#so i was like ‘i’ll try the landline ONE time and if no one answers that my next call is going to be to whichever takeaway i feel can get me

[fingertipsmp3]

Just sitting here eating breadsticks in the calm before the storm tbh

[kurooh]

I’MA MAKE U SCREAM ★ S. GOJO & S. GETO

⊹₊˚. a series of unrelenting, mysterious phone calls late at night leads to you being sandwiched between two hot ghostface slashers who’ve got you fucking for your life.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, ghostface! gojo & geto, threesome, knife play, landline phones, mentions of death, oral (f receiving), double penetration, anal/fingering, tongue piercings, pussy slapping, biting. 5.2K words whew (pls read anyway 🧎‍♀️)

xoxo, juno. happy halloween!! thank you to my dearest wolfy anon for beta reading <33 comment & rb if you enjoyed!!! 🎃

“hello?”

“why don’t you wanna talk with me?”

“who is this?” you roll your eyes, unimpressed by the cheery voice coming through the phone. “it’s like eleven at night, what do you want?”

“ya tell me your name, and i’ll tell ya mine,” that voice lilts into a teasing tone, words dripping with persuasive sweetness.

“nah, i’m heading to bed. nice talk.”

“aw, bedtime already? you’re not even gonna watch a movie before you sleep?” the question has your brows furrowing in aggravation, but you sigh, choosing to answer anyway.

“i didn’t have anything in mind,” the caller lets out a laugh, straight into your ear. “what, you’ve got a suggestion?”

“do you like scary movies?” and you can hear the smile in the caller’s voice; he’s amused, probably laughing with his friends over the prank call in the moments of muffled silence.

“i suppose so.”

“don’t you have a favorite? why not watch it?”

“well, i won’t be able to sleep,” you reply simply, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “but the longer we talk, the more sleep i lose out on. so, have a good night!”

“wait!” the caller snaps, demanding as ever. the sudden outburst sends chills straight down your spine. “don’t hang up on me.”

“and why shouldn’t i?” the blatant defiance has the caller letting out a laugh that sounds rather menacing . . he clears his throat, seemingly returning to his more even tempered tone.

“we’re not done talking,” he says simply, sounding a little crackly through the phone. “so don’t hang up, you’ll—”

a rational person with an interest in talking would certainly call during the day, and only once or twice before quitting altogether to wait for a call back. an irrational person would have your house phones ringing off the hooks while you were in the shower, calling nonstop and then getting far too arrogant once you finally picked up. just as you slam the phone back down, it starts to ring again.

you decide to leave the room, figuring that the caller will tire himself out quickly, but he doesn’t. in the time that you left the phone to go to another room, there wasn’t a single beat of silence. furious, you race toward the phone, fingers sliding on the kitchen counter as you snatch it up.

“fuck you! listen to me, you’d better stop—”

“no, you listen to me,” the caller snarls, and the harshness of his voice has your heart kicking hard against your rib cage. something in your gut tells you that this isn’t just a talkative caller. “don’t fucking hang up on me again, got that?”

you recover some of your composure, goosebumps rising on your skin. the cool breeze blowing through a nearby window adds to the chilling feeling that’s washed over you in only a matter of seconds. “w-well, what do you want, then?”

“i wanna see your insides, dummy,” is the crazed response, and you can’t stop the way your face immediately twists in horror. a clicking sound is heard as the second phone in your house—the one upstairs—is picked up, and another person hops onto the call.

“now, now,” this new voice is smooth, immediately drawing your attention as you listen attentively through the phone. “that’s no way to talk, you’ll scare her silly.”

“what the fuck?” you ask aloud, although you hadn’t meant to. all you can think about is the fact that two weirdos have you almost . . cornered on the phone.

the crazy voice scoffs, ignoring your mumbling. “well, you heard her! trying to hang up and shit,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval before sighing. “anyway, where were we?”

you don’t even say anything, and the other voice exhales into the phone. “see, look at what you’ve gone and done now. our girl’s too scared to talk to us, isn’t she?”

“look, i-i’m just gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

“you’re not going anywhere, honey,” the calmer one of the two says, but this time his voice is much clearer, almost as if he’s standing beside you. you take a step backward, trying to shake off the weird feelings and relentless goosebumps spreading across your skin.

you might as well be wearing nothing.

the satin slip dress you were planning to sleep in is as thin as plastic wrap; you’ve backed up into someone’s strong chest and thanks to the thinness of your pajamas, you can feel each sharp ridge of muscle. the pecs are strong, firm to the touch, and the abs are hard enough to cut diamonds. fear races through your body, so overwhelming that your lips part to let out a scream—but the noise is muffled by a large palm that pulls you back, flush against the muscles. separated only by a few layers of clothing, you can feel the warmth of their body and the casual rise of their chest as they breathe. if you weren’t being silenced, this would be comforting, in a way.

“promise you won’t scream, baby?” that calm voice has a dangerous edge; you nod immediately, frantically, desperately — as you feel a few tears gather in your eyes. this . . does not look, feel, or sound good in any way imaginable. who even are these people? and why you? a seemingly normal thursday evening had gone entirely downhill, and you didn’t even know why.

“good girl,” the person hums, dropping their hand from the lower half of your face and instead replacing it with the sharp edge of a knife. “let’s head upstairs, shall we?” as you ascend the steps, the blade drops lower, until it hovers over the tender skin of your throat. you can’t even turn around and see who the person is, for fear of getting cut over the simple action.

“could i at least turn around?”

“what for?” he asks, nudging the bedroom door open. you’re met with the frightening sight of a person in robes lounging on your bed, against your pillows. they have a spooky, ghostly mask, but you know who it is the second their mouth opens.

“you took the knives out that quickly?” the figure clicks his tongue, raising a hand to his face to pull off the ghostface mask. so this is what this is—some kind of ridiculous scream roleplay . . but the feel of the knife and the way it gleams is too real. “what happened to playing around, suguru?”

“it’s—it’s you! from the phone.” you say, straining against the man behind you, who pulls the knife a few inches away from your throat.

“careful now, doll. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“if you let me go, maybe i’d—” the man on the bed sits up then, pulling off his mask. you can’t see who he is just yet, the shadow from his hood obscuring his face. in a moment, he grabs hold of your face with a gloved hand, fingers squeezing cruelly at your cheeks.

it’s utterly nasty, the way feelings of attraction twist in your stomach. heat rises to your cheeks and you swallow, looking into diamond blue eyes that have your heart fluttering despicably. how is it possible to even be focused on your grim reaper’s looks, almost entirely forgetting their intentions as you lose yourself in those eyes?

“cat got your tongue? i said i wanna see your insides and you didn’t even look fazed.”

beneath the robe, you can see the tips of snowy hair, along with a face that’s far too handsome to belong to some kind of murderer. you shake your head in disbelief, sucking in a breath. “uh . . huh? sorry, i didn’t hear you.”

he drops your face with an annoyed scoff, stepping back to plop down on your bed before fully pulling off his hood. “y’know what—suguru, you deal with her.”

the man behind you pushes you forward, and you awkwardly take a seat beside the sighing killer. suguru tugs off his mask and inspects the knife closely, running a gloved finger over the edge before nodding. “might as well use the knives on you. maybe you’ll hear us then?”

“what’re you—why’re you doing all this?” you ask, the words sputtering out of your mouth nervously. “is there any way i can convince you not to cut me open?”

suguru looks at his literal partner in crime, pushing his black bangs away from his eyes as he speaks. “oh? trying to cheat death, sweet thing?”

you shrug, casually flopping onto your back. the satiny fabric of your dress flips up, and you unintentionally give both of them a great view of your panties. now that they’re deliberating how to move forward with you, the fear of the situation has dissipated greatly. “i just wanna go to bed and live to see another day tomorrow. name the price for my life and i’ll pay it.”

“those are fighting words,” suguru remarks, “don’t you agree, satoru?”

satoru nods, eyes glued to the thin fabric covering what’s between your legs. his mind runs wild as he imagines what he and suguru could impose on you. they’re practically in sync—suguru looks over just as satoru looks up, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

“hmph. sit up and listen.” satoru nudges your thigh, and you do as he says, looking bored. the whole night has done one too many 180s, giving you the most severe case of whiplash in your life. you’d initially been annoyed, terrified, then mildly attracted, and now . . almost indifferent.

“you’ve got my full attention.”

“we’ll let you live, on one condition,” satoru raises a finger before you can object, while suguru’s eyes covertly sweep over your body. “think you could handle us at the same time?”

a proposition for a threesome is something you certainly did not see coming! you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to maintain composure. suguru spices it up with a smirk, dragging that sharp knife of his along the edge of your jaw.

“you’ll have to fuck like your life depends on it.”

it does. tension weighs the air down, filling the room with a thickness even suguru’s knife couldn’t cut through. sweat beads along the skin of your spine and you exhale in defeat. being between these two would be hard—in all ways possible; but one mistake and they’d probably end up slitting your throat.

truthfully, you’re willing to risk it. most girls don’t usually cross paths with two men that are each extremely attractive and willing to share you between one another. you squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“y-yeah, okay. i’ll do it.”

“atta girl,” satoru praises, the corners of his eyes crinkling. a wicked smile finds its way onto his rosy lips, but you don’t back down, instead spreading your legs. you look between them, a silent invitation extended in one glance.

“lie back for us.”

“you were the one who told me to sit up—” perhaps the unnecessary snark isn’t a good idea, not with the way suguru eyes you warily.

satoru leans in hastily, connecting his lips with yours to effectively shut you up. his body barrels into yours, pushing you into suguru, who catches you and cages you against his strong chest. the knife is abandoned as he strokes his fingertips along the tender skin of your neck, sighing into your ear while satoru occupies your lips.

“so pretty. heh, you’re pretty every night.”

suguru’s touch has you letting out a moan that satoru eagerly swallows, his gloved hands roaming your body. however, he seems to remember he’s got gloves on; without pulling away, he snatches them off.

“her tits, suguru—play with her tits.”

the mumbled words are audible only to suguru, who complies with a chuckle. unlike satoru, he makes no move to do away with his gloves. you moan, his hands squeezing at your tits while his fingertips stroke over your nipples until they grow hard.

“s-suguru,” you mewl, pulling away for a moment to suck a breath into your deprived lungs, “keep touching me there—just like that.”

satoru’s palm comes down hard against the side of your thigh, and he grips your face, forcing you to look at him. “focus on me, got that? wouldn’t want him to stop, would you?”

you shake your head, and in a split second, satoru’s got your upper lip between his teeth. he bites down playfully; the impact makes you gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. arousal pools in your panties, and you fidget in your spot between them, hoping that you’ll finally get the attention you’ve been craving sooner rather than later. suguru’s tongue drags against your neck while he takes in the scent of your body wash from earlier’s shower. there’s a cool sensation coming from the center of his tongue—you can feel a firm ball of some kind.

it’s a little shameful, getting this hot and heavy from a simple kiss. only, his tongue rolls against yours, and any semblance of embarrassment melts away. suguru’s fingers pinch both of your nipples at the same time, sending shockwaves right to your pussy.

“fuck,” you sob into satoru’s mouth, practically lightheaded from how overwhelming it already is, as well as the lack of air. “i-i need more.”

suguru hums, continuing to toy with your hardened nipples. “already slutting yourself out for us, sweetheart? that was fast, wasn’t it?”

satoru finally draws back, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. he doesn’t move just yet, savoring the moment like a piece of special candy—you’ve practically got hearts in your eyes, all hot and bothered because of him. well, suguru is a factor, but he didn’t put in nearly as much work as satoru.

“lie back for us, babe.” this time you don’t fight them on it, scooting off suguru so you can comfortably prop yourself up on the mountain of pillows.

“tsk. this dress ought to go.” suguru brandishes his knife, and cuts through the satin material of the slip as easily as a stick of butter.

“hey!” you snap, the remains of your dress sliding off to the sides of the bed like rags. “what about you two!? you can’t just cut up my clothes like that when neither of you are naked!”

satoru rolls his eyes, tossing your legs apart. meanwhile, suguru clearly isn’t done with that knife; he trails it along the slopes of your naked body, the edge of the blade sharpened in a way that has you gasping. he applies a little bit of pressure, and your skin splits like it would after a paper cut.

“a-are you cutting my skin open?” you ask incredulously. you know the answer, but for whatever reason, you don’t pull away from him.

“maybe,” he replies breezily. “‘s nothing deep. you can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

“would you look at that?” satoru wolf whistles, and heat rises to your cheeks as he gathers your legs together, tugging them up. the knife pauses at your collarbone as suguru leans backwards to take a look, and his eyebrows raise immediately.

“she’s fucking soaked.”

“put the knife down ‘n come give it a taste.”

satoru’s request is breathless, but effective. the knife falls onto the blankets, and for a moment you use your head to consider what might happen in the future—someone could sit on that thing, lie down on it. satoru’s tongue rips the thought out of your head and replaces the words that were on the tip of your tongue with a sweet moan of bliss. your clit throbs at the prospect of more, and their balmy puffs of breath fanning over you only arouse you further.

their faces press together, side by side as they start to eat your pussy in a way that immediately has your back arching and hips bucking. satoru focuses all his attention on your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it while suguru slurps up all of your slick. there it is again, that cool sensation—he’s got a tongue piercing. the moonlight shines through the flowy curtains, illuminating the killers in an almost angelic glow . . maybe they’re actually pussy killers.

“‘s like fucking candy,” satoru moans, tongue dipping down to gather up your slick. it bumps into suguru’s, and he only lets out a laugh that sends vibrations through your entire core. “sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted, shit.”

the room fills with the lewd, nasty sounds of their slurping and licking as they devour your pussy together. you slip a finger between your teeth and bite down once one too many noises threaten to escape you, and suguru pulls back to land a smarting slap on your pussy.

“ah ah. do not try to go quiet on us.”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you stutter dumbly, mind and body reeling from the delicious sting of the slap.

“we want you screaming,” he emphasizes, spitting onto your cunt and watching as it flutters, the glob slipping down more rapidly due to the movement. “and you will be, by the end of all this. understand, doll?”

you nod hastily, and his eyes flick upwards to your face, the hardness in them a simple warning. “yeah, i understand.”

satoru’s drawing hearts and letters on your clit, each one making you shudder more than the last. each drag of his tongue makes him moan as he takes in more of your taste. beside him, suguru’s dips his tongue between your folds, the sensation nothing more than a tease. they plan to split you open on their cocks, and getting you desperate for it is only the first step of their plan.

“ngh, t-that’s so fucking good,” you cry, thighs quaking on either side of their heads. “please, i’m gonna cum.”

“give it to us,” satoru is the first to speak, his voice clear as it cuts through the lewd sounds in the air. he’s got one hand on the side of your thigh, holding you open just for them. “on our tongues, like a good girl.”

satoru’s ministrations on your clit grow more insistent; he’s working to pull your orgasm from you, while suguru continues to slurp at your messy pussy, his eyes falling shut. a familiar and overwhelming sensation coils in your tummy; it’s one that has your hands flying to both suguru and satoru’s heads, fingers finding purchase in their hair.

“i—i think ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, back arching off the bed while your hips jolt forward into their faces. after hearing the first word of your delirious warning, satoru replaced his tongue with his finger and moved beside suguru, the two of them slurping all your cunt has to offer. to them, it’s like drinking ambrosia.

you’re pulling hard at their hair, only encouraging them to groan against you. suguru speaks, eyes rolling back from just a little hair pulling. but it makes sense, with hair like that. of course his scalp is very sensitive.

“cover us in your cum, baby.”

obedient and right on time, your pussy gushes, hole fluttering around nothing while your clit throbs beneath satoru’s finger. the intense orgasm has left you twitching from the aftershocks, gasping for breath, and overly sensitive. of course, satoru and suguru take advantage of the aforementioned sensitivity with smirks on their faces.

“no, wait, i-i just came,” is all you can sob, your hands smacked away once you try to tug them off your aching cunt. “satoruuu, suguruuu.”

suguru only laughs, mimicking your tone with a roll of his eyes. “aw, babyyy. that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

with how sensitive you are, it’s not hard for them to drag a second orgasm out of you. this time, a few tears cascade down your cheeks as you fall over the edge with a pitched cry. satoru spanks your still twitching cunt and laughs at the way you gasp and recoil, legs still trembling.

