#Disabled Call Button

[adaptivetechsolution]

Adapted Toys

Therapist selected switch adapted toys to allow individuals with physical disabilities the opportunity to play and learn as independently as possible.

[cncities]

for angst reasons i hc that the static on robs body can cause physical pain for him and flares up at times, esp when hes emotional. and after contemplating this, i came to the based conclusion that rob is a disabled icon and that he needs a mobility aid right NOWWWW

in my eyes his condition is essentially fibromyalgia! causes intense and chronic long-term pain flare ups where his static is, thus it can make it hard for him to walk, move around, etc. so, on some pain days, he uses a cane! he also wears compression knee pads and arm sleeves for extra support.

^ bonus quick doodle of him in some forearm crutches and his besties! rob uses them during significant leg pain days if his upper arms are fine-ish. forgot his compression pads here oops but idk banana joe ate them

[saturnniidae]

Cripplepunk Modern Au Hiccup

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[hairtusk]

i love disabled access spaces where it's blindingly obvious NO disabled people were consulted in the design

[dreadfutures]

I say this as someone with mental disabilities, sometimes you just gotta take the L and do it. Maybe it'll cost you and send you into negative spoons but sometimes you gotta. We have a human debt we owe to one another and we have to fight for each other.

Disabilities make things hard to do safely, without pain, etc. Where you can, seek accomodations, ask for help, live your life, and do good in the world in the ways you can.

What we can't do with our disabilities? We can't sit here and wallow and use them as a shield.

[awkward-teabag]

Absolutely. There was a brief period of time (I want to say around 2010 give or take a few years) where it ate RAM like it was going out of style. I think there was also a major memory leak issue that compounded it, especially if you were someone with dozens of tabs and you never closed your browser.

Chrome was faster and more streamline during this period and Google was still considered a good company.

But Firefox has been fast and less resource-heavy than Chrome for years now. And that's with modern web design pushing massive splash pages of pictures and videos that can be slow to load and lag your browser/system.

Firefox has also since added a lot of features that used to be only native to Chrome/Brave. You can also get add-ons to speed up web pages even more.

But it's not a browser issue if you leave a browser open for days/weeks/months with dozens of tabs, that's a skill issue.

"Firefox sucks" "firefox is clunky" "firefox doesn't work" with all due respect what the fuck are you talking about

[adaptivetechsolution]

Boppin Beaver

Boppin' Beaver Linkimal has bright lights and 25+ songs, sounds and phrases teach shapes, counting and colors while stimulating visual and auditory senses. Press and release your switch (or push the beaver's head) to start the action. Press it again to move forward to the next activity. Measuring just 6" tall x 4" wide, this toy is a great portable take along!

Switch adapted to accept a standard 3.5mm switch.

[beelko]

You dont need to do a finger swipe pattern to open an android??? Idfk which one you're using but I've never had to do that. Android has been leagues easier for me to figure out than any apple product

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.” 

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.” 

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?” 

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around. 

“How mature,” he remarked quietly. 

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.” 

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.” 

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure?  You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?" 

"Of course, I love him." 

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you? 

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her. 

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled. 

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious. 

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!” 

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.” 

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge. 

 He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away. 

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.” 

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled. 

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.” 

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—” 

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.” 

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?” 

“No, what I mean is—” 

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.” 

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-” 

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...” 

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?” 

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand. 

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?” 

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.” 

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?” 

“It all depends on what’s in there.” 

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.” 

“You wish,” you grunted. 

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.” 

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied. 

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased. 

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.” 

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again. 

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered. 

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw. 

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you.  I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?” 

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle. 

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?” 

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.” 

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing. 

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology. 

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself. 

“You didn’t say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.” 

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing. 

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless. 

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted. 

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. 

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly. 

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze. 

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room. 

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly. 

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.  

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.  

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.  

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend. 

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers." 

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted. 

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage. 

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot at him. 

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please." 

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on. 

Your man. 

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of her by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.” 

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief. 

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table. 

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language. 

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light. 

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip. 

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you. 

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.” 

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued. 

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

"I’ve been pondering this all day, and I've come to a realization. I always wanted you to be part of my world, but I was missing something important," he said as you opened the box. Inside, you found a card and a key. nstantly, you recognized them; it was the very card and key you had used countless times for the elevator and the apartment door.

“Harry,” you gasped, taken aback. “You mentioned that you don’t feel like you fit in my world, so how about letting me into yours?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” 

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?” 

You nodded. “Absolutely.” 

