himself. “I got married.”  

The reactions were instant and varied. Jean made a face that was equal parts disbelief and disgust, like the concept itself offended him. Sasha froze, a piece of food dropping from her mouth. Armin raised his eyebrows, lips pressed tightly together, while Connie’s jaw went slack. Only Eren, lost in his own world lately, seemed unaffected, while Mikasa’s expression shifted quickly from surprise to understanding. 

“So… she might be joining us for meals or something,” Levi concluded with a tired sigh, clearly done with the announcement already.  

“Congratulations,” Armin said, snapping himself and the others out of their collective shock.  

“Yeah, well,” Levi muttered, dismissing the sentiment. “Try to be on your best behaviour.” He fixed a pointed glare at Eren, his tone sharpening. “And take a damn shower, for once.” He felt like a tired mother scolding a rebellious teenager who’d just shouted, “It’s not a phase!” while looking like they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in weeks. 

“Of course!” Sasha chirped enthusiastically, breaking the awkward tension.  

But the air shifted as Mikasa interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Floch was the one who tried to break into the room.”  

Levi’s gaze flicked to her, his surprise momentary but genuine. Her new sense of loyalty didn’t go unnoticed. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he admitted, clicking his tongue in annoyance. ‘Just confirms my judgment.’  

Before he could say more, Mikasa continued. “I’ll keep him in line.”  

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between the two Ackermans. It wasn’t just about loyalty; it was about the unspoken weight of their shared circumstances, their duty.  

“I’m counting on it,” Levi said, his tone gruff but laced with trust.  

— 

“I’m counting on you,” Hange murmured. 

The meeting dragged on until the final toast. Glasses were poured, and voices echoed in celebration.   

“You know I fucking hate social events,” Levi muttered back, his voice low and biting. “The last thing I want to do is stay here and get shitfaced with a bunch of old bastards talking about which cadets half their age they’re fucking or how grumpy their wives are.”  

“I know, I know,” Hange replied, whispering urgently. “But I feel so out of place here. Come on, Lev… just go along with me.”  

Their eyes met—not as commander and captain, but as friends. Both of them were thinking about the same person, the same absence that hung heavy over moments like this. The one who would’ve handled this situation with grace, who thrived in these spaces.  

Erwin.  

Reluctantly, Levi picked up his glass and raised it in the air, muttering as he joined the others, "For the coast expansion." 

He drained the drink quickly, then reached for a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease.  

It’s going to be a long, shitty night.  

— 

“I’m back,” He swag the door open and announced perhaps a bit too loud for the time that it was. The saliva in his mouth was thick and stuck to his tongue in an unceremounious way. ‘I’m getting old,’ 

“Oi, Y/N,” he called out, his voice low but hoarse. He cleared his throat, trying again. “You awake?” 

Silence. 

Levi lingered there for a moment, one hand braced against the frame. He scanned the darkened room, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight spilling through a crack in the curtains. It was quiet—too quiet. 

He huffed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His boots scraped lightly against the wooden floor as he moved further in. It was late. Too late for anyone to greet him, but still, he’d paused by the door as if expecting her to get up and do just that. He muttered under his breath, scolding himself for the ridiculous thought. 

‘Isn’t that the point of having a wife? You come home late, feeling like shit, and she greets you with love and all that bullshit.’  

Levi loosened his cravat, tossing it onto the chair, then kicked off his boots with practiced ease. His movements were quiet, efficient, and deliberate, but his mind wasn’t. 

There she was, sprawled out under the light sheet, one arm tucked beneath her head and the other draped protectively over the cat, who lay belly-up between her arm and her side. Both were fast asleep, undisturbed by his return.  

Levi stopped in his tracks, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on her. She looked peaceful. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the moonlight catching the soft curve of her cheek and the faint messiness of her hair against the pillow.  

His eyes lingered, trailing down the length of her body to her hips. The sheet clung loosely to her form, draping over her in a way that left little to the imagination. Levi caught himself staring Hange would probably throw some biological explanation but he only nodded to himself and muttered under his breath, “Nice.”  

‘What the hell am I doing?’ he thought, shaking his head slightly. But the pull was there, undeniable and quietly insistent. 

Almost without thinking, he took a step closer, then another, until he was at her side. The cat stretched out before curling into covering his face with his paws. Levi crouched slightly, bringing himself level with her.  

For a moment, he debated whether he should wake her. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say— or even what he wanted from her.  