“suguru, whatcha think? you wanna take her mouth ‘n i’ll fuck her pussy?”

“that’s far too considerate, satoru.” he shakes his head, talking about you as if you’re not in front of them. “c’mon,” suguru purrs, gesturing for you to get up as he slips off his robe and boxers. “lie on top of me.”

you can’t help but ogle, a little starstruck by his body and the thrill of everything. he sticks out his tongue playfully when he notices you staring, the metal ball in his tongue gleaming. his abs flex and his cock bobs as he lays down on your bed, beckoning you over with a gloved finger. satoru gulps, panting softly at the sight. following his best friend’s lead, he slips off his matching clothing and mounts the bed, which sinks under his weight with a creak. part of you wonders if the bed frame will give out by the end of this.

“hand me the lube,” suguru grunts, catching the small bottle in his larger hand. the liquid is cool, even through the leather of his gloves. he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little for you. his fingertips prod at the tight ring of your asshole, and you let out a squeak of surprise.

“c’mon. relax for me, doll.”

you take a breath, body sweltering with arousal. this is certainly new for you, but you don’t complain—and anyway, the slight coolness of the lube feels good against your hot skin. satoru bites down on his lower lip as he watches his best friend prep you to take both of their cocks at the same time. something wicked has the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he pictures you screaming for them.

likely picturing the same thing, suguru tongues at your jaw, kissing the tender skin wetly before nipping hard. you can only cry out, his lips serving as a simple distraction while his fingers push inside and stretch you out.

you gasp, and he feels you squeeze down hard on his fingers, hips jerking away. “come now, don’t run from it,” suguru coos, twisting his body beneath you to angle you the right way again. he ignores your whining, and satoru silently strokes his cock to the sight. “i know, i know. just breathe for me, ‘kay?”

slowly, your body accommodates the new stretch without any more sting or discomfort. in fact, your hips begin to rock into his fingers, chasing them when he starts to pull out.

“i-i think she’s ready, suguru,” satoru finally speaks up, clearing his throat. his voice is a little choked, and you can clearly see the flush on his cheeks even in the dark. “for both of us.”

“you hear that, honey?” his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “let’s see who can make you scream the loudest—me or satoru.”

“as if,” the man in question huffs, pushing your thigh to the side and looking over your dripping pussy with an obvious hunger. “fuck, baby. i’m gonna ruin you.”

with that, satoru grasps his cock and guides it inside your needy cunt. suguru does the same, pushing his length into your ass. the three of you moan collectively, a harmony if ever there was one. you sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the stretch.

satoru grits his teeth and grips your hips for support, then pushes all the way inside you. he bottoms out easily, his cock sliding against suguru’s, separated only by a thin layer of tissue. so thin that they can feel the shape of one another’s cocks through you.

“fuckin’—shittt, oh my god,” satoru’s easily overwhelmed, heart pounding in his ears while sweat covers his entire body in a sticky sheen.

suguru bites your neck hard, but the pain registers as pleasure despite the fact that he tastes a few irony drops of blood on his tongue.

“do either of you plan to move?” you complain, lips parting in an ‘o’ shape around a whiny moan. “or are we just gonna sit here—”

“shut the fuck up,” suguru groans, clapping a dry and gloved hand over your tits before squeezing them. “we’ll move when we fucking feel like it.”

waves of almost euphoria wash over your entire body, leaving you breathless and panting. when you’d first met these two, you’d been sharp and aware of your surroundings, but now everything is hazy and your body burns as though you have a fever.

the bed creaks dangerously as satoru jumps into action, slowly rocking his hips into yours with a few choked, wanton moans. before long, he’s more confident, fucking into you with a tight grip on your skin and at an invigorated pace. you’re so hot and oh so tight—satoru fucking loves it—you feel perfect. he loves the way you squirm on top of his best friend, hips canting forward eagerly to meet his. the evidence of how good he’s making you feel is painted all over your face, apparent in the wobble of your lower lip and the tears in your eyes.

you hear a sigh from behind you. “can’t lose the bet,” suguru’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. it takes him a few seconds, but he finally starts moving, groaning in approval at the shake of your body and gasping, ragged breaths.

above you, sweat rolls down satoru’s face, the snowy tips of his hair sticking to his forehead while others fall in front of his eyes. “y-you like it like this, baby?” the question is rhetorical, but your whimpering tells him everything he needs to know. the corners of his lips curl into a smile that’s soon wiped away by overwhelming pleasure. “you’re taking us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart . . driving me insane, goddamn.”

“i second that,” the metal ball of suguru’s piercing clicks as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth, panting hard into your ear. “really, baby . . feel like the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world right now, heh.”

as if you’re not the luckiest girl—being sandwiched between these two is a dream you didn’t even know you had. inside you, their cocks throb against one another, dragging in and out of your holes ruthlessly. the tempo only speeds up, becoming too much too quickly.

you nudge a weak, clammy hand against satoru’s waist, arching your back on top of suguru and nearly nailing him in the face with a reverse headbutt. before the latter can say anything, satoru snatches your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, then pins it down to the bed. he advances forward, his chest now against yours to keep you still.

“ah ah,” he tuts, his nipples hard as they press against yours, “move your damn hand, baby. this is what you wanted, remember?”

“i certainly do,” suguru titters, nipping at your earlobe. “don’t be like that. you can take it, can’t you?”

his words are convincing; he’s got you nodding in acceptance. he’s right, of course. this is what you wanted earlier—you’ve been taking both of their cocks so fucking well. just as you tell yourself you’ll make it through this, satoru’s fingers ghost along the soft skin of your stomach. despite the exhaustion that’s setting into his body, his hips don’t even stutter as he focuses on your swollen clit.

“oh . . oh my god,” the words are torn from your throat, which only grows more sore with all the noise you can’t seem to stop making. a familiar shakiness settles in your voice, and you’re fighting to keep the breath in your lungs, but it escapes you far too easily. “i’m-‘m gonna cum for you, ‘m—”

as you hurtle closer to all encompassing euphoria, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fade out and grow foggy. yet, you manage to hear their voices eagerly spurring you on, the two of them in the same boat as you.

“yeah, ‘s right. fuckin’ cum for us, baby.” satoru’s own orgasm creeps up on him, his head tipping back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock. of course, suguru can feel the throbbing of his best friend’s cock and the quavering of your needy pussy. he releases your tits, seeing the bruising he’s left before squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ya heard him, honey,” he utters after a long groan, his voice low and husky. “take all of our fucking cum.” you gasp out, nodding your head frantically as you teeter over the edge.

everything happens fast, and all at the same time. satoru cums inside you, his broad shoulders shaking as he rides it out while your pussy practically milks him for more. your cunt spasms, hips jerking upwards from the intensity of it. the movement pushes out suguru, his cum leaking out of your bruised ass and spilling in white puddles on his pelvis.

satoru looks down, biting down on his lower lip as he pulls his cock from you. this is quite the reward, seeing cum pour from both of your spent and twitching holes. your shuddering, sweltering body finally begins to cool after what feels like hours. suguru’s exhausted, but he kindly lifts you and lays you down on the bed beside him. satoru flops down beside you with a heaving sigh, only to lay on the knife from earlier.

“ow, fuck!” he jolts, sitting up and tugging the sharp blade from where it’s tangled in the sheets. he unceremoniously hurls it to the floor, laying back down with a vengeful huff.

you’re too tired to laugh, but a small smile plays on your lips. “do you still wanna kill me?”

“not right now,” suguru throws an arm over his face, gesturing in the direction of the floor. “the knife’s down there, anyway.”

you sit up, craning your neck to take a look. from what you can see, the floor is littered with their dark costumes and two masks, the knife completely out of sight. “i don’t see it.”

“hm, remember we talked about making you scream for us?” satoru speaks up, and in your dizzy haze, you don’t notice that glint in his eyes.

“uh, yeah, i think so? i thought you already did.”

“don’t you watch scary movies?” suguru scoffs, looking at you from beneath his forearm. “you should know what happens next.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “yeah, whatever. what happens next, you kill me? very funny. let me convince you again,” and you clear your throat. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel!”

satoru simply shakes his head, and the knife plunges into your back. with a gasp, you sputter out a few garbled words, blood pouring down your bare back as you fall backwards onto the bed. you writhe on the mussed sheets, blood spilling from your lips and trickling down your chin in vermillion rivulets. beside you, the blood covered suguru and satoru let you struggle aimlessly until your body stills; then they slip their masks on again . .

“andddd cut!” the director jumps from his seat with proud claps, and the production assistants rush in from every direction to help clean up the mess.

“satoru, fuck! that knife was so sharp,” you sit up, sending a glare his way as you wipe the fake blood off your skin. despite being a fake knife, the shiny plastic point was rather jagged.

“excellent performances, the three of you! our halloween special is sure to be a hit!” the director is gushing as he praises the three of you.

“yeah, yeah,” suguru says, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “i’ve gotta take a shower. seriously, the corn syrup is so fucking sticky.”

[gothcsz]

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital. 

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—”  You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex. 

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on. 

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in. 

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them. 

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you. 

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

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

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor. 

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good. 

You should have listened to him. 

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting. 

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying. 

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out. 

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask,  barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening. 

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

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[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

grapefruit and tacos | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“oh look my grapefruit, daddies home! and very early i might add.” waddling as you rubbed soothing circles over your growing belly. spencer met you halfway in the living room, not even bothering to straighten out his shoes and hang his satchel.

“how are my favorite people?” spencer’s big palms cupped around your chubby cheeks. pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose then up to your forehead and finally down to your awaiting lips. you sighed from ease, not realizing how much you were missing him today.

spencer pulled away first before giving one more brief peck. “missing you,” answering his earlier question. his hands traveled down to your stomach which has grown in the past two months. “hi bub, are you treating mommy nice?” his warm thumbs rubbed at the skin beside your bellybutton, your baby will kick sporadically, a lot of times when spencer’s voice is within distance.

“they’ve been good. been craving a lot of strawberries lately, but i’m not complaining.” lifting your left hand to drag on the side of his head, tucking his growing hair behind his ear. “why home earlier? not complaining, but i haven’t done much housekeeping. mostly sleeping.”

spencer turned to kiss your wrist, “finished my paperwork and hotch said i could leave earlier. he understands the struggles of a new pregnancy.” he kneeled to the grow and pressed three kisses onto you stretched skin, three i love yous.

“now why don’t you sit down and i’ll order us takeout. what are you in the mood for?” spencer’s hands holding your shoulders and steering you in the direction of the suede brown couch. you were waddling like a penguin, “uh maybe some tacos. what do you say my grapefruit? tacos?” trying to see if they kick for an answer. you felt a same thump at the tip of your thumb, you looked over your shoulder at spencer while smiling, “tacos please.”

“tacos for my loves. i’ll get some chips and guacamole as well.” making sure you were comfortable before looking for his stack of takeout menus hidden in a kitchen drawer. your eyes just watched his every move, how his lips moved as he recalled the last time he used them. he used the landline, yes spencer still had a landline in his home, and called your usual taco spot just a block away.

within thirty minutes the two of were side by side on the couch with reruns of old doctor who, the wibbly wobbly sound affects a comforting white noise. you closed your eyes and hummed while chewing your food, even swaying your body and head. opening your eyes as you took a drink, you looked to your left to see spencer smiling at you, his food barely touched.

“what?” taking another bite as you waited for spencer to say something. you bet you were the picture of a squirrel or chipmunk, cheeks puffed and mouth pouted.

“i love you and i like seeing you this happy.” sweet and syrupy. you felt your eyes start to water as you took a swallow and set your food down. “oh don’t say that,” you whined, “you know my hormones are at eleven.” wiping away a few stragglers from your warm face.

spencer couldn’t help but to chuckle as he took over the job of tear wiper. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. just- just can’t believe this is my life.” voice getting a bit distant, “i have an amazing girlfriend and a baby on the way… still can’t believe you choose me over millions of other guys.”

the waterworks started again, “i’d choose you time and time again. there’s no one in the world like you and i’m glad i snatched the rare gem.” taking spencer’s sculpted face into your hands and starting an assault of messy kisses causing him to squirm and laugh.

“our baby is gonna be so loved.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

I : Strawberry Wine

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

the prelude to this series

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: joel fixes your toilet but you can't help but yearn for more time with him. so you invite him to dinner and try to win his stomach? aka love?

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, reader does have anxiety/mental illness that is not fully recognized/diagnosed, mentions of eating food, reader lives alone, reader got MONEYYYY, mentions of joel's ex wife (gasp), alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, kissing, flirting. all the fluffy stuff <3

author's note: hey...hey.... how y'all doing?? i'm so so so sorry this has taken so long. my life has been crazy for the last like 4 months and I'm finally getting settled into my life again. I miss y'all and I miss writing, so HERE I AM! I'm hoping everyone who wanted me to tag them months ago is still cool with me tagging them 4 months later lol. okay, lemme know what you think xoxo

Joel comes and goes for days. The first day he returns, he inspects your toilet again and tells you he has the wrong tools. You discuss a game plan and by his initial projections, your toilet should be fixed the next day. But when he fails to come by in the morning, you decide to call the phone number on the post-it note he left for you the day before. 

The phone rings and you get an answering machine of a younger girl telling you to leave her and Dad a message after the beep. When the line lets out a long ding, you breathe out the random croak in your throat. 

“Uh, hey, Joel, it’s me. Just seeing if you’re stopping by today. If not, that’s fine, I’ll be home all day today and tomorrow. Okay, uh, bye.”

Hours go by and you find yourself pacing, regretting your decision to leave him a message. What if he gets it and thinks that you’re crazy? 

Ever since you had made his acquaintance, you felt completely reliant on interacting with him. It may be due to the fact that you haven’t socialized with anyone else in months. You were very good at isolating yourself, but lately, it’s been eating you alive being so alone. Now that you had this big house, the silence felt almost too quiet. Joel’s southern drawl and straightforward responses gave a bit of light back to your life. 

Around dinner time, your landline rings. You practically fall over your couch racing to pick it up, hoping it was him. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He grunts through the phone, “Sorry I didn’t come by today, hope ya didn’t miss me too much.”

You let out a dry laugh, trying not to sound too giddy about him following up with you. You were borderline pathetic. 

“No, I just wanted to make sure you were still alive,” You manage to get out, “You are still alive right?”

“Still kickin’, just busy as all get out. ‘M fixin’ to head to your place now if you’re not busy.”

You look down at your pajamas and start to nod. It’s not like he can see you through the phone, but you are reacting to his words like he’s right in front of you. 

“Sure thing, I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

-

“So… It’s really just you here? All by your lonesome?”

He’s messing with his toolbox, searching for the one tool he needs to fix the toilet. You stir your fresh brewed tea, ensuring none of the sugar clumps up at the bottom of the mug. You had offered him some, but he politely declined, telling you that he had a big dinner.

You take a sip, testing the sweetness. “Just me. How about you? Just you and your daughter, right?”

He laughs heartedly, turning towards you from where he’s squatted. You look at him with curious eyes, unsure if you asked the wrong question. He stands up, a wrench in his hand, a smile still spread across his face. 

“Her mama left town with her new boyfriend about 5 years ago. Wanted the city life, not the life I gave her. It’s been just me and her ever since.”

So he’s single. You think to yourself. 

You realize the laugh was probably because of how absurd and new it must be for someone to ask him about his life. He grew up here and you are positive everyone here already knew all about his business. You are a breath of fresh air for him. 

Before the silence becomes awkward, you speak up. “City life ain’t worth a shit.”

“Yeah, she’s different. Won’t speak ill of her ‘cause that’s my bosses’ mama. She sees her now and again. They are just very different.” 

The conversation comes easy with Joel. While the first couple of interactions you two shared were a bit strained, after days of small talk, you realize he’s the truest Southern gentleman you’ve ever interacted with. Polite with a little bite. He never speaks ill of others, except his brother. He loves to pick on Tommy. He seems like an attentive father. He loves to pick at you, always pointing out your Northern tendencies. Your horrible driving. Your accent and your speech patterns. But he’s also very complimentary. A couple of days ago, he remarked how nice your perfume was when you were standing close to him. It made your heart skip a beat. 