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115 @picketniffler @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @kneelarmhstrung @zanylightmilkshake @melsunshine @inept-the-magnificent @catofash @secretlettersfromyourlove @pedge-page @speaktothehandpeasants @krystal---meth @pasc4lfuzz @brittmb115 @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @kneelarmhstrung @pedrofan @l1zzygr0nt @sukivenue @cherri-zaza @0-moonbeam-0 @krystal---meth @joelmillerpascal @harrington-thedad @darkheartgatita @javiismyhsbnd

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[love-me-love-my-weirdness]

Something that really sucks about being disabled is places say that they’re accessible but they aren’t.

I’ve been to places that claim to be accessible where

the ramp’s too steep

there are steps they didn’t mention because “it’s only two or three”

the doorways are too small

there aren’t any elevators to the top floor

the floor is too rough to easily push on

exhibits are displayed in ways that are impossible to see from a wheelchair

the doors don’t have a push button

tables/exhibits are put way too close together

the surrounding paths have no curbs

Without those things, it isn’t accessible. You can’t put a sloped piece of metal on your doorway and call that wheelchair friendly.

[reasonsforhope]

"This week, the Department of Transportation (DOT) announced a new rule requiring airlines to make bathrooms more accessible for disabled people. All new single-aisle aircraft will be fitted with fully-accessible lavatories.

Most flights inside the United States are single-aisle and as technology has improved, they are used more frequently for long flights, including coast-to-coast trips that can last as long as six hours. Double-aisle plans are already subject to the regulation but are primarily used for international flights.

Out Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg announced the new regulations, saying, “Traveling can be stressful enough without worrying about being able to access a restroom; yet today, millions of wheelchair users are forced to choose between dehydrating themselves before boarding a plane or avoiding air travel altogether.” ...

The secretary has made it a priority to improve service on airlines during his tenure. In 2022, six airlines were forced to pay millions of dollars in refunds to hundreds of thousands of customers and were also fined millions for causing the issues. The department’s firm stance on the side of customers has continued through this year after multiple companies have had meltdowns, stranding thousands of travelers.

All planes delivered to airlines starting in 2026 must include several upgrades. Planes already in service will not need to be retrofitted unless the plane is renovated.

“These aircraft must have at least one lavatory of sufficient size to permit a passenger with a disability (with the help of an assistant, if necessary) to approach, enter, and maneuver within the aircraft lavatory, to use all lavatory facilities, and leave by means of the aircraft’s onboard wheelchair if necessary,” the DOT said in a statement.

Accessible faucets and controls, grab bars, accessible call buttons and door locks, minimum obstruction to the passage of an onboard wheelchair, and an available visual barrier for privacy are also required upgrades."

-via LGBTQ Nation, July 28, 2023

Wayyyyyyy fucking overdue but I'll take it!! Also, very nice curb cut effect: We all get to be less miserable on airplanes, and older people don't have to worry as much about airplane bathroom fall risks.

[haikyuupaladin]

TLDR; don’t give tumblr money until they start making visible improvements towards accessibility

I’ve seen a few posts around about something people are calling crab day where you’re supposed to gift the crab button to your mutuals to support Tumblr financially. Please don’t participate in this unless Tumblr starts making noticeable improvements towards accessibility between now and then. It’s been 5 months of me trying to get the bare minimum of accessibility for photosensitive users or even just find out who I can talk to to get anywhere, and Tumblr is refusing to make any changes.

@photomatt has doubled down on the suggestion that you should just pay for ad-free or install an ad-blocker instead of listening to any of the suggestions photosensitive users have repeatedly made. Please do not give money to Tumblr until they show a commitment to accessibility because they will continue to ignore our requests if it doesn’t impact them financially.

Some of the requests we’ve made are:

1. Allow us to disable autoplay on browser as well as the app. This is an accessibility feature, not a data-saving feature, and should be treated as such.

2. Include ads in disabling of autoplay, along with other formats that currently get around the autoplay feature. Currently even if you have autoplay disabled you can still end up with flashing lights in your face every few posts from ads.

3. Improve the reporting process for strobing ads. The quick reporting process doesn’t provide good options to ensure the person reviewing the report realizes that it’s being reported for flashing lights so you have to hope they agree it’s either malicious or offensive and don’t just brush you off as abusing the report function. The more complicated reporting process involves getting a screenshot and the link that the ad brings you to, which requires lingering on the ad, which if you’re trying to report the ad for your safety, is dangerous. You can also still get the same ad 10 times a row after reporting it until it’s been reviewed. Which again, presents a danger to users.