Her hair was a little wild, strands of it splayed across her face and pillow. The image of the other military board members’ complaints about their own wives popped into his mind uninvited.  

‘Ugh, she’s turned into some cold bitch, I’m telling ya. Won’t even let me touch her lately.’ Levi remembered thinking, Yeah, well, maybe it’s because your secretary sits on your lap half-naked, you bastard. I wouldn’t touch you either. 

The memory made his jaw tighten. The idea of sitting in a room full of other alphas, whining about his wife, made him want to retch—or maybe that was just the alcohol. Either way, he thought, ‘I should try, right? To be a better husband.’ 

Slowly, Levi leaned in. The faint scent of her hair—soft, warm, and subtly sweet, like coconut and jasmine—washed over him. It was... nice. Comforting, even. 

Without overthinking it, Levi reached out, his hand brushing against her head in a careful, hesitant gesture. His fingers moved with an uncharacteristic gentleness as he let himself grow accustomed to her scent. It smelled so good, so calming, that a small, ridiculous part of him wondered if, in a rut, he might’ve purred. 

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to the top of her head. It wasn’t out of love—not yet—but more out of a sense of duty, a vague understanding that this was what he should be doing. 

Straightening up, he nodded to himself, absurdly convinced he’d just done something monumental. His gaze drifted to the nightstand, where her ring sat. A thought struck him, one that seemed like an absolute stroke of genius in his overtired mind. ‘I’m a man who resolves problems.’ 

With newfound determination, Levi grabbed a spool of thread and some glue from his desk. Sitting down, he began carefully wrapping the thread around the base of the ring, reducing its size. He worked methodically, though his vision blurred slightly from exhaustion. 

The task absorbed him entirely until he felt a gentle tug.  

“Oi!” he barked, his voice low but sharp.  

The cat had taken an interest in the thread, enthusiastically pulling at the loose end with its tiny claws. Its wide eyes gleamed with mischievous energy.  

“Don’t do that,” Levi muttered, reaching to swat the thread away from the feline troublemaker. The cat, unbothered, merely stretched again before curling up smugly beside him.  

Levi picked up the cat, holding it up to eye level. In his slightly intoxicated state, he stared at the feline with the seriousness of someone about to start a profound debate. 

“You’re fat,” he declared, as if he and the animal—who had the mental capacity of a toddler—had some long-standing, unresolved feud. “And adopted.” 

“Meow,” the cat replied, entirely unbothered. 

Levi’s expression didn’t falter. “And your balls are cut off,” he added smugly, a hint of triumph in his tone. “So, I’m winning.” 

His eyes squinted as he looked at the cat, and when the animal tilted its head, he mimicked the movement. Groaning complaints filled the air as the cat wanted to be put down already but Levi held it closer to his face. The pink paw pads pressed against Levi’s face, shoving him away.  

“Meowww,” the cat protested. But unlike all the previous insults, Levi rubbed his face against the animal, enjoying the softness. 

In his drunken state, his words slurred together. “How the fuck do you do it?” he asked, almost offended. “You smell good even though you clean your whole body with the same tongue you use to clean your asshole.”  

The cat kept complaining, kicking at Levi until he finally set it back down. 

Now, with conviction, he kept going with his previous task. Once he thought his mission was a complete success, Levi admired the ring resting between his fingers, pride swelling in his chest. “See? Told you I could do it,” he mumbled, smirking as he observed his creation. He turned to look at the cat, which had climbed back on top of his desk, as if challenging his capabilities. “I’m such a good husband,” he declared as the ring diameter had reduced with the thread.  

But when morning came and the sun’s harsh rays pierced through the room, waking him with a killer hangover, Levi stared at the ring in disbelief and second-hand embarrassment. It felt like the actions of a stranger, not his own.  

“Why the fuck did I do that?” he muttered. 

One hand rose to his face, shielding his features as he groaned—partly from the hangover, partly from sheer embarrassment. “If the ring was shitty before, now it’s even worse,” he muttered. 

It was almost mid-morning, far too late by Levi’s standards. He reeked of alcohol, his hair was a disheveled mess, and he desperately needed a shave. The room’s temperature crept higher with each passing minute, and he was all too aware it was going to be an unbearably hot day. 

“Levi?” her voice startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes. 

“Do you know why Clauwsy has glue in his fur?” she asked, holding the cat in one arm while using the other to carefully work a brush through the feline’s tangled fur. Levi didn’t respond—just let out a slow, resigned sigh. 