And on top of all of those things, he’s very easy on the eyes. 

“That’s mighty fine of you not speaking ill of your ex,” You try to drag out the silly Southern saying, which causes him to chuckle again. You smack your lips before continuing, “Wish I could do the same.”

You are not sure what he’s doing to the tank of your toilet, but you watch him strain to get a piece out of the corner with the wrench he has. He clenches his teeth, turning the piece to the left to loosen it. 

“Exes are exes for a reason,” He grunts, fiddling with some more things in the tank, “I ain’t too hung up on datin’ right now. I got my girl and my horses.”

“And now you got me, your annoying neighbor who almost crashes into your horses and asks you to fix toilets.”

He breathes out loudly, “Yeah, ‘nother pain in my ass. Just what a man needs.”

-

The toilet is fixed too quickly. You had busied yourself with other small cleaning tasks that when Joel finds you in the kitchen doing dishes, he startles you. It took him about 15 minutes to finish the job and you had thought you could at least finish up the dishes you made from dinner. 

“‘M all finished up. Gotta get back home to do some rounds at the stables,” He says as he waltzes over to your paper towel holder. He grabs a sheet and begins to wipe his damp hands, “Anythin’ else for me today?”

You turn off the running water, going down a list of fixes you could ask him to do. You decide it’s probably best to just ask him to swing by another day to help you with other things. 

“No, thank you though, Joel. I am sure I’ll be by to ask for more help,” You chuckle, shaking your hands dry, “I owe you dinner or something.”

As you say it, it feels like all the air leaves your lungs. He’s staring at you and there’s a glint in his eyes. You are not that good at reading people, mostly because you are deathly afraid of being wrong. His eyebrows raise as he leans against the counter near you. He’s so close and in your space, but you try to push the thought of him coming onto you out of your mind. 

“What’do you got on the menu tomorrow?”

His voice is kind of husky which makes your brain draw a blank. You wipe your hands on your pants before crossing the kitchen to check your fridge. You glance through your ingredients, settling for the only dinner item you can conjure up that his southern palette may like. 

“Baked chicken and vegetables?”

He nods, tossing his paper towel into the bin beside you. “Yeah, I've been needing a home-cooked meal. Think I could come over at like 5? Tomorrow?”

You recollect a time when a guy showed interest in wanting to hang out with you outside of work. It had been years and he was not nearly as attractive as the man in front of you. 

You nod slowly, trying not to look too robotic due to your nerves. “Sure thing, cowboy.”

-

You did not know what to wear. You contemplated going into town to see what the local boutiques had but you ran the risk of Joel seeing you out. You didn’t even know if this was a date. 

You settle on a sundress you have owned since high school. It’s the perfect length and while your mind goes to wanting to impress Joel, you also need to be comfortable. 

You cleaned your house, adding some new decorations to your living room walls. You even clean your sheets and make sure your bedroom is vacuumed. 

When the time comes for Joel to arrive, you pace the kitchen anticipating the doorbell. You already had all the food prepped and ready to put in the oven. The vegetables have been cut and seasoned. Everything was just the way you needed it to be. 

Joel gets there 5 after your scheduled time. When you welcome him at the door, his hair is styled and you can tell he put on his “fancy jeans”. 

What you didn’t expect was the bouquet of flowers he had in his hands. 

“Afternoon, neighbor,” He begins before extending the floral arrangement towards you, “My girl said I had to bring you something nice. Somethin’ bout being a gentleman.”

You smile widely, giving flowers all your attention. Even with the fragrant bouquet, you get a whiff of his sandalwood cologne. 

“Nice to see you cleaned up for me, cowboy. Come on in, dinner is about to get put in the oven.”

-

You catch him scanning you up and down when you place the spread of chicken and vegetables on the table. He was in the midst of talking about his daughter and her band fundraiser, but he completely halted when you took notice of his staring. 

You settle into the dining room chair across from him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

“She needs more sponsors?” You break the silence, wanting to move away from the sudden awkwardness. 

He swallows, reaching for the serving fork, “Oh, yeah. She needs to reach a certain goal to go on her senior band trip.”

You try to avoid his wandering gaze again, focusing on organizing your plate of vegetables. “Where are they going?”

“Disney. She ain’t never been out of Texas, so she really wants to go.”

You remember all the trips your family said they’d go on to Disney, but they never did. Your father could not stand being around his own children, let alone other people’s children. You think about how he used to complain about your constant questions, all the times he completely ignored you for your brother. You start to spiral, the anxiety creeping up in the back of your throat. You push your chair out from under the table, excusing yourself for a moment. You go to the bar you have set up in the living room and grab the only sweet wine you have. Strawberry. You grab two glasses from the top of the setup and walk back to Joel. 

“Forgot wine,” you mumble, setting a glass in front of him, “You want some?”

He is already picking at his chicken, “Yeah, I’ll take some.”

You are quiet as you uncork it expertly, pouring it into each of the glasses. Joel watches you like a hawk. You can tell he’s trying to read your expression, so you try your best to remain neutral even though your hands are shaking. 

You place the bottle in the middle of the table, making sure it’s easily reachable. 

You finally sit back down, sipping the red liquid. The strawberry flavor isn’t very strong, it’s more like a hint of the berry. You had gotten the bottle from a roadside stand in Kentucky. An older lady who must have owned a vineyard nearby was selling them for $5 each. You told yourself you would only use it for a special occasion. This event seemed fitting. 

Wine always makes you flushed, but you are always a bit flushed around Joel. Even more so when he’s watching you so intently. 

After a couple of sips, you finally rest your shoulders and begin to eat your dinner. 

“I could sponsor her,” you finally say, returning to the previous conversation. For some reason, you felt obligated. Joel quickly retaliates, shaking his head as he chewed on your roasted veggies. 

“You ain’t gotta do that, doll.” 

The nickname rings in your ears. You take another sip of wine. You can tell Joel notices your reaction because he smirks with his mouth full. 

“But I want to, Joel. I’m sure she has worked hard her high school career, she deserves to have fun.”

He hums, but still shakes his head negatively, “I can’t let you just pay for-”

“You can and you will,” You enjoy another bite, smirking at your defiance towards him. He looks perplexed. “So when is this fundraiser? Is there like a dinner or something?”

He finally caves, “This Friday at the school. It’s a dinner and auction. I guess if the kids don’t find their sponsors, some local businesses are willing to sponsor them.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” He cuts up his chicken, “I guess you’re gonna come along, too, if you’re givin’ my girl all that money.”

“Does a check work?”

He sits back in his chair, already finishing off his wine, “You seriously don’t have to-”

“What are neighbors for, Joel?”

He nods, “You mean friends.”

You furrow your brows, trying to let your hazy mind find a time when you called him your friend. This was a new development.

“Friends, huh?”

He pours more in his glass, “Well, I’d like to think so.”

The wine is hitting your system and you realize your arms feel lighter. You grab the stem of your glass and tip it up to down the rest of the alcohol. Joel’s eyes are trained on you, waiting for a snarky response. 

“Do friends stare at other friends like that?” You pour more wine for yourself. You realize he’s done eating so before he can respond to your flirtation, you speak up again, “You done with that?”

He looks down at his empty plate, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes friends look at other friends like that, or you’re done eating.”

He grins, “‘m done eating, doll.”

-

You two find your way out to the rocking chairs. They were left there by the previous owners and you could tell they were probably as old as you. 

You had another full glass of wine, sipping it as Joel lit up a cigarette. He admitted it was only a bad habit when he was drinking, which was rare. “Sarah gets onto me when I have even one beer. So this has gotta be between us two.”

You swirl the crystal, watching him carefully take a drag of the stick. “Your secret is safe with me, cowboy.”

He giggles as he lets out a huff of smoke. “I haven’t had secrets in a long time. Guess I’m lucky it’s with the town stranger.”

The statement hits you in the very pit of your settling tummy. You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward towards him. Your chairs are not that far away from one another, so this is probably the closest you have ever been to him except for that one moment in the kitchen. 

“Luckiest man in Texas that’s for sure,” You muster, averting your eyes. You could not stare into his beautiful brown eyes for too long. “Having the privilege of getting me out of my head. No man has done that in years.”

“What? You not good at letting loose?”

You shake your head, knowing that he did not understand what you meant. You take a moment to inhale, finally glancing up at him again. “I think I may just be cursed.”

“Now, why do you say that?”

You contemplate spilling the beans. Letting your heart fall onto your sleeve after years of shielding it from anyone who looks your way. Your lips part, but no words come out. It’s just the sounds of the cicadas. 

“As soon as something is good, it gets bad somehow. I don’t even get a moment to savor it.”

You feel the statement down to your bones. The last time you felt settled in your own life, the rug got pulled out from under you. You cannot remember a time when you truly felt present in a special moment. You always felt like you were floating outside of your body, watching things happen and never really truly feeling anything. 

You don’t expect him to lean closer to you, “Whatever happened before you got here, you ain’t gotta worry about it anymore. You obviously put distance between you and what happened for a reason. Let this little side of the world be your home now.”

You push your spiraling thoughts away, letting him be right. 

“I’m workin’ on getting settled. It’s easy when you have a handsome cowboy to help along the way.”

It comes out like word vomit. Between the wine and the nerves coursing through your entire being, you can’t help but admit your little crush on the man. You slap your free hand over your forehead, admitting defeat before he can even respond. You knew he would take the comment and run with it.

“You always flirt with your friends, sweetheart?” He was toying with you, which was a good sign. If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t call you such a thing. 

You smile, releasing your face from your hand. His eyes are tracing every curve of your face, a subtle pass that you did not capture quickly enough. 

“Only ones that fix my toilets.”

And then, he kisses you. It happens so quickly, that you don’t fully grasp that it’s happening until you're molding your lips into his. Once your buzzed brain picks up the fact that the man you have been crushing on is kissing you, he pulls away. Your eyes are still closed, your hands still gripping onto your wine glass. 

He huffs loudly and stands up quickly. Once you place your eyes on him, he’s pacing around the back deck stairs, not too far from where you’re sitting. You instantly bite back the urge to ask him what’s wrong, because there’s always something wrong. 

“‘M sorry, sweetheart. I should’na done that.”

He instantly regretted it. The thought made your throat tighten. He continues to walk back and forth, causing a draft. 

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m n-not mad.”

He shakes his head, halting his robot-like movements. He finally looks at your pitiful expression and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think I’m much of a gentleman, kissing you on the first date.”

You watch as he places his hands on his hips, contemplating his whole life right before your eyes. You realize he is too traditional to see that nowadays, people are sleeping together on the first date. First base is nothing. You rest your glass on a decrepit table next to you and stand up. 

You slowly approach him, trying to catch a glance from him, but he continues to avert his eyes. You grow bold enough to tilt his chin towards you, letting your guard down for a moment. 

“You’re such a gentleman, it hurts,” you whisper, slowly letting a smirk grow across your face. The comment makes his shoulders lower, finally relaxing from such a heated moment. 

“Just don’t wanna mess this up with ya,” He murmurs, only letting you and the nearby fireflies hear you, “I enjoy spending time with you.”

You slowly lower your hand to your side, trying to act casually about the confession. But the truth is you want to run and wake up every cow and horse within a 10-mile radius with a squeal of delight. 

“I like spending time with you, too, Joel.”

He takes your hand as you say it, bringing your knuckles up to his lips. His breath is hot on the back of your hand before he says, “Well now, I quite like the sound of that."

taglist (some of y'all can't be tagged, I tried lol)

@midnightdragonzero @casssiopeia @anoverwhelmingdin @notsosecretspy @raindrcpsangel @art-estrange @misstokyo7love @lizzie-cakes @d1lf-loverrr @ashleyfilm 

@blckbrrybasket @cande-beggins @gloryekaterina @lilyevanstan1325 @frogtape @jamesdeerest @mellymbee @arrowsandanchor @polishedtaylor @harrieandharassed @ranahx @youwouldntdownloadapizza @jmillersgirl @wintersquirrel @stefanibear003 @joliettes @startsm00n @abbsfrommars @76bookworm76 @youotterbekiddingme @jodiswiftle

[mosneakers]

Clementine: [staring at the screen in disbelief] This doesn't make any sense. She won… it's official. Kirsten: [with a heavy sigh] Well, I’ll be damned. You kids see the power you wield? You resurrected that Salas bunch, and now we’ve got a damn vampire in office. I'm telling you, it's that Darling family curse, it's no joke.

Salem: Yeah, no one's fucking laughing, mom.

Yellow: [Starts pacing, checking cell phone] Has anyone heard from Coraleye? It’s nearly 4 AM, and she hasn’t checked in. That’s not like her—especially after this long.

Donna, anxiously knitting on the sofa, turns to give her husband a loving glance, striving to keep her tone light and comforting. Donna: We needn't fret, love. She's likely off with Tycho, helping him get his mind off things like lovebirds do— hehe! Yellow: [Sighs] You’re probably right. I’ll give her more time before trying again. I do remember how it felt, being young and utterly smitten. [Grins and cheesily winks at Donna]

Salem: Disgusting.

Donna: You are! [Playfully sticks out tongue]

Seymour, thought to be asleep, croaks a laugh. Salem groans and leans forward, burying her head in her hands.

Out of nowhere, the Darling family landline rings, breaking the silence with a jolt. The unexpected sound causes even the family dog to yelp in surprise. Donna: Oh, heavens! It's alright, Mimsy, that's just the phone. Gave me a scare too; it hardly ever rings. Excuse me, I'll answer it.

Donna gently sets her knitting kit aside, then carefully maneuvers around the jumbled feet and dog, making her way to the foyer to tend to the ringing phone. Yellow tries his daughter’s cellphone once more, as Clementine nudges Salem with her leg. Clementine: What's wrong? Having doubts about resurrecting them? Salem: Of course not. Don’t be stupid. That was the only way I'd get you back. How was I supposed to know it'd get lead to this? She was so different all those years ago.

Donna, usually known for her bravery, suddenly cries out in distress from the foyer, causing Yellow to rush to her side, alarmed. Yellow: Donna, sweetheart! What's wrong? Who called? Donna: That was an officer from the city. We have to go pick up Coraleye right away! There's been a terrible accident. Yellow: What? What happened to her? Is she hurt?

Donna: She's safe, but it sounds like others may have been hurt, and she's rather quite shaken. They wouldn't elaborate, so I guess we'll learn more when we arrive. Oh! Let me just fetch my slippers!

Clementine: Shit, I’m pretty worried… should we tag along? Yellow: We’ll manage. Maybe you all stay here in case anything comes up here. Thanks, Clem. Mom— we'll be right back with Coraleye. Will you be alright getting Dad to bed? Kirsten: Yes, of course, hun. Just get my baby girl back home safe and soon.

Clementine: Ditto. Give her hugs and kisses for me. [Waits for Donna and Yellow to leave] What a crazy night. What do you think went down?

Salem: How should I know.

Clementine: Think it’s connected to Salas winning?

Salem: Most likely. And now that a psychotic vampire is in charge— this is just the beginning. Who knows what she's capable of?

Kirsten: You can say that again. How long is it gonna take before someone addresses that none of us mediums have been able to make contact with Jay Salas? I think the bitch killed her husband. Salem: Mom please, not now. Kirsten: Sorry! Just saying... I have my suspicions. Guess we'll save it for a later season.

Salem exhales heavily, clutching her scalp. Her gaze drifts to the glowing TV screen, where Tatiana's unsettling grin beams back, mocking her hesitation.

Salem: Ugh, fuck! I can’t believe I’m responsible for this fucking shitshow.

Clementine: [Brief silence, eyes transfixed on the screen] …You brought her into this realm.

Salem: …And I’m gonna have to take her out.

[gravityfallsrenaissance]

On the first day of his last year of high school, Soos finds out that no one in Gravity Falls, Oregon is a foster parent.

He’s sitting in the hallway of the hospital with a police officer and social worker as they explain to him that even though he’s 17, he has no legal parent or guardian. It’s the day he find out his Dad terminated his parental rights.

They tell him that the nearest set of registered foster parents is about a 3 hour drive away, which doesn’t give him much time to pack.

While he’s packing up his things at the house, their landline starts ringing. Soos goes to answer it and is met with gruff spanish he doesn’t hear very often.