4. Add a community label for flashing lights. Flashing lights are commonly untagged or mistagged, even sometimes maliciously. It would be extremely helpful to the photosensitive community to be able to add a warning to a post that doesn’t have one.

I’ve talked a lot about the photosensitive community in this post because that’s what I have personal experience with and what @photomatt has explicitly come out and just said to buy ad-free about, but there are definitely other accessibility issues that need to be addressed as well (like the alt text function needing improvements to make it accessible to users who need it and don’t use screenreaders, or the fact that a lot of tumblr official stuff still doesn’t seem to use the alt text feature themselves). Please feel free to add on accessibility issues I’ve missed in the reblogs.

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

.

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[delulu-julia]

Tmnt 2012 x Injured!Reader (Romantic)

During a mission in the Kraang laboratory, you and the Turtles are ambushed. The Turtles are quickly neutralized and trapped under a strong transparent dome, while the enemies shift their focus to you. Despite this, you manage to fight back and nearly win. However, just before being destroyed, the last Kraang fires at a lever behind you, activating an unknown mechanism. A few seconds later, a grinding noise echoes through the lab, and a massive metal harpoon pierces you through.

You deliver the final blow, and the Kraang bot crashes onto the metallic floor with a shower of sparks. That’s it. It seems like it’s over. Your ears ring from the tension, your heart pounds loudly in your chest, and your breathing is heavy. You straighten up, scanning your surroundings—the Turtles are still trapped under that damn dome, but you’re almost there.

“(Y/N), hurry!” a voice breaks through the ringing in your ears.

You nod and take a step forward… but suddenly, something clicks in the distance.

A faint, barely audible sound.

Your eyes instinctively shift downward—to where the disabled Kraang bot lies. Its body smokes, its limbs motionless, but something inside is still working. Even broken, it managed to make one last move. One last shot.

Click.

Behind you, a mechanical noise rumbles to life, like an old engine starting up.

For a moment, the entire lab seems to freeze.

Silence.

You blink.

“(Y/N)! WATCH OUT!”

The grinding of metal.

You don’t even have time to turn before something cold, tearing, unnaturally heavy pierces through your side. For a brief second, your brain refuses to register the pain. But then it crashes over you like a wave, as if it wasn’t just a harpoon, but an entire truck that hit you. Instinctively, you clutch at the wound, but all you feel is the warm, sticky liquid spreading across your palm.

You fall to your knees, not screaming, but letting out a strangled sound. Your lungs constrict, as if all the air has been knocked out of them. You try to inhale—and only now do you realize that the harpoon is lodged inside. Every movement sends sharp, needle-like pain stabbing through your body.

“(Y/N)!”

A voice… someone is calling you. You try to focus your vision and see it—the dome. The Turtles. They’re pounding against it, their faces a mix of panic and horror.

And then you hear footsteps.

Your gaze frantically sweeps across the room. Kraang. More of them.

Shit.

You force yourself to stand. Every cell in your body protests, dark spots dance before your eyes, but you don’t stop. You lunge forward, staggering like a puppet with its strings cut. It’s doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is reaching the panel.

Your hands are shaking, blood drips down your fingers, but you press the buttons. First. Second. Third.

Nothing.

“Shit!” the word escapes your lips, and without thinking, you start slamming your fists against the damn panel. Breaking it. Crack. Crunch. Blood mixes with metal dust, but you keep going, even as your fingers go numb.

And then—click.

A jolt. The screech of machinery.

The dome lifts.

Blurred figures rush forward. You feel hands grabbing you, holding on tighter than necessary, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t see their faces, don’t hear their voices, but for some reason… you feel at peace.

You smile.

And then—darkness.

Their reaction:

Leonardo

Every second of that scene is burned into his memory. He didn’t just see it—he lived it with you. His mind was desperately searching for a way out, but his body remained trapped, powerless. Leo remembers the way your face twisted in pain, the color of your blood on the metal, the sound of the harpoon pulling back. And it haunts him.

When the dome lifted, he was the first to lunge forward. He didn’t care if there were still Kraang left. His only goal was to catch you, to stop you from falling, from hitting your head, from… disappearing. His hands were tense yet painfully gentle, as if one wrong move could break you.

His face in that moment—completely blank. He didn’t scream. He didn’t show emotion. He just acted. Only later, when you were safe, his fists clench so tightly. That’s when it hit him—he had almost lost you.