“Are you alright? It’s late for you to still be here,” she added, her tone soft but curious. 

Levi dragged himself out of bed with a low grunt, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve got the morning off,” he mumbled, heading toward the basin to splash some cold water on his face. The sharp chill hit his skin, waking him up just enough to feel even more miserable about the state he was in. 

She was still working on the cat’s fur, her expression somewhere between focused and annoyed. “Good. You look like you need it,” she remarked, glancing over at him briefly. 

Levi grabbed a towel, drying his face. “Yeah, I got that part,” he muttered. As he turned back toward the room, he noticed her scanning the nightstand, then the desk. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice low but curious. 

“My ring,” she replied, her tone sharp with frustration. “I’ve looked everywhere for it, but I can’t find it. Have you seen it?” 

Levi froze for a moment, his hand gripping the towel tighter. ‘Shit,’ he thought, glancing toward the drawer where he’d stashed the poorly-repaired ring last night. 

“I... uh...” He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to the desk. Reaching inside the drawer, he pulled out the ring, now wrapped in lumpy, uneven thread with spots of glue visible along the edges. He hesitated before handing it to her, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. “Here.” 

Her expression shifted from confusion to clear displeasure as she took the ring from his hand. She turned it over, inspecting the botched craftsmanship. “What… what is this?” she asked, holding it up like it might bite her. 

Levi scratched the back of his neck, his face tinged with a rare hint of embarrassment. “It didn’t fit you properly,” he mumbled, barely audible. “Thought I’d, uh, fix it.” 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Fix it?” she repeated, her voice heavy with disbelief. 

Before she could even argue, Levi cleared his throat, clearly steering the conversation in a different direction. “You can go out now,” he said casually, his tone flat, but his words immediately caught her attention. 

“Wait, really?” Her face lit up like a thousand stars, a grin spreading wide across her lips. 

“Yes, but you gotta listen—” 

Before he could finish, she was already walking toward the door, her excitement propelling her forward. 

Levi’s reflexes were faster. His arm shot out, easily catching her by the wrist and tugging her back to his side. “Oi, oi, oi, hold up, girly,” he said, the nickname slipping out in his usual blunt tone. 

Her smile faltered for a split second, and her lips pressed into a thin line. ‘What did he just call me?’ she thought, her cheeks warming slightly with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 

“I said,” Levi continued, his voice low and deliberate, “you gotta listen up. The world isn’t going anywhere.” 

But her gaze betrayed her impatience, darting back to the door as if it might disappear at any second. The urgency in her expression was almost comical, and it made Levi click his tongue in irritation. Without warning, he gripped her cheeks firmly, forcing her to look at him. 

“Oi, pay attention,” he said, his sharp grey eyes locking with hers. “If you don’t listen, I’m locking the door again like I did for the past three weeks. And then? Bye-bye going out.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and she pouted, a small noise of protest escaping her lips. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her tone soft and sheepish as her bottom lip jutted out slightly. 

Levi exhaled heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The reluctance was evident in the way his shoulders tensed, but he was someone who preferred ripping the bandage off. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it,” he began, his tone measured but firm. “This is a military headquarters. Everyone here is mostly betas and alphas.” 

Her brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Okay... and?” 

Levi looked away for a moment, as if debating how blunt he should be. His jaw tightened before he turned back to her. “Most of the alphas here haven’t seen a pretty girl in dresses in a long while, wayless an omega.” His voice was calm, but the weight of his words hung in the air like a warning. 

Her expression immediately shifted, offense flashing across her face. “That’s not my fault!” she shot back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. 

“I fucking know,” Levi replied flatly, his tone unchanging. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And you should take precautions.” He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing. “This is a working place. People are working here. Do not disturb the peace.” 

She stared at him, her indignation clear in the way her lips pressed into a thin line. “So, what, you’re saying I’ll be a distraction just by existing?” 

Levi rubbed his temples, already regretting bringing this up. “Look, I’m not saying it’s fair, and I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just telling you how it is. Don’t be stupid, and don’t do or wear anything that’ll drag too much attention to yourself while I’m not around.” 

She looked away, her jaw tightening, but she stayed silent. The mixture of embarrassment and frustration on her face didn’t escape his notice. Levi sighed, his voice softening just a touch. “If some asshole does something inappropriate, you tell me, and I’ll handle it. But I need to work, and if you want to walk around here unclaimed, you’ve gotta be sharp.” 