“Hola señora, ¿cómo está Soos? No lo he visto y sé que es su primer día de regreso a la escuela. Le dije que no había trabajo la primera semana, pero por lo general viene para al menos contarme cómo le fue y solo quería asegurarme de que estaba bien.”

Soos stands speechless for a moment. He’s unable to get the words out in Spanish.

“Hi Mr. Pines, um, I won’t be able to come into work anymore.”

“Soos? Kid, are you alright?”

“Abuela passed away this morning. It turns out there aren’t any foster parents in town, and the nearest couple is 3 hours away, so I’m glad you called because I wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to come back to work. The social worker is having me pick up my things right now, I don’t know if they’ll let us drive past the Shack so I can-“

“Soos, I need you to pass the phone to the social worker for me.”

He does, and before he realizes what’s happening, Soos is being packed into the car and driving down familiar roads. Mr. Pines must have convinced them that Soos wanted to say goodbye and when the arrive he’s shocked to see him sitting on the front porch in clothes that aren’t the Mr. Mystery costume or his weekend tank top and boxers. He’s dressed in slacks and a clean dress shirt with no embellishments. He looks like he shaved.

Soos leaves his bag in the car to say goodbye and is surprised when the social worker grabs it for him.

“Mr. Pines, thank you for offer of temporary guardianship as we sort out Jesus’s situation. It’ll be easier for him to stay close for the funeral and in making decisions about his grandmother’s estate.”

Mr. Pines has an expression Soos has never seen and can’t figure out. The man is always smiling or grumbling and now he’s just nodding and offering his hand to the social worker before turning to Soos.

“Hey, Soos. Why don’t you take your bag and go get set up? I cleaned out the room on the first floor for you, I’ll be right in.”

***

Soos had been in this part of the Shack many times over the years, usually to work on homework with Mr. Pines after work or to eat tamales that his Abuela had asked him to send along.

He finds the room Mr. Pines was talking about and sees that everything looks like it’s been hastily cleaned and stored away. The room itself looks the same with a bed, dresser, closet, rug, and desk all freshly, if haphazardly, wiped down.

He sets down his bag and sits on the bed, unsure if he should unpack. Unsure how long he’s staying.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he notices Mr. Pines standing in the doorway and must startle, because Mr. Pines raises his hands a little looking sheepish.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, kid. Sorry.”

He continues to stand a bit oddly in the doorway before sighing, grabbing the desk chair, and pulling it so that he’s facing Soos.

“Look, there are a couple of things you and I should talk about, and I know this is all going a bit fast, so once I let you know what’s going on I’ll try and slow it down a bit. Do you have any questions?”

“Er, how long am I staying here?”

“Well, see, we kind of need to figure that one out together. I got you placed in my custody temporarily since I told them I’m a friend of the family, and it’ll take a while to sort out the foster parent paper work-“

“But, Mr. Pines, I’m your handyman. I don’t-“

“Kid, if you think I’m letting them ship you off to some yahoos from God knows where before we’ve even had a chance to hold the funeral-“

And Soos swears he didn’t mean to, he’s almost 18 and he hasn’t cried in a long time, but it’s been a long day and it’s really setting in that Mr. Pines is taking him in and that Abuela is dead.

Mr. Pines is next to him quickly and Soos realizes this is the first time he’s been hugged by Mr. Pines that didn’t have some sort of odd excuse to avoid seeming awkward.

When Soos has cried himself out he breathes for a minute and lets himself enjoy the fact that Mr. Pines is hugging him and then pulls back to get a good look at him and wipe his eyes.

Soos’s tear tracks are on Mr. Pines’s shirt and his eyes look a little red, but otherwise he appears to be holding together better than Soos.

“You’re staying with me now, alright? I’ll help you sort out the funeral and moving your stuff over here, and talk to your school. You’re still a kid, and even if you weren’t, I’m not letting you do this by yourself. I’ll need your help though, since I haven’t met any of your other family and I don’t know who I should be trying to get in contact with and all. But we can sort that out tomorrow or the day after.”

“Am I going to school tomorrow?”

“Nah, kid. I’ll call you in until we can get everything figured out. Come on, I should figure out what we’re doing for dinner and then I’ll let you pick something on tv. Or I mean, we can talk if you need…”

Soos shakes his head a bit. He doesn’t know what he’d say. It feels wrong, sitting in this house and doing normal things that he’d otherwise be excited by. He’d always wanted Mr. Pines’s approval, but not at the cost of his Abuela.

And for everything to just keep going made his chest hurt. Mr. Pines was right, all of this felt like it was going too fast because none of it should be happening at all. He should have had years with his Abuela, he should have got to come home and tell her about his first day of senior year and talk her ear off about all the cool new exhibits he and Mr. Pines were putting together.

But that wouldn’t ever happen again.

Mr. Pines put his arm around Soos’s shoulders and led him out into the kitchen.

***

What cut through the misery and strangeness and wrongness of grieving his Abuela were the changes he saw in Mr. Pines.

He was… gentler.

Soos was used to the gruff and sometimes abrasive personality of his employer. Now foster parent. But he did not know the man who woke him up for school in the morning, made breakfast, packed lunch, and cooked dinner. Who called his extended family, helped him pack his Abuela’s house, helped him with homework, and stood next to him on a Tuesday in September as they said goodbye to his Abuela.

The real difference was how much he talked, and what he talked about.

He was just, more open.

If Soos cried, he was there. If he wanted to visit Abuela, Mr. Pines went with. If he needed help with homework, Mr. Pines sat with him until they figured it out.

He asked him about his videogames and anime and manga and anything else Soos was interested in. He offered to show him how to work on his car.

He didn’t really talk about himself much, but now, there were small scraps and interjections about things that Soos had never heard him mention. Observations about the desert, names of people he picked up Spanish from, boxing tips, how he read body language or tone for making a sale. Things that made him seem less like Mr. Mystery and more like Mr. Pines.

It felt like Soos was peaking behind a curtain.

Mr. Pines seemed to have dialed himself back, maybe. Soos wasn’t sure what to call it.

Even when he was fixing things up around the Shack for him there was less gruffness in his requests.

Soos loved it and felt an immense guilt about it.

He knew Mr. Pines was just being kind and that Soos was almost an adult and wouldn’t need this level of kindness since he’d be expected to.

Well.

Actually, he wasn’t sure what would be expected of him when he turned 18.

So one night at dinner, he asked Mr. Pines what would happen when he turned 18.

“You wanna go to college?”

“Not exactly but-“

“You want to keep working here?”

“Well yes but Mr. Pines I meant-“

“Soos, you’re welcome here for as long as you’d like to stay. This is my home and it’s yours as much as you’d like.”

“As much as I’d like?”

Mr. Pines shifted awkwardly in his chair and nodded.

“I didn’t want to assume anything but, the paperwork makes me your legal guardian. I’m responsible for you now, kid. So yeah, my home is yours. I don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping you from your family or anything but, even if I’m only fostering you, you’re part of mine.”

“You want me to be part of your family? For real?”

“Well yeah kid, I didn’t sign all those forms because you’re my employee. I mean you are kinda but like- Soos. Did you think I was only doing this because I wanted you to keep working at the Shack?”

Soos felt his face heat up and started to deny it but Mr. Pines cut him off pretty quick.

“Shit kid, okay look. I was trying not to presume how you feel about any of this. I didn’t want to put words in your mouth or um. Well, look. I was only married in Vegas briefly and I don’t really have my sights on going the whole conventional route of getting married and then, that’s to say, shit. Soos, I’ve always sort of thought of you as my son.”

Soos’s eyes were so wide. Mr. Pines’s face also seemed to heat up a bit and he tried shrugging, as though this wasn’t a big deal. As though it wasn’t something incredibly important to Soos.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I’m not really a great father figure and all, but look. When your Abuela was still around I could kid myself that it wasn’t something I wanted, being a parent and all. But now you’re living with me and I can’t help it. You’re a good kid, Soos. I’m not trying to replace anyone but, I guess, I want you to know that this is permanent. If you want it to be.”

Soos felt his eyes well up and Mr. Pines was on his feet, turning their chairs together so he could wrap an arm around him.

“I care about you, kid. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but it felt like something I should let you decide.”

Soos cried a little and laughed when Mr. Pines ruffled his hair before moving far enough apart to go back to eating, but not all the way across the table from him.

“So, if I wanted to stay here and keep working for you?”

“That’s more than enough for me, kid. I’d love for you to stay, if you want to.”

“And when I’m an adult, does that mean the foster thing-“

“I don’t really know what happens with that exactly. I mean, the social worker told me that I mean, if I wanted to and you agreed, I could file adoption paperwork since your um, well since your Father terminated his parental rights but uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to bring that up.”

Soos felt his eyes tear up again and Mr. Pines gently cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Oh hush kid, c’mon no more tears. I swear no one else in our family is this weepy. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Our family?”

“Well yeah. Crap. I’ve uh, well I’ve got an older brother who’s got kids I should probably introduce you too. Surprise, you’ve got cousins!”

Soos laughed tearily and chanced another hug, which he definitely got.

And of course it hurt, his Abuela was gone and he missed her everyday. But it was nice not being alone.

Google translate spanish below the cut:

Hola señora, ¿cómo está Soos? No lo he visto y sé que es su primer día de regreso a la escuela. Le dije que no había trabajo la primera semana, pero por lo general viene para al menos contarme cómo le fue y solo quería asegurarme de que estaba bien.

Hello ma'am, how is Soos? I haven't seen him and I know it's his first day back in school. I told him there's no working the first week back but he usually stops by to at least tell me how it went and I just wanted to make sure he's okay.

[artiststarme]

Hey Brother

Now with a Part 2!

Thank you to @nburkhardt, @doubleb11, and @straight4joekeery for the help brainstorming! I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

It was a quiet night at the trailer park and Steve was looking forward to spending a peaceful night with his boyfriend. Things had been hectic lately between work, the kids, and fielding phone calls from his parents so Steve desperately needed a night to just relax. He hadn’t been able to spend time with Eddie since the week prior during their weekly Buckley-Harrington-Munson movie night and if he didn’t get cuddles stat, he was going to go into withdrawal.

Unfortunately, Eddie did not share the same plans and instead was trying to coerce Steve once again into joining a DnD campaign with him and the kids. 

“Come on, babe! The first day of the new campaign is tomorrow and the kids would love it if you joined. We can come up with a character sheet tonight, we still have time! And I will help you the entire time, it’ll be fun!” Eddie begged him.

Steve shook his head, “look Eds, I really don’t want to play. I’m more than happy just watching you guys have fun. Besides, you know how bad I am at math. I’d be really bad at it.”

“I’ll do the math for you! Come on, your jock prowess will really help you and you’re great at strategizing. What if I postponed the campaign for tomorrow and came up with a one shot instead? Then you would get your feet wet and it wouldn’t be too much pressure,” he jut his lip out in a pout and widened his eyes. It kinda made him look like a dejected rat but in a cute way. 

Still, Steve shook his head. “No, I really don’t want to. Can you please drop this? I just want to watch a movie or something and relax. I don’t want to keep talking about your nerd game.”

All playful pretenses dropped and Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? The perfect Steve Harrington can’t play a game for nerds? I thought you were over all that.”

“Eddie, that’s not why. You know I don’t care about that anymore. I like watching you guys play, I just don’t understand it. Maybe some other time,” Steve placated him but it only served to make Eddie more mad. 

“That’s bullshit, Steve!” Steve’s blood ran cold at his words. “You don’t think the ‘perfect jock’ can play a nerd game? That’s just complete bullshit.”

Steve just stood up from the couch and collected his keys from the table beside the door. He turned to look at Eddie and spoke softly, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m going to go home.”

“Steve-”

“No, no, it’s uh- it’s just bullshit, right? I’ll catch you later.” Then, he went to his car and headed home. So much for a relaxing evening.  

How could things have changed so quickly? One second they were enjoying pizza and talking about dumb shit the kids had done in the past week and in the next they were arguing about nerds and jocks, the dumb shit from high school that didn’t mean anything. It’s all such… bullshit. He thought he was over all of that meaningless high school drama yet here he was. He was still messing things up without even trying. He should’ve just sucked it up and agreed to play the dumb game instead of ruining their night. No wonder Eddie was so mad at him.

When Steve got home, it was to a dark and empty house. He was alone once again with his parents on some trip, his boyfriend mad at him, his best friend out of town, and the kids no longer needing a babysitter. He hated this cavernous house, the bareness on the walls, and the emptiness that matched the feelings in his chest. He just wanted to go somewhere else, to be welcomed into another house that wasn’t so devoid of character. He thought that would be Eddie’s trailer but he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

He was torn from his thoughts at the ring of the landline. Steve considered not answering it, thinking it may be Eddie trying to apologize or rag on him some more. After his comments of being bullshit, Steve thought he deserved some pettiness. Ultimately though, the Midwestern politeness ingrained in him pushed Steve to answer the call. “Harrington residence, this is Steve. How can I help you?”

“Steve? Oh honey, I’m so sorry to be calling,” a tearful voice murmured. 

It took Steve a moment to place the voice but when he did, a strum of anxiety skittered across his chest. “Aunt Becky? What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Sweetheart, it’s your grandmother. She’s in critical condition and the doctors say she could pass at any time now. I already called your parents and they’re on their way. Honey, if you want to see her, you should come now.” 

Steve’s heart dropped. His mother’s mother, his grandma, had always been his favorite. She babysat him when he was younger, called him every few weeks to check in, and sent him the most thoughtful presents on his birthday and Christmas. Despite the chaos of his personal life at the moment, he had to go see her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t get to say goodbye to her after all she’d done for him. 

“Um, okay. I’ll head up there now and I can be there in a few hours. Do you-do you need anything?” He asked his aunt. 

“No, that’s okay. Drive safe and let your brother know, okay?” 

Steve nodded in response before remembering that she couldn’t see him. “I’ll call him. See you soon.”

Steve hung up the phone before immediately picking it back up to call his brother. They weren’t close, especially after the events of Spring Break, but they were still family and he deserved the chance to say goodbye to his grandmother as well. There was no answer on his home phone so Steve dialed 9-1-1. 

“Hawkins Sheriff Department, this is Officer Callahan. What’s your emergency?”

“Phil, it's Steve. I know we’re not really talking but Grandma is dying tonight and I’m going to Illinois to say goodbye. Can you please come with me?”

“Wha- Steve? How do you know? What happened?” Phil stammered.

“Aunt Becky called, she says that Grandma is in critical condition and the doctors say that she could die at any time. If we want to see her, we have to go now.” Steve’s voice was panicked as he spoke. 

“Um- yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll uh, I just need to write a note and I’ll come pick you up, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes,” his brother comforted, his voice gentle over the phone. 

“Okay, bye.”

Steve rubbed a hand through his hair. Could this night get any worse? Not only was he on Eddie’s shit list, his grandma was dying, and now he had to sit in a car for four hours with his estranged, older step-brother. Lovely that this was how Steve’s life was going, just lovely. 

He threw some clothes in a bag along with his hair care products and a toothbrush and then he sat on the trunk of his car in the driveway waiting for Phil. He didn’t know how long he would be gone but he’d rather be prepared. On the fifteenth minute of waiting, Phil’s powder blue Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb and his brother’s head popped out of the open window. 

“Let’s go, shitface! We don’t have time to waste!” He called obnoxiously. 

Steve grumbled as he got into the car but quieted when Phil handed him a coffee. 

“... Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waved away. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes until they passed the Leaving Hawkins sign and Steve spoke up. “I hate the mustache by the way.”

“Why would you say that to me?!”

“It looks like an emaciated squirrel died on your face!” Steve said. 

“That’s rich of you to say when you have so much hair it looks like a helmet!” Phil’s voice raised in defense. 

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Steve sputtered.

They squabbled the entire four hour drive to Illinois and it brought a feeling of levity to Steve’s chest. Despite the circumstances, he felt better than he had in a while and all it took was minorly bullying his brother to get there. 

~*~*~*~

Hopper has never been so confused in his life and that was saying something because he’s gone through some major shit. But getting woken up at the dredges of dawn to a panicked Eddie Munson showing up at his door would do that. Almost at the point of tears, he told him that Steve was missing after a fight they had the night prior and he was worried that something might have happened to him. 