After that, he became even stricter with tactics. If before he could allow himself to adapt on the fly, now every step was calculated. He always made sure you stayed close, always repeated every possible escape route before a mission. Sometimes he even triple-checked the gear—just to make sure nothing could go wrong.

But the fear never left. He didn’t show it, but after the incident, he would constantly glance at you, even when things were calm. Especially when things were calm. On rare nights when sleep refused to come, he found himself back in that lab, asking the same question over and over: ‘What if I had reacted faster?’

In battle, he instinctively shields you. Even if the attack is still far away, he’s already between you and the enemy, ready to take the hit. It’s not up for discussion.

He only let himself relax when you finally started recovering. One day, you caught him holding your gaze a little longer than usual. There was no commander’s discipline, no calculated thought behind it. Just silence. Just the unspoken question: “Are you really okay?”

But even after you fully healed, he still couldn’t forget. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he told himself things were different now. It had happened once—so it could happen again. And he would never let that happen.

Raphael

His first reaction was a scream. Loud, furious, raw. When he saw the harpoon pierce through you, he didn’t just yell—he roared. He slammed his fists against the dome with enough force to send pain shooting through his knuckles, but he didn’t care. He screamed your name like it could somehow force you to wake up.

He kept pounding on the barrier. Over and over. When you got up and ran for the control panel, he only hit harder. At some point, he struck so hard that his own fingers cracked—but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t just stand there and watch.

The second the dome disappeared, he was the first to reach you. No hesitation. He got to you before anyone else, dropped to his knees, and pressed down on the wound with both hands to stop the bleeding. Blood dripped between his fingers, slid across his joints, but he only pushed harder—like sheer force alone could keep you here.

If anyone had gotten too close in that moment, he would’ve killed them. Raphael had always been hotheaded, but that day, his rage reached its breaking point. Every remaining Kraang became nothing more than a target. If anything had tried to get in his way, he would’ve torn it apart.

When you woke up safe, he didn’t leave. He sat there in silence, just watching you. Watching your chest rise and fall. Watching the color return to your face. Only when he was sure—completely sure—you were conscious, he abruptly stand and walk out. He needed to release what was left of his rage. He destroyed every training dummy in sight.

After that, he became even more aggressive. In battle, he hit harder, moved rougher, snapped faster. A fear had settled inside him—a fear he couldn’t express in any other way but anger.

But along with that, he became your shield. Even if he wasn’t aware of it himself, he always kept you in his line of sight. If you fought nearby, he covered you without a word. If he had to move away, he still knew exactly where you were. And if an enemy ever aimed for you—they were already dead.

And most importantly—he never let you take risks again. No matter how much you argued, no matter how much you insisted you were fine, he would always step in front of you. He would always snarl “You almost died once, I’m not letting it happen again!” He wasn’t giving you a choice. He wouldn’t let it happen. Not to you.

Donatello

When the harpoon pierced through you, his world collapsed. For a second, nothing else mattered—only you and that damned harpoon. Donnie had never been the type to succumb to panic, but in that moment, he felt it in full force. Every part of him screamed

“No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

He knew you weren’t supposed to move. With a wound like that—it was impossible. But you moved. You forced your body to keep going despite the pain, and he saw how agonizing it was. His heart clenched when you took that first step.

When you collapsed, he was already there. He didn’t even remember how he got to you so fast. Maybe faster than Leo himself. His hands were shaking, but his fingers worked with precision, applying pressure to the wound, checking your pulse. He was mumbling something—maybe words meant to soothe, maybe medical terms. Maybe just your name over and over, terrified you would disappear.

Even if you were unconscious, he kept talking to you. Maybe he begged you to hold on. Maybe he promised you’d be okay. Maybe he just kept whispering, “Please, please, not now…” while he desperately tried to stop the bleeding.

Later, when you were finally safe, he couldn’t erase that moment from his mind. The image played on a loop: you standing at the console, the sound of the shot, the screech of metal, the blood. He couldn’t sleep because the second he closed his eyes—he saw it all over again.

He became even more attentive. Maybe even too much. He checked on you more than necessary, asked too many questions: “Does it still hurt? Are you sure you’re okay?” And if you tried to brush him off, he’d just show up later with medicine “just in case.”

Every time you did something remotely risky, he froze for a second. Even if you were fully healed, even if there was no danger, his heart still clenched. Because he remembered. And because he could no longer imagine his life without you.

Michelangelo

At first, he didn’t understand what had happened. It was too fast—your victory, the shot, the click of the mechanism… He didn’t even see the harpoon right away. But he saw your face. And that was the worst part.