Her shoulders eased slightly, though she still wouldn’t meet his gaze. After a moment of silence, she gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright,” she muttered, her voice quieter than before. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he added, his tone curt as he wrapped up the conversation. 

Somehow, that made her chuckle softly, the sound light and unexpected. Levi raised an eyebrow in silent question, his expression asking what she found so funny. 

“So I don’t wear heels?” she teased, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

Levi shot her a deadpan look, unimpressed. “Don’t get cocky with me,” he said flatly. 

“Good.” Levi stepped back, satisfied with her response, though the tension in the air lingered. He wasn’t the type to coddle, and he knew his approach wasn’t exactly gentle, but he also wasn’t going to sugarcoat reality. “You can go,” he added after a pause, his tone lighter. “Just don’t make me regret it.” 

With a loud sigh, he turned to prepare for training. Grabbing his gear, he muttered to himself, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The words felt hollow even as he thought them, a weak attempt to reassure himself. 

— 

“Good morning!”

Hange paused mid-step, observing the scene from what they considered a safe distance, a piece of bread dangling from their mouth—a quick breakfast snatched during their busy schedule. Their curious eyes gleamed as they took in the unfolding interaction.

“M-Morning?” The ginger-haired girl blinked in confusion, her gaze shifting between her companion and the new arrival—a girl dressed in civilian clothes, cradling a cat in her arms.

“Well, good morning indeed,” the male soldier beside her murmured, almost entranced. His dazed admiration earned him a sharp nudge in the ribs from the female soldier next to him, her frown deep enough to scold him silently.

“Excuse me, but where can I find something to eat?” Y/N asked, her cheerful voice cutting through the tension. Her bright smile seemed to radiate warmth, and both cadets found themselves blushing slightly as her delicate perfume drifted their way. Both, despite their gender, unmistakable alphas.

“Oh, it’s on the bottom floor. The biggest two doors—you can’t miss them. They’re probably wide open,” the ginger-haired girl explained hurriedly, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone.

“Thank you, you’re very sweet,” Y/N replied, her smile widening.

“And you smell very sweet to—I mean, you’re very sweet too!” the girl stammered, her face turning beet red as she fumbled to recover. Her companion couldn’t hold back a chuckle, clearly amused by her flustered state.

“W-who… who are you?” the ginger-haired girl managed, her embarrassed smile giving way to a mix of curiosity and unease.

Without hesitation and with the same bright, welcoming smile, Y/N answered, “I’m Captain Levi’s wife.”

Both cadets froze, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as they processed her words.

“Ah…” they whispered in stunned unison.

“Nice to meet you! See you around!” Y/N waved enthusiastically before strolling off, leaving the two cadets to exchange wide-eyed glances. Slowly, almost dazedly, they lifted their hands to wave back.

As Y/N’s voice echoed down the corridor, greeting yet another group of cadets with a cheerful, “Hi, good morning!” the trio of male soldiers glanced at each other before responding awkwardly, “Good morning…” Their words were followed by stifled chuckles as they watched her pass.

“Dear Sheena…” Hange muttered, biting back a laugh as they observed from their hidden vantage point. Finally, they gave in, shaking with quiet laughter. “God, Levi’s never going to unlock that door again.”

They paused, weighing their options. “Should I tell him?” A mischievous grin spread across their face as they snorted, “No fucking way. Let him find out himself.”

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[myownwholewildworld]

KAT, WHERE DO I EVEN START…….

You know this made me cry, that I stopped halfway through for a smoking pit stop because my heart just kept aching. THE GOOD KIND OF ACHE 💔

Let me preface my rambling by saying that you are a WONDERFUL writer. Your way with words is unmatchable, and you had me feeling all the freaking feelings here. That’s how good you are!

The whole chapter was just SO ANGSTY. How you describe reader’s loneliness, how it eats away at her with Javi’s absence… simply astounding. I FELT every single sentence, the feeling of pure abandonment, but also the fear of going back to a life you don’t know if you fit back into. UGH, so heart breaking but so so so GOOD.