Hopper had to deal with Munson knocking on his door before appropriate business hours, the kids panicking because of Steve maybe going missing, and Joyce panicking that something could be going on with the Upside Down. Why else would Steve go missing?

Things only got more complicated and confounding when he arrived at the station to see a poorly written note from Callahan stuck to his desk. It read, ‘me + brother out of town, gma is sick. B back soon. Toodles.’

So now not only is his kid missing, but he’s also down a deputy, and he’s got the Party breathing down his neck annoying him about it. 

Hopper took a big swig of his coffee and sighed, this was going to be a long weekend.

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[p1nkprincess444]

‧₊˚𖥸 sᴋᴀᴛᴇʀ ʙᴏʏ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ) - ᴄʟʏᴅᴇ {ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ} 𖥸˚₊‧

female!reader x clyde

word count: 1,122

contents: 18+

part one

The next weekend your parents had to go out of town on a business trip, so it seemed like the perfect time to invite Clyde over. You called him on the yellow landline phone in your bedroom.

I smiled to myself as I dialed his number into my phone. I held it close to my ear as I waited for someone to answer, “ Hello, Is this Clyde? ”

“ Yeah, what’s up, ” Clyde recognized your voice instantly as you spoke.

“ Oh- uhm my parents are going out of town this weekend… and I was wondering if you wanted to st-stay over, ” I twirled the cord of the phone nervously between my fingers as I waited for his response.

“ Yeah, I’ll be over in an hour if- if that’s okay.”

“ Yeah, I’ll see you then. Bye Clyde, ” I smiled brightly as I hung up the phone.

Immediately after I hung up I jumped into my shower and did my hair followed by putting on a frilly white dress. When it hit 7 o’clock you knew Clyde would be coming any minute. A few moments later your doorbell rang revealing Clyde on your doorstep holding a bag and a daisy in his other hand.

“ Hey- I got this for you, ” he smiled as he handed it to you, a slight blush creeping up on both of your cheeks.

“ Thank you, and come in, ” I smiled as I held the small flower before bringing him into my living room.

I put the flower in a small vase as we sat together on my couch watching a horror movie. I felt him staring at me while I watched the movie. I turned to look at him, causing us both to blush as we stared at each other, the faint glow of the television illuminating our faces. Clyde gently cupped my face with one of his hands as we both leaned in and kissed each other gently. As the kiss grew more intense you slipped into his lap as his hand trailed up under your dress grabbing at your ass and thighs. 

“ Clyde- let’s go up to my room, ” I said as my hands remained tangled in his hair.

He quickly nodded and grabbed his bag before following you upstairs to your bedroom. You held his hand as you sat him on the bed, You gently sat back down on his lap as you resumed your kiss. 

“ I want you so bad, please let me have you, ” he mumbled against your lips.

You pushed off his button-up shirt followed by his t-shirt. Clyde quickly followed your movements sliding your dress up and over your head, making you giggle as result. You both pulled off each other's clothes till you were both sat in your underwear. 

“ Clyde- I’ve never done this before, ” I said meekly as I sat in his lap while his hands fumbled with trying to unclasp my bra.

“ Neither have I- but- but I have these, ” Clyde grabbed his bag from the floor pulling out a roll of condoms as he smiled.

You giggled as you kissed him again before he finally undid your bra letting your breast fall out of it. You blushed as he took them in his hands before leaning down to take them in his mouth. You moaned softly as his tongue swirled around your now hardened nipple before switching to give your other breast equal attention. He moved his kisses down your body before kneeling in front of you before he hooked his fingers around your panties pulling them down your thighs. You laid back on your bed before he quickly buried his head between your thighs making you moan his name. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lapped at your folds. 

“ Clyde- fuck, ” I moaned his name like a mantra as I grew closer to my climax. 

His tongue swirled around your clit as he pushed two of his fingers inside of you. Your back arched and your nails dug into the sheets as you came on his fingers and tongue. Clyde sat up with a satisfied grin as he licked his fingers clean before crawling into bed next to you. He cupped your cheek with his hand as he kissed you deeply. His tongue tangled with yours making sure you could taste yourself on his tongue. He pulled away gently as he slid off his boxers letting his cock spring out. Your eyes widened at the size before you looked up at him. Clyde kissed you gently as he grabbed the roll of condoms. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth before rolling the condom onto his cock moaning softly as he did so. He sat up and pulled you into his lap letting his cock press against your entrance.

“ Are you ready, ” Clyde asked softly as he tucked your hair behind your ear. You nodded in response, but Clyde grabbed your chin and made you look into his eyes, “ use your words princess. ”

I melted at his words as I looked into his now dark blue eyes that were filled with lust, “ y-yes .”

He took your hips in his hands as he slowly lowered you down onto his cock. You both let out satisfied moans as you took him completely inside of yourself.

“ Shit- you’re so fucking tight, ” he mumbled softly as your foreheads rested against one anothers.

He slowly moved you up and down on his cock as he gave you time to adjust. You rolled your hips against his as your lips connected with his. Lewd noises slipped out between both of your lips as Clyde began to move you faster on his cock. His hips bucked up into yours as you moved up and down on his cock faster. He took one of your breasts in his mouth making your moans grow louder as your fingers tangled in his wavy brown hair. 

“ Clyde- fuck I’m so close, ” I moaned into his ear as I rolled my hips against his desperately for release. 

You could feel his cock twitch inside of you as his fingers dug into your hips while he slammed up into you, “ cum for me baby. ” 

You moaned his name louder as he hit that deep spongy spot inside of you desperate to make you cum before him. You cried out his name as you both came at the same time. Clyde's movements slowed as your foreheads rested against each other while you caught your breath. You kissed his lips gently as you held each other close.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Year Two

Part Three of Three Years

Year One | Masterlist | Year Three

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 7.2K

Notes: ….Hi! It’s part three! Huzzah!

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan; slapping; grinding; biting; the next chapter has more spice

Summary: Despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were. 

Jenn is. 

“We’ve gotta jump, we’ll be late on another call.” 

It’s a warning that’s almost never been heeded before, but you say it as firmly as you can. You can feel your team casting a wary glance between you and the landline that you’re crowded around in the otherwise sparsely decorated conference room. 

The old conference rooms at Sc(ai)le’s original headquarters could be a little tight for team conference calls, but at least they were comfy. The tables weren’t too big, but could fit most everyone’s laptops, and a drink or two. There had been armchairs, couches—enough space for people to chat, take calls, have a quick huddle—whatever was needed. By contrast, the conference rooms at the new headquarters feel like blank, sterile canvases. They have yet to be outfitted properly. For now, you’re all stuck with the chairs from your desks that you’ve rolled in, sitting around a long, bland, white conference table, with a landline in the middle.

“Move whatever you’re going to back,” Bateman’s order is haughty. “We haven’t finished ironing this out. I still have questions.” 

A year and a half ago, you would’ve heeded him. A year and a half ago, you would’ve been afraid to push back, wary of Nathan’s burgeoning relationship with Jenn, and with Sc(ai)le. But now, a year and a half in, you’re far more aware of what you are and aren’t willing to put up with. It’s a gamble, a stupid one, but you roll the fucking dice: 

“I hear you, and I’ll be more than happy to answer them. Pop them in an email and send them over at your earliest convenience. Thanks so much for your time, Nathan.”

You can only hope that your using his name softens the blow of how abruptly you hang up on him. You glance down at your computer repeatedly, eyeing the number for the other meeting that you’re dialing into the landline as you punch it in. You glance around, finding your team slack-jawed and stunned. 

“I cannot believe you just did that.” 

It falls out of Amelia’s open mouth with a shocked laugh. She’s one of the product owners, someone that you’ve been working with since before you brought onto the C-Suite—and has had a front-row ticket to the rapid decline of your giving a fuck. You shrug a shoulder. 

“He’ll get it,” You insist. “He knows how these meetings run over. If it’s between cutting him off or being late for our biggest client, the fuck is he gonna do, tell us to lose money?” 

A couple of your team members guffaw, and you glance up to see some of them trying to fight back smiles. It makes you grin. 

“Alright, c’mon,” You urge, even as you chuckle, yourself. “Button that up, we gotta work.” 

-- 

You wait for the slap on the wrist from Nathan. When it doesn’t come, you wait for it from Jenn. As your monthly one on one closes out, you expect the question: Why the fuck did you hang up on our biggest backer? Stunningly, it never comes. Maybe Nathan didn't mention it to her, even in passing. Maybe he recognizes that your judgement call was the right one.

The company is in a better place than it was last year. Sc(ai)le is drawing clients and revenue in hand over fucking fist. With the newest burst of AI chatbots coming out, there has been a wave of prospective clients. Companies that used to be too busy for you are now beating down your doors. For the first time, you have a chance to be selective about your clients. They’re chasing you and your tech, not the other way around. The company has swelled from 150 people to 400 in just under a year.

Most of your local workforce is coming into Sc(ai)le’s office at least three times a week. Some opt to come in more days than their contracts necessitate, not because they like it, but because it’s just faster to run over someone’s desk to ask a fucking question than to Slack them and pray that they’re somewhere near their laptop. You’re busy, busier than you’ve ever been. The amount of work that you’ve been hit with in the first six months of your second year is closer to what you’d initially expected when you’d agreed to take on two C-Suite positions.

Are you tired? Yes. 

Do you remember what your apartment still looks like in the daylight? Not really. 

Do you have personal relationships outside of work anymore? Definitely not. 

But you’re staring down the barrel of a year and a half of work for stock options and a job wherever the fuck you want. 

There are some moments, rare moments, when you almost want to thank Nathan for strong-arming you into this position. But there are other, far more frequent moments when you want to tell him to take his ego and his backing and cram it up his frighteningly round ass. 

--  

“Knock-knock.” 

You don’t bother to look up; you know the voice well enough. It sets your teeth on edge. You keep typing, eyes on your computer as your fingers fly across the keyboard. 

“You know, there is a door there,” You point out, “Most people actually bother to knock on it.” 

“That’s standard procedure for a closed door. Yours is wide-open. Saying knock-knock was just a formality. I could’ve walked right in.” 

“If you want, I can get up and shut the door, let you knock like a normal human being.”

“Nothing about me is normal, sweetheart.” 

The endearment makes your fingers freeze over your keyboard. It’s not a surprise that he does it so damn easily—but what is surprising is how it seems to just knock your brain offline. 

“Are you in my doorway for a reason?” You finally ask. It’s a moment too late; you can hear him lower into a seat across from you. 

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks. You fight back a sigh. 

“I’m assuming I’m having dinner with you.” 

“You catch on quick.” 

You let your eyes slide to him. “You’re more predictable than you’d like.”

Nathan’s expression flickers with annoyance, but he’s quick to cover it up again. 

“That’s something I’ve never been accused of.” 

“First time for everything. We going to the diner again?” 

He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, head jerking back with it before it tips forward again. You fight back a smile as you turn toward your computer again.

“Just be ready by seven,” He adds. 

“Alright.” 

“And don’t try to worm out of it,” Bateman warns as he pushes himself to stand and rounds toward the door. “I’ll pull my funding.” 

“I’m shaking in my boots.” 

You force yourself to keep typing, even as you hear Nathan’s step hesitate before it fades complete. It’s just a little, just for a second—but to sense that you’ve managed to put a hitch in Bateman’s day and workflow when he’s put such a hitch in your life? Hell, that feels like your birthday came early. 

--  

“Too bad Jenn couldn’t join us.” 

You’re trying to goad him. From her reaction to your mention of having dinner with Bateman—the way she’d pouted just a little before brightening, telling you to have fun, and to charge it to the company card—you’re fairly certain that he hadn’t mentioned it to her at all. Bateman hardly blinks as he excuses: 

“She had a conflict.” 

That’s bullshit. 

“Besides,” He pushes on before you can argue, “You and I haven’t had a one on one since you came onto the team.” 

“There was that time at, uh…Karaoke,” You correct. 

“Thanks for the reminder. What are we singing?” 

You raise your brows, unimpressed. “Why don't we just pencil that in for my retirement party.” 

“You already have that planned?” 

“Oh, sure. I’m going to make you rent out that, uh—That palazzo, out in Beverly Hills? I want an ice sculpture, the most VIP of VIPs, a whose-who of the tech industry’s who’s.” 

“You make a playlist yet?” 

“No, but it’ll be done, don't you worry about that.” 

Nathan searches your gaze for a moment, and you see a wrinkle of curious confusion there. 

“What are the hang ups?” He asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You, in this position. You’re pushing the processes forward, you developed a uniform product release cadence and communications workflow. The efficiency is through the roof, but you’re still unsatisfied.” 

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. You let your gaze drift over the decor of the restaurant, rather than hold Nathan’s eye, and let him find a hundred little faults in you. The restaurant that he’s chosen is startlingly intimate—it has a short bar, with just two seats, and only a handful of tables and chairs. The recessed lighting has been dimmed for the evening, and if the table between you and Nathan had been just a little bit longer, you might’ve had to squint to get a better look at him. As it is, your knees are brushing under the table, and if you make one wrong move reaching for the drinks menu, you’re going to make even more contact with the guy than you’ve ever wanted. 

“Is it the pay?" He presses into your silence. "Because frankly, you’re being paid more than you’re worth."

“Really? I’ve been offered more to do less.” 

He bristles, and you bite back a smile. He doesn’t like that—and he doesn’t need to know that it’s a bluff. You’re sure he’ll make inquiries, now that you’ve said it, and you’re sure that every one of them will tell him the truth: that you’ve never been approached by any one of them. He won’t trust it. It’s just an added little bit of discord. Hell, you’re almost proud of it. 

“What is it?” He presses. 

“This wasn’t a choice for me,” You shale your head, “It was a negotiation tactic. Actually, you know what, let’s just call it what it really was: it was a fucking emotional blackmail.” 

He rolls his eyes openly. “Emphasis on emotional.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” You scoff, “As if you’d ever take this shit lying down.” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

“Exactly, so—” 

“I wouldn’t have signed on in the first place.” 

The fact makes you go quiet for a moment. 

“Because you don’t have anyone like Jenn?” 

“Because even if I had someone like Jenn, I’d leave them to sort out their own shit.” 

“Well, I’ll just add that to the ever-growing list of differences between you and I.” 

“It’s not that long.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We’re not so different, you and I.”

“Did you watch Austin Powers on the plane?” 

“Raiders of the Lost Ark.” 

“Isn’t that, uh…Our methods are not so different as you pretend?” 

“I paraphrased. And do I really look like someone that watches Austin Powers in his free time?” 

“No comment.” 

“I think we’re more similar than you’d like to believe. I think that pisses you off.” 

He’s right—and it pisses you off even more. You fight to keep from fidgeting in front of him, giving him the satisfaction of your open annoyance. You finally shake your head slowly, keeping your gaze on Nathan’s.

“I’m nothing like you. And I never wanna be.” 

You wanna slap the widening smile off of his face. 

“Wouldn’t take much,” He goads. “I’d say you’re already halfway there. Start missing a few dinners because you’re working, start keeping a change of clothes at the office, sleeping in one of the conference rooms because you realize it’s four in the morning and you won’t have time to get back to yours, shower, change, and not fall asleep on your couch while you wait for your leftovers to heat up in your microwave.”

You feel your face going hot. You don’t want to admit that you’ve already started doing every single one of those things—that you’ve done two of those things in the last forty-eight hours. 

“You know where you go from there?” Nathan folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and holding your gaze with a smiling smugness. “You stop giving a fuck what other people think. Like it or not, that’s going to include Jenn. The only voice that starts to matter is yours.” 

“I told you,” You press, “I’m nothing like you.”

“And if you realize that you are?” 

“I’ll shave my head, start wearing polo shirts, and move to the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” 

“The commute would be a nightmare.” 

“You might look cute bald.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The two of you fall quiet as the server sets your drinks down. You gaze at yours, wondering if you can drain it and run, feign illness, or snipe that you have to join Jenn at her meeting. Maybe you can tell Nathan that you just don’t want to be there—but maybe that’s exactly what he would do. So you obligingly knock your glass against his, take a measured sip, and resolve yourself to sit through this. 