Then, his heart dropped. Because you weren’t just hurt—you could actually die. The thought hit him like lightning, knocking the air from his lungs. “No, no, no—this isn’t real, right?” He wanted to believe this could be rewound, that this wasn’t happening.

When you collapsed, he snapped. He forgot about everything else, even the fact that the dome was still there. He just screamed your name, slammed his fists against the barrier, begged you to hold on. His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

When he finally got to you, he froze. The wound—too deep. The blood—too much. He wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t a tactician, he wasn’t anything useful. He just wanted you to be okay. And the only thing he could do was grab your hand and whisper, over and over:

“You can’t leave me…You can’t.”

Later, when you woke up, he never left your side. Even when you got better, even when you could move and talk again. He brought you food, kept you entertained, told stupid jokes—anything to avoid seeing that fear in your eyes again.

But when he was alone, he broke. The laughter, the jokes, the easygoing mask—it was for you. But at night, he’d wake up drenched in sweat, gasping, because he’d dreamt of that lab again. Heard the screech of metal, saw your face the moment the harpoon struck. Sometimes, it wasn’t even a dream—sometimes, he just sat in the dark, replaying it in his mind.

He became hyper-aware of you. He’d notice even the smallest changes—if you were tired, if you winced, if you flinched at a loud sound. If you needed a break, he’d insist on one. If you looked even remotely uncomfortable, he was already there.

And now, he’s terrified to lose you. Even for a second. On missions, he never leaves your side. He still cracks jokes, still plays the fool—but underneath it all, he’s watching every move you make. Because he knows if it happens again—if he loses you—he will blame himself for the rest of his days

[inknopewetrust]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬

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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐮, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈’𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜, 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

All available units, please respond.

The radio’s static was splitting.

In the driver’s seat, David picked up the receiver and held it to his mouth as the rain trickled outside. Early May was always dreary.

Your ears perked up at the call from the passenger side.

“1340 responding,” he replied to dispatch.

We’ve got a disabled vehicle northbound on Highway Y. A green, four door sedan with the license plate: 2-8-Frank-Queen-4-Charles. The renewal stickers were ripped off according to the caller and the windows are fogged but no one is in it. I called a tow to meet you there.

“10-4. On our way.”

He hung up the receiver and the small knob and put the gear into drive. As the junior partner, it wasn’t your place to decide where and when you’d take on cases. Some were hard, others were easy, but this seemed a little below your status.

“Don’t you think this one could have been handed out to… I don’t know, anyone else?” You asked him. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, shrugging in the slightest.

“It’s something,” Loki concluded. “I’d rather find a dud than sit around waiting for a speeder.”

You weren’t beat cops, you were detectives. But Conyers was small and everyone was irreplaceable because there was no one to replace anyone so cops played detective and detective played cops when the times needed it.

“They said it’s fogged up?” You asked and he nodded. “Did they ever think that maybe seventy-two degrees in May and a disabled car at nine-thirty in the morning might just cause the windows to fog?”

“I don’t think they’d call us out if they didn’t think it was something more.”

“Right,” you murmured.

You glanced over at him as he turned to get on the highway. David Loki was an interesting creature. Infinitely handsome, tortured at the same time, Loki was an enigma that years of partnership couldn’t crack. You’d known him as detective, as a friend (if you could consider him such), and after multitudes of trials and errors and wins and loses, the man had become a centerpiece of your existence—even if he didn’t know that.

You couldn’t stare at him too long without fearing that you’d be suspended for having an emotional, one-sided affair with him. He’d probably have a stroke at the idea of you and him falling in love.

He wasn’t that kind of man. Even in the hours where you thought your lives would never be the same, there was no last minute declarations of love or lust, just two people who hoped to get out of the hell house alive.

That was three years ago—so, excuse you for having an emotional attachment and a chip on your shoulder for rookie work.

You picked up the receiver he had put down minutes ago.

“Dispatch, this is 1346,” you called out.

Go ahead 1346.

“Did you run the plates for the disabled vehicle northbound on Highway Y?”

Plates belonged to a… Steven Hoyer, resident of Philadelphia, who reported his car stolen two weeks ago.

You kept your finger off the button. David’s eyes met your for a brief second.

“Any details on the theft?”

Philly cops think it’s gang related.

You quirked a brow. “You didn’t think to tell us this?”

Didn’t ask, detectives.

“Have the lab ready to swab it by the time we get there. Let them know that we will be accompanying it to and from.”

David flicked on the siren and lights.

10-4.