The most gut-wrenching thing was that I could completely understand where both of them were coming from. Javi, losing himself in a desperate attempt to protect the woman she loves, and then reader building herself up from nothing, but unable to accept that Javi had become the darkest version of himself out of love and desperation. You tiptoed on that line so well, I just couldn’t decide which side I was on 😭 although I will admit, I did squeal in excitement when Javi got his revenge on Mateo, I was cheering him on from the sidelines - please nobody judge lmao

If I could, I would quote the whole fic, believe me. The whole NYE celebration had me on a FUCKING CHOKEHOLD because when the countdown started, I was TREMBLING. For a second, I thought that Javi’s conscience was going to blurt it out right there and then…

And the SMUT?? HOLA?? ATENCIÓN A TODAS LAS UNIDADES, ESTO ES UN LLAMADO DE EMERGENCIA??? So angsty, so heartbreaking, so sexy, the yearning, the longing, the COUCH AND JAVI PULLING UP HIS JEANS (you know what scene was playing in my mind), the fucking everything… fuck, you did it so well. I was horny and sad and excited and heartbroken, all at once.

And personally the ending was so so realistic and in line with what we know of both characters. Even though I was crying with reader, it hurt so good. You wrote it in a way that it just flowed and felt natural. And I wholeheartedly agree with this:

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.

BEAUTIFUL. MASTERPIECE. QUE LO PONGAN EN UN MUSEO.

ANYWAY… I’ll stop babbling now, sorry 🤣 OKAY BYE TE QUIERO 💖

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.

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[pretty-little-mind33]

Hello! 😊 I absolutely love your latest Pietro headcanons. 💙 Only if think if it’s no trouble, (and because I love sharing thoughts with you about it) what would you think about headcanons of Tony Stark’s daughter being in a relationship with Pietro? It’s completely up to you. Have a good one and take care! 👋

~ hi! i can def write some headcanons! it helps with my writers block 💕 plus i adore stark!reader hehe! hope you enjoy! ~

• as Tony Stark's daughter, you choose your boyfriend's very carefully. they have to be a certain way to appease your dad lmao (and you have high standards)

• Pietro Maximoff starts off as the exact opposite of the boys you would usually date. you know he's the last boy your father would approve of so you keep your feelings hidden, eventually convincing yourself they're feelings of hate.

• Pietro knows he should hate you. you're Tony Stark's daughter. he pretends he does, enjoying the little game you both have, but in reality he knows he doesn't (mostly because Wanda very quickly knocked some sense into him haha)

• you both bicker and banter. Pietro constantly sets little pranks for you. harmless ones that only annoy you.

• Tony notices the exchanges very quickly and he knows exactly what's happening even before you do!

• he doesn't approve of Pietro but he wants to understand. so one day he corners Pietro and demands he explain why he's all over you.

• at this point, Pietro's hatred for Tony has dwindled, and he's not intimidated by him. he'll tell him plain and simple: "I'm in love with your daughter."

• Tony will be a little taken aback by his boldness but will smirk and let him go with a warning to be careful around you. you don't look it but you're fragile.

• one night, at an Avengers party, everything changes.

• you brought a boy from your uni class and Pietro is fuming. he can see that boy doesn't treat you right; he doesn't dance with you when you ask, or hold your drink, or tell you how beautiful you look. Pietro is angry you've chosen that over him.

• so he'll excuse himself from his conversation with Clint and invite you to dance. right in front of your date.

• you're a little shocked but you'll take any escape at this point so you take Pietro's arm and he leads you to where some guests are dancing. it's not a slow dance but Pietro keeps himself close, asking why you would date someone so pathetic.

• his tone is harsh and you're conflicted. he's also so close you can barley breathe, let alone think. butterflies erupt in your stomach.

• you bite back a snarky answer, which causes Pietro to chuckle and he leans in, his lips near your ear.

• "You don't really think that, do you, Princezna (Princess)."

• one thing leads to another and you end up in the hallway, kissing Pietro like your life depends on it.

• for the first few months, you keep your relationship secret— or so you think.

• all the Avengers know you're dating, even your dad, because Pietro can never keep his eyes off you. he's extremely protective, especially on the field so he keeps you safe.

• Tony waits for you to tell him. he can see that Pietro is good to you, so he doesn't want to risk your unhappiness by messing this up. he loves you more than he loves his pride!

• eventually, you do tell your dad and he's just smirking because he already knows.

• once Tony is on board, you and Pietro date publicly. you're like a power couple!

• you still bicker and banter, but now lovingly. you move into the same room in the tower, much to Tony's dismay, but you're an adult he can't stop you.

• Pietro likes being around you. he loves taking walks and holding your hand, or just sitting and lounging around next to each other. he usually has a hard time being still, but he really tries with you!

• you're like peas in a pod 🥺

• a very unlikely couple, but you work perfectly! and you're good teammates too! you like training together!