“Alright,” Nathan finally relents as he sets his glass down, “We’ll move off of work. Talk about something else.” 

“Like what.” 

“You ever think about starting your own company?” 

Your brows raise. 

“This is how you talk about something other than work?” 

“You hate having a boss.” 

“You really like to talk in absolutes, don’t you,” You comment dryly. “I don’t mind having a boss.” 

“You never just wanted to break off, strike out on your own?” 

You consider bullshitting him, but this drink is still pretty damn full, and if you have it too fast, you’re almost certain he’ll insist on your having another. So you consider for a moment, then shrug. 

“I guess I did, once. When we’d just gotten out of here. Jenn was working on getting Sc(ai)le going.” 

“So, what happened?” 

“Nothing ‘happened’. One of us had to keep things afloat until she had her foot in the door.” 

“You resent her for it?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I would.” 

“Well, I already told you. We’re not the same.” 

“What was it?” 

“The idea?” 

“Mhm.” 

“A consulting firm, crisis-response specific.” 

“You could do it, you know. Once your contract is done—as long as you can resist the urge to stay.” 

“I’m not going to stay.” 

“Not even if Jenn asks you to? I know how much she values your opinion. Almost as highly as she values mine.” 

You used to think that Jenn valued your opinion twice as much as Nathan’s, but these days, you’re dismayed to say that you’re not so sure about that. 

“She won’t ask me.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“If I tell her I’m happy to serve my three years and move on, she’ll be fine with it.” 

“And if she isn’t?” 

“She’ll learn to be fine with it.” 

“You wouldn’t take her wishes into consideration?” 

“The last time I did, I wound up working for you.”

“So the only voice that matters on this subject is yours.”

He’s smiling like the cat that got the goddamn cream. You fight off a groan of irritation. You hadn’t been expecting it—why the hell weren’t you expecting it? You’re mad that he caught you out like that. 

Worse, you sort of admire it. 

--  

Nathan’s little visits begin increasing in frequency. You don’t question it. Maybe it’s BlueBook business; maybe it’s Sc(ai)le; maybe he’s looking into investing with another company and he just happens to be in town more these days. Whatever the fuck it is, you don’t care. You just care that Nathan is now sitting in on your meetings with various departments, with the C-Suite, with you and Jenn. It’s like you can’t swing your laptop without whacking the guy these days. 

But despite how irritating he can be, you’re finding that you mind Nathan less and less these days. He’s more like a common fungi: opportunistic, probably not harmful if consumed—not that you’re rushing to consume him, as it were. 

Jenn is. 

Jenn is soaking up this time with Nathan like a goddamn sponge. You haven’t seen her this bright, this engaged in some kind of personal relationship in a long time, since way before Sc(ai)le.  

Look, maybe you’re being a little judgemental, you’re almost certain that Jenn has a crush on Nathan. And that is…A little alarming. For one, it means putting even more of her time and interest into the guy. Beyond that, it means that she may be pinning her romantic hopes on the guy who the company’s financial hopes are resting on. Sure, Sc(ai)le is getting bigger, doing better, but the cash flow into the company is still coming from Bateman. 

You think of that as you see Jenn throw her head back in a giggle, her hand landing on Bateman’s forearm. He grins, glancing toward you. If you knew less, you’d think he was trying to get you to laugh, too. But it’s Nathan, and you know better. He’s showing off. He’s showing off how likable he is to your best friend. He’s showing off the fact that he’s making her laugh, not you. He’s showing you that your place in your best friend’s life is being usurped. 

Asshat.

You look down at your food as Jenn’s laughter quiets to giggles, then tapers entirely. You can feel both of them watching you, and you make a point of poking through your food, just to have something to do. You hadn’t even planned on  joining the two of them for dinner, but they’d happened to catch you on your way to the parking lot and insisted. 

Grabbing a meal with Jenn is fine. You can sort of tolerate grabbing a meal with Nathan. But the two of them, together? Cripes, you don’t think you can take much more of this. You can only hope this place doesn’t have a damn dessert menu. Jenn can’t resist a piece of cheesecake, and you’re dying to get the hell out of here. You’re not sure you can take much more of her simping and grinning over a man that you find moderately repugnant, and mildly attractive. 

You frown, putting your fork down in favor of taking up your wine and drawing in a deep sip. 

Mildly attrac—Where the fuck did that come from? Whatever it was, it’s left a bad taste in your mouth. 

“You alright over there?” Nathan asks. 

“Great,” You answer flatly once you’ve swallowed, “Thanks.” 

“Food not to your liking? We’ll get you something else.” 

You shake your head, gaze flickering to Nathan’s. “Seriously, I’m fine.” 

“We’ll go somewhere else.” 

“That is even less necessary than getting me something else to eat.” 

“So!” Jenn chirps, breaking into your and Bateman’s bickering, “We should go somewhere after this, right?” 

“You know what, I actually can’t,” You give what you hope is a regretful smile, “I’ve got a call.” 

“This late?” Nathan looks down at his watch, “Who with?” 

“Brickandbound, the SaaS company down in Sydney. It’s only about two in the afternoon over there. And, actually,” You push your chair back, “I did not realize how late it is. I should get back to my office, prep with the team. Thanks for dinner, Nathan.” You glance toward Jenn, warming at the grateful smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you later, Jenn. Bateman, let me know how much to Venmo you.” You offer him a pat on the shoulder, then round him, dropping a kiss to Jenn’s head before heading out. You don’t bother to give them a second look, you just go. 

--  

Mildly attractive. Mildly attractive? When the fuck did that happen? 

Maybe it’s because you’ve been around him so much, and because, well…He is. He’s still an irritating little worm, of course, the most annoying person on the fucking planet (after Elon), but he’s sort of…Hot. His eyes are dark, and when he’s worked up, his gaze can be intense. His lips seem far more pink and plump these days, but that could be the increasing growth of his beard, which he only seems to trim every week or so. And his smile, which you seem to be privy to more and more these days, can be kinda nice—when it’s not smug, or slick, which is fairly rare. Still, you’re certain you’ve gotten a true smile from him a couple of times. They’re in the minority, and maybe that’s why they seem so much more special when you do get them. 

You lean back in your seat in the conference room, listening to the sales and acquisitions team as they prep around you, volleying pitch lines back and forth, tweaking wording. You can only hope that Jenn’s getting those smiles from him—legitimate smiles, the kinds that’ll turn her insides to goo. She better fucking thank you for your hasty retreat later. 

You glance over as you hear the team beginning to dial in. You draw in a deep breath, pushing it out quietly through your lips. You’ve been on tons of these, but they still make you a little nervous. You sort of hate it. If you’re still nervous, it means that a small part of you still gives so much of a shit that you’re afraid to make a mistake. You glance around as you hear everyone introduce themselves on the call, and open your mouth to add your name, but freeze as you see the door open. 

He shouldn’t be there. He should be in some dim bar with Jenn. She should be batting her fucking eyelashes, playing with the hair that she just got done today because Bateman had emailed to let the two of you know that he would be in town—

“Hey, you’ve got Bateman on the line.” He’s waving the person in the seat next to you over one before he sits down, turning your laptop toward him to get a good look at the deck, your notes. You watch, lips parted, absolutely gobsmacked. There’s just a pause before you manage to give your name on the call, to fill in the blank—and then sales and acquisitions push on. 

You hardly speak on the call. You don’t have to. The team has it handled. Luckily for you, Nathan keeps his damn mouth shut, too, save to lean over and murmur the odd question in your ear. The brush of his warm breath against your ear makes your stomach flip. You’re horrified at the feeling—at the fact that the man is there with you, and not out somewhere with Jenn; at the fact that you’re feeling something other than utter disdain for Nathan. 

Is it petty jealousy? The idea that Jenn’s interest is becoming your interest? Like a little girl, jealous of the toy that her friend is playing with? Or is your disdain curdling in the oddest of ways? And what’s his fucking excuse? Is he chasing you down to piss you off? Is he chasing you down because he knows he’s pissing you off? Or did he clock the heat that you’d eyed him with over dinner, and is he after answers? 

You can’t imagine Nathan chasing anyone for anything but answers. 

-- 

You practically run out of the room once the meeting is up after thanking everyone. You nearly snap your laptop shut on Nathan’s questing fingers as you push yourself up, dropping your laptop into your bag, and going. You make it down the hall and around one corner before you feel fingers close around your wrist, his fingers tugging you to slow, “Hey, where the fuck’s the fire—” 

You whirl around, yanking your wrist away from him. 

“What the fuck, Nathan!” 

His surprise splits to smugness. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“You know something is,” You spit. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing here?” 

“I was told there was a meeting.” 

“You didn’t need to be here for it. You should be out.” 

“Out? Doing what?” 

“Out doing anything but pissing me the fuck off.” You whirl away from him, striding down the hall, and foolishly hoping that he’ll let it go. He follows you, and you hope that he’ll stop at the elevator, but he keeps right up with you. You nearly manage to slam your door in his face, but he just pushes it open, chiming, “Knock knock.” 

“Please leave.” 

“Why are you so pissed off?”

“Why are you here?” 

“In the building? In this business?”

“In my office, why are you here right now?” 

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Well, my purpose is manifold.” 

“Oh, for fuckssake.” 

“But I’m mostly here to piss you off.” 

“Well, mission accomplished, asshat.”

You drop your things on your desk, then glance up, doing a double-take at the sight of Nathan. He has his hands braced on the back of a chair, a wide grin pulling his lips.

“Stop that,” You grit out. 

“Stop what?” 

“Smiling at me. Looking at me, just cut it out.” 

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to crack.” 

“Crack?”

“You have been dying to snap at me since the day we met.”  

“That is not true.” 

“No?” 

“No!” 

“Since when, then?” 

“Since you locked me into that dumb fucking contract.” 

“I only offered you the contract. You locked yourself into it. Admit it, you hate it. You hate this, you hate me, you hate Jenn.” 

The accusation spears through you like a hot, sharp knife. 

“That’s not true,” You hiss, rounding your desk.

“You do, you resent her for needing you. You resent her for needing me, too. If she could just get her shit together by herself, neither of us would be here.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“And if you’d trusted her ability to get shit done, you wouldn’t have taken this job.”

“I thought you would be good for Jenn—You have been good for Jenn, and for the company—” 

“But not for you. Nothing I’ve done has been good for you, has it—Not the raise, not the titles, not the work.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Am I wrong about that, too? Do you secretly like what you do? Or are you just going along to get along, biding your time until you can get out of here?” 

“Get out.” 

“I paid for this office, I’ll stay here as long as I want.” 

“Get. Out.” 

“Hell, I paid for you, I’ll talk to you as long as I—” 

The slap is louder than his smug pronouncements. You’re certain it stings your hand and his cheek in equal measures. Your gut swoops. Oh—Fuck. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounds; your chest heaves. You swallow thickly as the room falls into complete silence. Nathan’s pupils are blown wide, the darkness nearly fully obscuring the brown you’ve come to know. You see his mouth move, but what he says doesn’t land on your ears the way it should. 

“...What?” You ask warily. 

“I said, do that again.” 

Your stomach churns. He’s got to be kidding. 

“No.”

“C’mon,” He urges. “I’ve been pissing you off for a year and a half now, that’s all you’ve got in you? One slap? A half-decent one at that.” 

Half-decent? There’s no way. Your palm is still stinging. 

“Do it,” He urges, taking a step closer. “Do it again.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Hit me.” 

“Fuck you—” 

“You want me to turn the other cheek?” He asks, tipping his head from one way to the other. You balk at the sight of his red cheek. “Hm?” 

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“You think I’m mad?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No.” 

“You should be.” 

“Why’s that?” Nathan shakes his head. “You just showed me who you are the first time—who you really are.” 

“This isn’t who I am,” You hiss, shaking, "No matter how badly you want to be right, I'll never be you."

“You’re right. If someone I hated offered to let me hit them again, I would’ve done it by now.” 

You raise your arm, winding up for a slap, but Nathan catches hold of your wrist before the blow can land. Panic flares in your chest, and you pull in a nervous breath as he yanks you closer. Your feet stumble, leaden weights keeping your unsteady legs nearly locked into place. Nathan keeps his grip on your wrist, his eyes darting over your face. 

“You do hate me, don’t you,” He murmurs, breath brushing your lips, fanning the embers of your anger. 

“With my entire being, you pompous piece of sh—” 

Nathan’s mouth covers yours with fierce harshness before you can get the rest out. You twist in his grasp, wrenching your wrist away from him. He lets go obligingly, but neither of you get far. You cup his cheeks, sinking your teeth into his lower lip and giving it a harsh tug. His growl snaps you out of it, and you draw back. 

“Fuck,” You hiss, drawing back, “I can’t, I—” You shake your head. 

“Can’t do what?” Nathan goads, hands grasping your hips. 

This.

You can’t do this to Jenn. You can’t give in to the man that’s been waiting for you to fall from the moment he met you. You meet Nathan’s eye. You take in the heat lingering there, the still-pink tinge of his cheek. 

“I can’t do this here.” 

--  

The trip to your apartment is taken in separate cars. It gives you time to change your mind, to clear your head. But you're still just as pissed, just as turned on. The sight of Nathan’s expectant face as he climbs out of his car makes both of those feelings so much worse. He doesn’t ask any questions as he follows you inside, as he stands almost menacingly close in the elevator, as he slouches against the wall as you unlock your door. You toss the keys into the basket by the front door, setting your work bag down. 

“Take your shoes off,” You order, nodding to Nathan’s feet as you lean against the wall, kicking yours off. Nathan follows suit as you walk deeper into your apartment, flicking on the light for the kitchen. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask. 

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.” 

“Drop the fucking Fight Club schtick, alright? I told you I was sorry.” 

“Were you?” 

“I was trying to be.” 

“I don’t want you to be.” He leans against your counter, watching you root around in your fridge. “You lose the fire already?” 

“Fuck you.” You grumble it, with only half of the heat that you felt in the office. Nathan laughs, shaking his head. 

“I knew I should’ve fucked you over your desk.” 

The comment makes heat flare in your stomach. 

“I wouldn’t have let you fuck me in there,” You shake your head. “That place is a fucking fishtank.” 

“You’ll let me fuck you here?” 

“I might have to slap you again, get back in the mood.” 

“I’d be alright with that.” 

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Nathan chuckles. 

“You really are a glutton for punishment.” 

“Little bit.” 

You gasp as he wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you back toward him. You whirl around, hands balled into fists, and find Nathan waiting for you, eyes bright with intrigue. You shake your head, lowering your hands to rest on his arms—his thick arms. 

This is bad. This is awful. Jenn wants this man, has the worst crush you’ve ever seen her have—she needs him for work, for funding, for—

Nathan’s lips catch yours, and all thoughts of Jenn are pushed from your mind. You sigh softly, fingers curling into fists again. 

“Fucking hate you,” You mumble against his lips. 

“I know,” He laughs, even as you pound one of your fists against his bicep. 

“Do you hate me?”

Nathan hums, grasping your hips and steering you back toward your counter. 

“I have no strong feelings one way or the other.”

“Oh—You know what, get off of me—” You protest, squirming, but Nathan’s laughing again, and you’re hardly pushing at his chest with any meaning, any force. He sucks a kiss to your neck, and your pushing hands take to grasping and pulling. You turn your head, catching Nathan’s lips with yours, whimpering as his hands push you into the harsh ridge of the counter. You rest your hands on Nathan’s shoulder’s, giving him a shove. You hardly move him. In fact, he leans more heavily against you, practically crushing you into the marble. He draws back from the kiss with a sucking sound, and a groan.

“I like that,” He murmurs. 

“What?” 

“You know what.” 

You hesitate before you give his shoulders another shove, then pound your fist against his arm. When Nathan doesn’t budge, you raise a hand, smoothing it over his cheek, then giving it a little tap. 

“C’mon,” He murmurs, “You can do better than that. Make it hurt a little.” 

You sweep your tongue across your lip, giving Nathan another tap, just a touch harder this time. Nathan grunts, and it’s all the warning you have before he’s turning you around. You shiver, bracing your hands on the counter. You twist, raising your hands as he draws your shirt up and off. You can’t get your hands out of the sleeves, and Nathan grasps the slack fabric, using the grasp of your shirt to keep your arms behind your back. You whimper, twisting as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. You wriggle against him, pressing your hips back. Nathan groans, pressing his face into your neck as he grinds up against you. Your clit pulses as you squeeze your thighs together, drawing in a shuddering breath. 