“What the fuck?” You scoffed. You put your arm up, perched on the windows crux with the door. “No one can do their job right, I swear to fucking god.”

“I could argue one person can do the job right,” David defended. He had a sly smile on his face, a rarity over the last few years.

“Sure, yeah.” You put the receiver back. “Maybe two. That’s it.”

“Gang activity?”

“Fog’s probably not fog.”

“No,” he agreed. “Should we call it in to fire? Have them take care of it in their suits?”

You shook your head. That was a mistake. You could feel it in your bones that something was amiss there and the world around you could feel it. David’s blinking told you he was worried too. He’d never voice it, of course.

“We’ve got this. Besides,” you sighed. “What’s the worse that can happen?”

When the vehicle came into view, the tow hadn’t arrived yet. Dispatch had described it accurately and the car that must have called it in was stationed just in front of it. It was one of those mini vans with the stick families on the back—the goody-two-shoes and pricks at the same time.

“Shit,” David mumbled as he realized the family was there and no inside of their car. The dad was wearing khakis and a red polo tucked in with a black belt. A certain goody-two-shoes.

“Why can’t civilians just trust we will deal with it?” You unbuckled yourself and grabbed a pad of paper from the glove box. There was no pen attached and as you felt around your jacket, you didn’t have one either.

“Got a pen?” You asked Loki who made one appear out of thin air it seemed. He handed it to you, grazing your fingers with it.

You wondered if he knew that even the slightest touch sent you swirling inside.

“Thanks.”

“I take back what I said earlier,” he commented as he undid his own belt. “Only one of us can do our job right.” He looked in your eyes. “You always forget a pen.”

And then he opened the door without looking for traffic and exited the vehicle. Fuck him and his smug, attractive face. You gladly would if given the chance.

David put on his best friendly face and reassured the caller that he didn’t need to be there. His kid was tapping on the glass, ignoring your kind redirection because mom too was peaking through.

“What do you think it is officer?” She asked.

“Detective,” you corrected. “And we aren’t sure it. But it may not be safe so please, ma’am, if you and your child would please step away from the vehicle.”

The boy who couldn’t have been more than five continued to tap on the glass.

“Maybe it’s weed,” she commented like it was a sin of the darkest kind. “You know those kids these days are just such potheads. I smell it all the time in our neighborhood.”

“Well it sometimes mimics the smell of a skunk, too. If you smell it enough you can tell the difference.”

You looked over to David who was flexing his fingers in agitation. The man, her husband, was dragging on the conversation beyond it’s time of death.

“Son,” you called out to the kid. “Please stop tapping on the glass.” The kid, blonde with red hues ignored you.

Another thud, followed by another, and another. You approached the kid and grabbed his arm.

“Did you hear me?” You asked him sternly and suddenly his mother became a wasp.

“Excuse me!” She scolded loudly. David turned his head and the father went silent. “Keep your hands off my son!”

“Ma’am,” you started but the kids other hand melded into a fist and punched the glass. A five year old, as inhuman as it appeared, cracked the car glass.

“Get your son away from the car,” David barked. The woman approached you and took her sons balled up fist.

“I will be calling your supervisor,” she told you. You were shaking in your boots, if the threat was the size of a mouse.

“Please,” you tasked her. “I’m sure he would love to hear your feedback.”

She roughly removed her son from the car as your ear picked up the sound of the glass cracking further. The car window was shattering in seconds. The line had crawled all the way to the top—inching like an icicle ready to break off a roof.

David cut away from the man and approached you as you stared at the glass.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What the-“

The glass shattered before he could get any words out. Inside, the smoke began to disperse and escape out the window, quickly invading your senses and David’s.

A cough came first, then the burning.

“Holy shit,” you wheezed. The white gas lingered around your space as somewhere, David yelled at the family to leave and as soon as the tires yielded tracks on the pavement, David was ushering you away from the gas.

He figured the car was too close so he walked you down into the field on the opposite side of the highway. Just a cornfield that was being prepared for summer, there was nothing as the air began to clear and you heaved over yourself.

You coughed heavily, David too but less so than you. He didn’t take the brunt of it but his eyes stung and hot as his lungs did. It wasn’t a drug he’d ever had, nor knew of.

“Shit,” you winced in pain. Your hands went to your eyes and squeezed them shut. “My eyes, fuck—Loki, there’s a bottle of water in the car.”

“Yeah,” he coughed. He grabbed at your face. Both of his hands were hot on your cheeks as they tried to turn your head toward his own. He wanted you to open your eyes, to see what might have happened but you couldn’t because all at once, the senses of his touch overwhelmed you.