Nathan opens his mouth, panting hotly against your skin as his hands smooth up your sides and across your front, groping your breasts through your bra. You groan in frustration, your grinding turning to wriggling. 

“You gonna fuck around, or are you gonna fuck me?” 

You feel Nathan smile before a sharp sting digs into your skin. You hiss at the bite, throwing an elbow back against his gut. Nathan grunts at the contact, jerking away from you. He gives you a harsher shove against the counter, grasping the back of your neck roughly. You suck in a breath as he shoves your pants down around your knees. 

“This is the best you can do?” You snip. “Bending me over a counter?” 

Nathan chuckles low in your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“This is where we’re going to start,” He murmurs, “And by the time we’re finished, you won’t be able to stand.” 

--  

“Get out of my bed.” 

“We aren’t going to cuddle?” 

You don’t have to look at Nathan to know that there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. You’ve only spilled into your bedroom about an hour ago, and since you have, he’s drawn three more aching, slow orgasms out of you, and you’ve drawn two out of him. Now, you push yourself up and away from him, clammy hands flexing in the fabric of your sheets before you get up. You suddenly feel a wave of self-conscious nerves, naked in front of him. It didn’t matter to you a few minutes ago, when Nathan had been fucking you roughly from behind, his hands grasping greedily your shoulders, pressing with a force that’ll likely bruise you in just a couple of hours. 

“Get out,” You repeat. “You know where the door is.” 

You hurry into your bathroom, cranking on the shower. You force yourself inside before the water warms, wincing as the cool drops practically sting your heated flesh. You strain your ears over the sound of the water, biting your lip. You only stop when you hear the retreating thud of Nathan’s feet, and the subsequent sound of your front door closing. Once he’s out, you feel yourself relax marginally, bracing your hands against the wall and tipping your head under the warming water. You take painstaking care to clean yourself, doing your best to wipe his touch, skin, sweat, and cum from every inch of your body. 

Fuck, you can’t believe what you’ve done. Nathan is the company’s biggest backer. He helped you gain your footing; he helped you create a proper place for yourself in the market. He’s Jenn’s mentor—he’s Jenn’s crush for christsakes. And you just fucked him. 

Repeatedly. 

When you finally pull yourself out of the bathroom, the sky is still dark, and the apartment is quiet. You glance down the hall, trying to decide your best plan of action. You hesitate before you ultimately head to your bedroom. For all of your financial growth in the last couple of years, you still only have one set of sheets. Of all of the things that you made it a point to get when you moved into a newer, bigger place, bedding was never really a priority, and your late nights at the office have lessened the need further. Still, you can’t sleep in them tonight, not until you’ve washed them. You yank them off of the bed, balling them up and striding back into the hall, shoving them into the washer with an excess of laundry detergent and scent beads before turning the water setting to hot and the cycle to deep wash. 

You turn toward the kitchen next, already bracing for the sight of your discarded clothing, and the items scattered during your first frantic coupling with Nathan. You bite your lip as you come to the doorway, looking around. Cups, papers, a likely shattered BlueBook tablet. You almost want to walk away, to curl up on your bare mattress and ignore the aching in your muscles and core. But you grudgingly walk over and tidy the area, stacking them items and setting them on the counter. You take up the tablet last, wincing at the cracked screen. Yep. Bummer. You ought to expense it, just to spite him. Your lips quirk with a mean smile. Yeah, that’s what you’ll do—at least to annoy him. You’ll send him a repair invoice. Fuck it—you’ll send him an invoice for a whole new one. 

--  

“How was last night?” 

You nearly choke on your coffee at Jenn’s question, but you just manage to swallow thickly and give her a smile.

“Fine! Good,” You nod. “I think we’re close to a deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm. They just want to iron out some things contract-wise, but we should get the signatures just in time to onboard them next quarter.” 

“Awesome,” Jenn nods, smiling. She hesitates before adding, “Nathan said he was going to listen in on the call.” 

“He did.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

“On the call? No.” 

“Afterward?” 

“Nnn…Nope.” 

“Because a few people said that they heard arguing.”

You bite your lip. You can keep digging the hole that you’ve started, or you can come clean. 

“It wasn’t an argument, it was…A spirited discussion.” 

Halfway clean. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?” 

“Because, I know that you want me and Nathan to get along. And I know about the creepy little crush you have on Silicon Valley’s former boy-genius, so—” 

“Shut up,” Jenn whines, covering her face with her hands, “Oh my god! Am I that obvious?” 

“Probably just to me. I know you, hon. Bateman’s a smart guy, but I get the feeling that he doesn’t really get what the hair-tossing was meant to invoke last night.” 

Jenn groans again, resting her arms on her desk, and setting her head on her arms. You force a smile through the rotten feeling beginning to curdle in your gut. Jenn stays there for a moment before she lifts her head, resting her chin on her arms. 

“So I should be more upfront about my interest.” 

It’s not a question, which is concerning. 

“Jenn, I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because he’s our biggest backer, and besides you, he has the largest share of the company.” 

“It’s not a controlling interest.” 

“No, but…If things go sour, are you prepared for the business relationship to go sour?” 

“Nathan wouldn’t do that.” 

“You sure? He’s, like, the king of emotional blackmail.” 

“Maybe, but this has turned out alright, right?” Jenn waves her finger between the two of you. You consider for a moment before you nod. 

“Yeah,” You agree, “So far. But you and I aren’t fucking, Jenn. And I don’t have the industry pull and capital to bring the building down if I decide that I don’t like one of us anymore.” 

Jenn pouts, dropping her gaze to the desk and drawing in a deep breath. 

“Okay,” She mumbles. 

“I’m not saying never. I just think you should consider the ramifications.” 

“Fiiiiiiine,” Jenn pushes herself to sit up. “What was the spirited argument over, anyway?” 

“Just…” You flounder. “How he operates, how I operate. We don’t see eye to eye on most things outside of the business, you know that.” 

“You seemed to be better last night. At least, you didn’t spend the evening biting each other’s heads off.” 

Your palm tingles with the memory of Nathan’s cheek against your palm; you can see the snap of his head turning at the impact, the flash of hot intrigue in his eyes. You turn your gaze down to your notes in your lap, giving a small shrug. 

“We’re getting better.” 

-- 

“Could you sign for this, please?” 

You look up from the email you’re proofreading, nodding when you see one of the people from the mail room holding a slim package. 

“Sure thing.” You stand, rounding your desk and taking the proffered signature pad, scrawling it out and then passing it back with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good one.” 

"You, too."

You take the package, turning away and rounding your desk and opening it. Your brow furrows as you draw out a receipt and eye the Item Description column—

BlueBookTab - x1

Engrave

Your brows rise, a laugh escaping you. There’s no way. You only sent that invoice this morning, how the hell did Bateman get you a new one already? And engraved? You draw the tablet out of the box, turning it over in your hands and eyeing the etching: 

For two years of work

And one night of service

NB

Your jaw drops in shock, a stunned huff leaving you as you shake your head, fingers tightening around the tablet. Oh, you’re tempted to throw it at the wall just to spite him, and invoice him for another—but who knows that nasty shit he’d put on that one? 

You consider for a moment before you pitch it at the wall. It hits the floor with a satisfying thud. You pick your phone up, zooming in on the cracked tablet screen on the floor and taking a picture. You drop it into your current text thread with Nathan, sending it, along with one word: 

Whoops.

Before you can even close the text messages, you see Nathan typing on the other end. Your stomach flips as you wait. Then—

you can’t keep anything nice can you

Send me another one and let’s find out. 

did you like my little message? 

Oh, there was a message? I don’t think I saw anything 

But then, the things that you do don’t tend to leave an impression 

keep it up sweetheart 

You bite your lip, trying to fight back the smile pulling your lips. It fails when his next text pops up: 

im delivering the next one myself. make sure you don’t miss a thing.

Next part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @aellynera ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @revolution-starter ; @rachelwritesstuff ; @queen-of-elves

[fabraies-archive]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ THE PERFECT PAIR

ꔛ ⋆⁺ +.ﾟmusic store worker! fem! reader x semi eita, just fluff fluff fluff, i came up with this on a whim after getting asked out by my crush so this is why it’s so sweet without a single hint of angst. I am in love your honor

Ding!

The sound makes you whip your head in the direction of the shop entrance at the speed of light; after all, it’s not everyday someone actually steps into your shop.

The soon-to-be-client (you hope, at least), catches your eye after having stood in front of the vinyl section of the store, analysing the albums for around five minutes. You walk over, and as you do so, the handsome stranger is quick to let you know what he weaved you over for: “hey, I was just wondering if this one is still for sale?” He points to a colourful orange album, “there isn’t a price tag on it, so…”

You don’t let him think this for long and take this as an opportunity to showcase your business major skills. 

“No, no, it is for sale. It’s new, and one of the only items we had to restock, so.. pretty popular.” 

Turns out your so called business major skills are actually sort of lacking, especially in front of your intimidatingly handsome client. Your hands fumble with each other, unsure of what to do, before he clears his throat. 

“Great. That’s good to know, but um.. The price ?” 

You could die of embarrassment. You try to answer as straightfowardly as possile, as to avoid making this conversation any more awkward, but your mouth moves faster than your brain and you ramble again. 

“The price! Right, oh my god, I totally forgot I’m so sorry, uh, it doesn’t have a tag on, so I’ll just, um,” You scurry over to the back and manage a little ‘I’ll be back in a minute’ before you disappear behind the orange curtains. 

You come back a few moments later, to find the mysterious young man squatting down, checking out the vinyls. 

“We have some more upstairs if you’re interested.” 

At the sound of your voice, he noticeably jumps, hitting the top of his head on the upper shelf in the process. The scene makes you giggle, although you will admit it is hard to get up from that corner without missing the wood piece; you had experienced it many time already yourself. 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just,” He hisses, and holds his throbbing head in his hand. “The guitar ?” He asks again. 

“659$.” 

You congratulate yourself on the curt, straightforward answer, until the expression slowly taking over your client’s face makes you cut your inner festivities short. 

“I’m sorry. It’s an intermediate guitar, so, these usually end up between 500 and 900$. It’s already a pretty nice deal you have here because this is one is on the lower side of said range, but if you really can’t, the beginner guitars are way less-” 

“I’m not a beginner,” Your interlocutor smiles at your genuine attempt to console him. “but thanks. I’ll be back.” 

Just like that, the door hits the entrance bells again, this time to signal that the student left.

You feel stupid for feeling disappointed. Nothing would come out of this encounter, but once again, your delusional tendencies got the best of you. Besides, his looks were a dead giveaway that he was probably swarmed by girls everytime he entered campus. What were the chances for him to choose you out of all the girls that would throw themselves at his feet? 

Only a while later, on your way to close down the store do you notice the little piece of paper that stuck out between the vinyls, just where the gray haired man had been squatting earlier today. Your grab it out of curiosity, only to find a bunch of numbers written down hastily.

Realization hits you; it’s a phone number. You try your best to decipher the numbers when the store’s landline phone starts ringing. 

You jog over to the phone a to not make the person on the other side of the line wait. 

“Hello ?” 

A voice you thought you would never hear again answers, and you wonder what you did for the universe to be so kind to you. 

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to make sure you found my number on the vinyls shelf? And that you could read it. Cause you’re cute and, Valentine’s is coming up..”

[puzzledcretin]

The Start of Something New..

This is the snippet of a personal project I'm working on!

Things to know: all relevant characters are named after objects in space, this world contains five species that dominate the planet, and in this chapter you're introduced to three characters. Mars, Terra, and Mercury.

Terra huffed as she watched the other behind the bar. It was the end of the night, everything was closed and now they just had to clean up. And if Terra was taking a small break with a small drink as she watched Mars wipe everything down, it was no one’s business.

“Where are you going tonight?”

“Hm?”

Mars barely looked up when asked the question, leading Terra to know the answer all to well. 

“I don’t want you going back there.” She stated, staring at the human as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“What do you mean? I have to go back there. Jupiter and I have to patch some things up.” Mars responds, finally lifting his gaze to meet Terra’s. And that’s when she feels it. The uncertainty, the fear. She glances down at Mars’ hand balled up in the wet rag and clutching it.

“But you won’t, will you?”

“What do you know?” Mars scoffs, reaching down to dump his ice bucket in the sink. The half melted slush splashed back at him and he let out a huff. He dropped the bucket, letting it drip into the sink as he moved on to grab the bottles he had pulled out and put them away properly.

“I know that you always say you’ll patch things up and then come home miserable.” Terra responds, leaning her cheek against her palm, “I know that you say he’ll get better but he never does. And I bet when you come home and I ask “are you two together?” You won’t have an actual answer for me. Because he won’t give you one either.”

“… He just doesn’t want to-“

“Bullshit. He’s playing a game and you’re the doll. And you let him.” Terra stated. Mars looked at her, tossing the last bottles into the fridge before pressing the lock. 

“You think I’m not playing too? What, you think I don’t have my pieces on the board?”

“I think he doesn’t let you see the board.”

The tension in the air was thick, two stubborn forces meeting in the middle of a landline riddled battle field. 

Denial and logic battling it out before their eyes with double edged swords and no way to hold on.

Mars went to open his mouth but instead the two heard knocking at the door. They exchanged a glance before Terra shrugged and got to her feet, walking over to answer.

Behind it, the young Aphin boy. He had a bright smile, showing off those fangs but there was no ill intent.

“Hey uh.. I think I left my wallet? It’s uh… green with a Tri force on it?” He asked. Terra turned to Mars, whose eyebrow was arched. It was clear he was trying to be nosey and listen in but was unable.

“Wallet, green, nerd things?” Terra asked. It took a moment for Mars to process before he nodded and ducked under the bar, pulling the wallet out and holding it up.

“Yes! That’s it!” The young Aphin pointed, but made no effort to move into the threshold and past Terra.

Mars walked around the bar, coming over and offering the customer his wallet back. The young man took it and immediately checked for his cash, groaning. “So much for my ride home.. looks like I’m walking,” 

The Aphin laughed, offering a wave, “well, thanks for keeping it! I appreciate it,”

Mars stared at the young man and Terra could feel the energy shift so dramatically it almost left her nauseous.

“I’ll walk you home,” 

Terra looked to Mars with an arched brow, but the human only smiled. She recognized this behavior, chasing after a rush just to feel something. Terra had watched this behavior blossom over several months. The Aphin seemed shocked but then he nodded, “sure, maybe I can get you that coffee I offered earlier?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” 

Mars went to step out the door then paused and looked to Terra, “Is it… Okay?”

Terra sighed, but with a look over the young man, she nodded. “I’ll cover you this time, but you owe me.”

Mars grinned and gave the Bracne woman a large hug, squeezing her tight for a moment before he went to step out the door.

“Wait!”

Mars paused, his hand in the aphin’s already and both looking appropriately spooked.

“Give me your apron,” 

Mars’ face turned red but he nodded, letting go of his new stranger for a moment to untie the apron and hand it over, “Thank you,” he offered. But Terra shook her head.

“You stay safe.”

As the two left, she finally caught the name of the young man, Mercury. And she watched them walk down the street before returning to clean up. 

She made sure to do Mars’ part, and at the end of it, she made sure to grab Mars’ jacket from the hook in the break room. 

Terra was looking forward to going home and collapsing into her fiancée's arms, thank the stars she was off the next day.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Library of Ashes

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason takes an interest in the family business (Gotham’s oldest library) when he stumbles upon a secret collection of journals, photo albums, and a book written by his mother.

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Kate Kane, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Lonnie Machin, Original Character(s)

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Library AU, No Capes AU, World Travel, Jason Todd-centric, Third Person POV, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Has Issues, Angst, Mystery, Mentioned Catherine Todd, Mentioned Willis Todd, Mentioned Sheila Haywood, Claustrophobic Jason Todd

Chapter Six: Speakeasy

That night, Jason dreamt of Sanaa. He dreamt of her hands on his chest. Sweating under the moonlight as he stifled his moans. Their chemistry was so strong that they didn’t pass the back patio. A massive wave washed over them, and Jason woke up with a hand on the front of his shorts and a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. He shuddered and cursed. “Naa, please,” Jason muttered as he slipped his shorts off and walked them to the hamper. 