It was blistering, like touching a hot stove with no glove. Your shoulders shook but he felt it too because he let go the moment it got too hot.

“Water,” you wheezed. “Get the water, please!”

He ran off and your continued to rub your eyes. Beads of sweat trickled down your neck and through your shirt that you wanted to rip off your body. Everything was getting too hot and it truly wasn’t that hot outside.

You could hear the car door slam close and his heavy boots running back to you.

“Here.” He unscrewed the cap and held it out to you as you tried to peel your eyes open.

“You gotta do it,” you told him. “I-they burn so bad, David. Goddamn it.”

“I know,” he assured because his eyes burned too. But it was subsiding into something worse. He could feel it in his trousers that for some fucking, god-awful reason he was pitching a boner with no reason to. He wasn’t aroused in any particular fashion and there was nothing remotely sexy about the situation.

He helped pour the water over your eyes and he was mesmerized. The water cascading down your face, over your lips, and onto your neck was enticing. It excited him and confused him in the same moment because the erection and grown fast. It ached like none he’d ever had before.

“Come on,” he put a hand on your back and through your clothes it scorched.

“No!” You shouted at him, grabbing the bottle from his hand and pouring it all out your face.

“We gotta go,” he said your name in a plea that was different from the rest of him. He was always stoic and fierce and mean but he was pleading with you. “We gotta go.”

“The tow,” you reminded him. “We have to be here for the tow.”

“Fuck the tow. I’m getting us out of here while we can still see.”

And he put a forceful hand on the back of your jacket and all but dragged you to the car. He kept his distance, not wanting to accidentally bump into you. He held open your door and shut it tightly before rushing over to his side, removing his jacket, and sitting down with it over his lap.

Your eyes were open now. Beat red like you had smoked six joints but your face was glistening. David glanced down at your lips as the words came spilling out of your mouth but he heard none of them.

He just needed to get you both the fuck out of there.

The car tumbled across the highway and it was a few minutes in when you realized David had put the sirens on. You were burning. The insides of your body were on fire and the heavy breathing that you couldn’t help was one of the few sounds beyond the car you could hear. David’s hands were white-knuckling the steering wheel but there was an odd, given silence that you weren’t sure was supposed to exist.

You shifted in the seat and were quick to realize that you were not doing that again. The fabric of your blue uniform pants rubbed against your underwear slightly and sent a jolt through your entire body. It tingled, the most beautiful way at the worst time.

Instead of leaving, however, the tingle stayed. And it grew and grew until your hands found purchase on the tops of your thighs and crumbled the extra fabric into clumps. Palms sweaty, you couldn’t help the panic that surged through you as the arousal rose within.

You took a sideways glance at Loki as he sped faster and weaved through the little traffic on the highway. Sweat trickled from his forehead and a line of it fell beside the end of his brow. You had a crude thought of licking it off him and turned away, clutching the fabric tighter.

But the heat didn’t go away. The ached inside of you. You closed your eyes to imagine something other than the feeling and the road and the smoke but when you shut your eyes, all you could envision was David fucking you into oblivion and everything would be fine.

So, you opened them again and tried not to repeat the image as much as your body wanted you to.

“H-how are you feeling?” David rasped as he sped off the highway and onto a town street. You weren’t too far from the station. You didn’t know why he wasn’t taking you to the hospital.

“Hot,” you replied honestly. “My body is on fire.”

“Mine too.”

“I can’t fucking concentrate on anything.”

“Me either,” he admitted. As you approached a red light, he pressed his hand into the horn and you shifted again, holding onto the handle above your door and before you could help yourself, a gasped moan left your lips.

You trembled at the afterthought. Your fingers shook as your thighs quaked and the overwhelming urge to relieve yourself was astounding.

“What the fuck was what?” Loki asked you as the car cleared the intersection.

“What?” You nearly wailed. “What was what?”

“That goddamn sound,” he berated your name and moved the jacket in his lap. He could feel a spot in his briefs from where he’s left it a bit wet.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing control of my body.”

“Describe it,” he ordered. “Tell me.”

“I-“ you stuttered. “I don’t know…” It came out quiet. “I am so hot and I can’t feel anything other than—“ you stopped short.

“What? Can’t feel anything other than what?”

“I’m not going to say it,” you threw your head back against the rest. “But goddamnit I need you to fucking hurry up, Loki. I need you to hurry up.”

“Do you feel like you’re going to die?”

You laughed. Yes, you actually did.