Music was the only thing that comforted him. The silence was an unbearable curse. He showered, dressed, and made breakfast in the dark. 

The music he picked for the day was sad. His heart needed to grieve. Sanaa sowed the seeds of dance and music into his soul. It kept him alive. He emailed everyone their tasks for the day while he ate. His head throbbed. Tim replied almost immediately. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning into the pressure building behind his eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” Jason whispered. He shut the laptop and called Tim on the landline. 

“Hello?” Tim answered on the first ring. “What about the book  donation box and the shipment of new—?”

“Yes… All of that is important, but I’ve got a headache. Can we do small talk first?” Jason mumbled. 

“Good morning,” Tim replied, “You okay?” 

“I’m not… How are you?” Jason asked. 

Tim cleared his throat. “Um… I—. I’m fine. Do you want to talk about—?”

“No. I just figured I’d be honest. It’s nice to know you’re doing alright. Why are you awake so early?” Jason asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I just—. I wasn’t trying to replace you—.” 

“I know. I don’t hate you. I never did… I resented you for a while because we’re so different, but I never hated you. I want you to work with me for the next couple of days,” Jason stated, “And if you can do a coffee run and bring some aspirin that’d be great, too.”

“Anything specific?” Tim questioned. 

“Three shots of espresso and maybe chocolate… I don’t know. I don’t really care,” Jason replied. Tim hung up, leaving Jason to his thoughts. 

**

When Tim arrived, Jason took an aspirin and started sipping his coffee. “Jason, what are we gonna do about the book donation box and the new shipment of classics?” Tim questioned. 

“Dick’s on the donation box. I’ve got Barbara and Stephanie on classics,” Jason answered as he dug through another set of diaries and journals. “Some of these should be turned in to the police. I think I’ll make a police pile.”

“I heard you were engaged,” Tim whispered. 

“I was. She passed away,” Jason explained. Tim frowned.

“Do you have any pictures of her?” Tim questioned. Jason smiled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to show Tim. He showed Tim a picture of Sanaa with her best friend.

“My fiance, Sanaa, is the one on the right. The other one is her best friend, Margaret,” Jason explained before swiping to the next picture. Jason had his arms wrapped around her shoulders and chest, resting his chin atop her head as they smiled for the camera. “I look at these pictures all the time. I look at them all the time.” 

“You never would’ve come home, huh?” Tim asked. 

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think I would’ve,” Jason answered. 

“Do you think you’ll leave again once you can?” Tim questioned in reply. 

Jason softened. It didn’t seem like Tim had a strong opinion either way. “I might… Why? Are you thinking about getting out of town?” Jason smiled. 

“Listen, if you know a good place, I’m all ears,” Tim joked. 

“Costa Rica is nice. You could probably use the sun,” Jason teased. 

Tim rolled his eyes as he laughed. “How many places have you been to?” Tim questioned. 

“Fifteen,” Jason replied as he squinted at a map in one of the journals. “See anything interesting over there?” 

“Yeah… A very detailed diary entry about a sexual encounter with a younger man,” Tim replied. Jason leaned forward. 

“How much younger?” Jason asked. 

“She’s sixty-three. He’s forty-five,” Tim replied, “ And she’s limber .” 

Jason shook his head and laughed. “Next entry?” Jason asked.

“Same guy, different day… Yeah, I should not be reading this,” Tim replied as he set it aside. 

For the next two hours, it was like that. Jason studied the book of building plans for the library, and Tim made a run for lunch. He didn’t say anything about it, figuring that the plans were incorrect. He wanted to look into it, but he refused to look crazy in front of Tim or anyone else if his hunch was wrong. Even after their shift at the library ended, Jason walked around the building, searching for made-up rooms. What he thought to be made-up. 

Jason’s floor had four apartment-style living spaces. He lived in the biggest apartment, and the other three were otherwise unoccupied. Sometimes, Bruce’s friends would visit and stay in the smaller ones, but they usually used those rooms for storage. According to the plans, one of the apartments had a bedroom with a false wall in the closet. He used one of the hallway keys at the furthest apartment on the left to enter. 

The closet wall felt hollow when he knocked on it, but it didn’t turn with a simple push. Jason stepped back, taking a deep breath before putting his back into it. The wall gave, and Jason almost fell to the ground on the other side of the wall. It was a beautiful setup. The back edge of the apartment had a second elevator beside the bar, and Jason picked up a glass decanter, removing the stopper as he smelled the orange peels in the curaçao. It was an older bottle. He set it on the counter, and he took the elevator down to a secret basement. Jason looked around until he found the bookcase by a large, carved table. Gotham Secret Library. Stacks of books were left dusty and untouched. Handbound books. Books with hand-painted marbled edges. Books with resin, dried flower covers. It was a gorgeous library for the creative people of Gotham. 

And then Jason realized a set of problems. Who would Jason share his secret with? And how long would it take to go through the secret library on his own? The most recent items came from around the nineties. After hours of sifting through the books on the table, Jason stumbled across family court papers with his name and his parents’ names. And his grandparents’ names. Julia and George Haywood. People he never knew existed. And their address. An address that he knew well. He must’ve passed by their house a million times growing up. It made his stomach sick. He wondered if things would’ve been different if they raised him. He wondered if they loved him. 

But his thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. “Hey, Tim,” Jason whispered.

“Where are you?” Tim questioned. “I went back to your apartment to get the box for the police, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh, I went to pick up my prescription,” Jason lied. He couldn’t tell the truth. Not yet, anyway. Maybe this secret was meant to be his and his alone.

[gothamslostboy]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a fic with a ftm prompt? I was thinking David x Micheal (ftm) or any of the lost boys characters with something relating to a ftm? Sorry if it’s a bit vague! Some comfort or fluff is really nice! Thank you so much! - 🦝

A/N: hey 🦝! Sorry this took so long. I love trans Michael. I’d also like to apologize, I got lost in the story and there’s not as much comfort fluff as I originally planned. I hope you still like it:]

Decisions Transpire Here

DAVID MICHAEL

————————————————————————

Michael, We’ve been waiting at the boardwalk for 20 minutes. Don’t they teach manners in Ariz- I turn around at the sound of David’s voice, and though I’m only frozen for less than I second, it’s too long. By the time I’ve thrown myself to the floor, he’d already seen me. I should’ve locked the door.

That what I think it is? Of all the times for David to barge into my room, this had to be one of the worst. Reaching up to grab my testosterone vial, I tuck myself under my bed after 3 missed grabs. Umm, heroin? Yes. Yes it is. I do my best to sound convincing, but my panic slips through. Damn that’s a bad cover. No one would just stand in the middle of their room to do heroin, much less inject it in their thigh. I’ve only been hanging out with these guys for less than a month and I’ve already blown it. What? The noise of David’s feet coming closer drown out most of his laughter.

Relax Michael, you’re not the first transgender person I’ve come across. Oh. He figured that out much quicker than I thought he would. I guess just wearing my binder and boxers probably helped there. Uh, oh. Cool. My mind is racing as we sit in silence, trying to figure out where the conversation goes from here. We moved away from Phoenix for a fresh start, a place without dad, where no one except my family would know that I wasnt always a Michael.

David tosses himself onto my bed, a cloud of dust hitting my face on impact. A begin to cough, and I hear a very ingenuine whoops. The bed frame creaks as he makes himself comfortable. Come on, time to come out, Well, in the other way. Bad enough you’re late to meet up with us, do you really wanna stand the boys up entirely? I push down my embarrassment as I slide out into view. Picking myself up, I place my vial on the nightstand and scan the room for a clean shirt.

We agreed to meet at 8:00? How is 7:28 late? I gesture towards my clock, the red numbers glowing in the darkened corner of my room. Clocks wrong. It’s now, he stops snooping through my nightstand just long enough to read his watch, 8:36. I push my head through my neck hole, pulling my jeans up swiftly as a grab his wrist.

Shit. Sorry man, let’s go. Ump bup bup! David twist his hand until he has a hold on me. Let’s talk for a second. I scoff out my nervousness as I try to discreetly release his grasp, to no avail. What about the guys? Aren’t they just waiting for you to get back? I’ll let them know we’ll be a second. He scoots to one side of my bed and essentially drags me on the other. Oh yeah? Didn’t know you had a secret landline from my room to the middle of the boardwalk. He has a smug smile, like what I said was the funniest thing he’s heard tonight.

Don’t worry about it Michael. Why’d you duck under the bed? The abrupt shift into seriousness almost makes me want that stupid grin back. I mean, why’d you come in without knocking heh heh, people do weird things. I want to look at the floor, but I can’t escape this stare down I’ve entered with David. We won’t judge you. We all have something, different about us. The way he emphasizes his words sends a chill down my spine.

If there was a way to make you biologically male, would you do it? I Tilt my head, trying to figure out what David’s doing. Well, duh? No matter the cost? Even if it makes some see you as a monster? I shift in my spot, unsure what his game is here. I mean, they already do. Might as well be the true me. What ever he’s trying to do, it seems I answered correctly.

He moves to his feet quickly, striding towards my door. Believe me, you’re no monster Michael. remember you’re answer. There’s a change of plans, we’re going to the cave. Why? I’m going to give you what you want, all it’ll take is a drink. I dont realize he’s serious until after I’m already laughing. You don’t believe me? He turns back to face me, leaning down to eye level with me on the bed. If that was possible, every trans person in the world would’ve done it.

It’s true alright Michael, he extends his gloved hand to me as he straightens his stance. Do you really want to miss out on the chance because you don’t trust me? What will it be? A leap of faith, or a mortal life never knowing? I take his and and do my best to ignore the part of me, screaming danger.

What the hell, what’s the worst that could happen?

—���— TAGS ———

@britany1997 @g4ywastaken

[grizzy-ly]

Yandere!Krueger Short

Sort of trying to get a good grasp on how to characterize Yan!Krueger in a consistent way and a distinctive way. Just something short and sweet.

Word Count: 911

Content Warning: Yandere and general yandere dealings

“It’s us against the world.”

It was hard to tell how Krueger felt about you at first. He treated you in the same way he’d treat everyone else– friendly, but at an arm’s length. He was hard to get to know, deflecting any attempts to get to know him on any level deeper than a kiddy pool.

It was a surprise when he tried to ask you to be his partner, casually dropping it into conversation. You had never even realized he was at all interested in you. His reaction when you turned him down was– ostensibly– normal, he just shrugged and gave his usual, “Na gut.”

That wasn’t it though. Of course it wouldn’t be. That’s too easy. Well, now Krueger had a problem. You. Getting you to be his. He has never been good at solving problems in any way that wasn’t the equivalent of taking a flamethrower to a birthday candle. There’s enough blood on his hands– allegedly, he insists– to prove that.

Get closer to know you better? Woo you? Take things slow? No, no, Krueger knows what he wants and when he wants it. Fuck a war of attrition, he’s going nuclear.

“Others… they will come and go. I will always be here. Für dich. Für immer. Ha. I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Krueger’s feelings about you are complex, but what about him isn’t? What about him has a simple answer not bogged down by his refusal to give straight answers. You had never met someone so directly indirect, readily giving concrete answers that give you nothing or worse– conflict with what he’s already said.

He’s a liar. Plain and simple. He lies, often, it’s a shock that he hasn’t burned holes through all his pants. That’s not to say he’s necessarily malicious, but it’s hard to tell if he believes what he says, if he wants to, or if he wants others to believe him.

One thing is for certain though, and that is his unshakable belief that he is a good person, just misunderstood. It’s not him who has a problem, it’s the society around him for not understanding the correct way to go about things.

The correct way being his way.

Speaking of his way…

“Ach, Wirklich? Don’t say what you don’t mean. Komm mal, I’ll make it better.”

He expected you to be shocked, he knew you would be shocked, he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face actually. OK, OK, he’ll admit he can be kind of a dick sometimes, but this is just the beginning of your lives together and you’ll get used to it. No harm in a bit of amusement.

“Sebastian… you– why do you know where I live–! Why are you in my house?!”

“... Our house.”

“Get out! Or I’m calling the cops!”

Krueger just has a wide grin on his face as he holds up your phone and jiggles it. Don’t suppose you still have a landline?

“You don’t need them. You need someone who understands you– me.”

Being a prisoner in your own home is not something you had on your checklist for this year. At least Krueger took over paying all the bills, silver linings you suppose-- what does he even do for work? He won't say. Typical.

Despite claiming to love you, Krueger treats you more like a roommate. He isn’t sappy or sentimental, no grand confessions or gestures. The most he does is ask if you are ready to reconsider being together with him. In his words, “We live together. You’ll come around to me. Until then… what are we doing for dinner?”

He’s content to just have you around, at arms length. He doesn’t let you go anywhere alone though, or talk to your friends, or your family, or anyone. Especially not the police. You are stuck with him. Stuck to him. Stuck together. Joined at the hip.

When he isn’t there he makes sure you stay at your house. Sometimes he’s gone for an hour, other times it’s a few weeks. Though he always makes sure you have ample access to food and no means to contacting the outside world. You aren’t sure where he goes to and he won’t tell you, deflecting your questions and redirecting your attention. 

You tried to leave once just to realize the door wouldn’t open and the windows would only open enough to let air in but not let you squeeze out. The only thing that happened was him coming home smug, “Well, you tried. Perhaps you’ll get out next time, hm?”

Even if you won’t love him romantically, he can live with you being as close as he can get you. He wants to be your person: romantic, platonic– who cares, he just wants to be yours and have you be his… though he does hope it’s romantic, he’ll settle, just for you. That's what he tells himself at least.

He keeps you secluded with him as your company, forcing you to come to him to fulfill your needs for socializing. He can’t wait for when you’ll start confiding in him– for when you’ll start seeking comfort in him. You have to crack eventually, no one can keep everything bottled up forever and he’s more than happy to be there for you when you stop acting like a skittish cat. 

You’ll come around. You have to. He’ll wear you down eventually.

“I never claimed to be perfect, no one is perfect. You can’t expect perfection of me.”

Translations:

Na, gut. = "OK", "alright", "fair enough", etc.

Für dich. Für immer. = For you. Forever.

Ach, Wirklich? = Oh, Really?

Komm mal = Come here

[self-shipping-doll13]

6. Phonecall - 🐾🌌🐈

Selfindulgent September Prompts

Soon, it was the Christmas holidays.

The rare, once-a-blue-moon time when a throng of my clan gathered to eat and drink and pretend to be interested in each other. My aunt was loading up the gravy boat when the landline brilled, so I sprang up from my chair to answer it, eager for distraction.

“I’ll get it,” I offered, and no one contested me.

The intermingled sound of voices, loud and laughing, muffled as I passed through the threshold and into the quiet, sloping hall. Our housephone sat vibrating above the electricity box, faded white. I closed the door for privacy, and yanked it off its holder—

“HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! HELLO?!”

I winced, smothering the receiver with my hand.

“Shh!” I urged, giggles bubbling from my throat despite the ringing in my ear. “You don’t have to yell, Sirius, I can hear you just fine. Just speak normally.”

Crackling down the line, then he quietened a bit. “You hear me?” He sounded amused. “Never used one of these before.” I envisioned him giving this foreign tool a curious look-over, then, and smiled. I wondered if he’d try to take it apart. Probably.

“They’re like extendable ears,” I said, fiddling with the loopy phone cord. “You know what those are - Only these can reach far greater distances.”

“Yeah, I know rightly.” Gaiety was thick in his tone. “Fireplaces fare well enough for your common room, but this way’s definitely easier on my knees.”

I snorted. “And it won’t give my family heart attacks.”

“Grievous sad. My face should be a welcome sight.”

Elated, I leaned against the wall as we talked. It was nice to hear Sirius’ barking laughter again. I could see him so clearly, even while hundreds of miles away.

Scrapes of cutlery echoed from the dining hall, and the aroma of turkey reminded me of my hunger. Still, It was only when someone came knocking that I ended the call to join the feast. “Call me back,” Sirius had me promise, and the line fizzled out as I cut it off.