“Yeah,” you couldn’t help the strain in your voice. “I feel like I’m gonna die.”

“Me too.”

You peaked over at him again and the car sped up. Your eyes trailed his body and recognized now the jacket on his lap. Although he kept both hands on the wheel, the jacket was maneuvered too specifically and even in your state, you could see it.

“What do you feel like?” You asked him. He shook his head. David didn’t bother responding.

You took a plunge and crossed your legs together; the beat of your heart pounding at your core. You slapped a hand over your mouth so no sounds would come out. Squeezing your legs together wasn’t ideal but you had to. You’d die if you didn’t.

The relief was almost instant but when you moved them freely again, the pain, or heat, came back worse than before.

Shit.

In the distance, you could see the station and knew if you could get into one of the showers, you could finish yourself off quickly. Loki could have read your mind as he nearly jumped the curb to make it to the parking lot.

“Jesus,” you squealed as he slammed onto the break and as quick as he could, he exited the vehicle and ran inside without helping you out. He had taken the jacket with him and laid it over his front.

Holy shit. It’s a goddamn drug.

It took far too long for that sentiment to click into place. You’d read about them a few years ago and never fathomed it was make its way to Conyers. It was ridiculous. A sex drug.

And if your assumptions were correct with dispatch telling you the stolen vehicle was gang related, then this sex drug was meant to be the enemy, not a helpful tool in the toolbox.

Masturbating wasn’t going to help either of you.

You rapidly dislodged yourself out of the vehicle and tried not to think about the ache between your legs. As you sped through the lobby, the nice lady at the front desk, who’s name you couldn’t recall at the moment, looked incredibly concerned for yours, and David’s state of mind.

“Detective! Is everything alr-“

“Fine! Everything’s fine!” You shouted as you passed her and ran to the showers. You knew David was headed there too.

You raced through the precinct and pushed opened the locker room door so hard it hit the other wall with a deafening thud. One of the three showers was already on and David’s clothes scattered a trail to it. You locked the door which was only supposed to be used in emergencies.

David Loki was a strange man but messy wasn’t one of them. He took great care in himself, even if he didn’t care what others thought of him.

“Loki?” You called after him. You palmed at the buttons of your shirt and slowly undid them in a hesitant want. He didn’t answer.

“David?” You yelled a little louder as you got closer to his shower. The curtains, two sets, were closed and you couldn’t see a shadow of him. “I know what it is.”

You shrugged off your own jacket and began working at your shirt. Once your shirt was buttoned down enough, you struggled to get it off before moving to your pants. Your legs shook.

“It’s one of those aphrodisiac drugs that O’Malley gave a seminar about last year.”

You got closer and heard him murmuring to himself. You slipped off your pants and shoes and unclasped your bra.

“Da-“

Loki said your name strained. You could hear him working over himself quickly as the water cascaded over him.

“Stop fucking talking, it’s not helping.”

“Doing it yourself isn’t going to help.”

You slipped off your underwear and wanted so badly to finger yourself but restrained even if it began to hurt your body.

“You’re the last person I’d want to see me like this,” he groaned. “Fuck…”

There was something about his tone that made you not take it as offense. It was desperate, whiny in need and maybe it was the drugs but perhaps it wasn’t.

“I don’t know what those people did to it but it’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to be painful.”

“I know!” He shouted back. “I know it’s not—“ Loki let out a long moan as he finished on the other side. You clasped a hand onto the lockers and groped at your chest, nipples having pebbled a long time ago.

David was quick to see that his problem didn’t leave. It was still raging in front of him and he put his fist into the wall of the shower.

“What do we do?” He asked defeatedly as the pain of his erection was too much to hold. You hadn’t even touched yourself yet and somehow were holding it together better than he was.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” you admitted. “I’m sorry—I tried—“

“I know. It was that fuckin’ kid.”

The shower curtains began to pull back one and then the other. David’s head popped out before realizing you were fully nude and diverted his gaze.

“Christ!” He chastised. “Warn me next time!”

Next time.

“What’s it gonna be, Loki?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Could be a worse person, I guess.” You couldn’t say I have been infatuated with you for a few years now and I very much would like to fuck you.

“Yeah,” he agreed and looked at you. He drank you in. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

“Would there be any other?”

“I’d buy you dinner and drinks first,” in his pain he smiled slightly. You let go of the lockers and approached him. He opened the curtain and you could see the way his cock looked to be in pain just waiting to feel you. “And I usually don’t put out on the first date.”

“Bold of you to assume I do,” you told him. He walked back into the second half of the shower where the water was still running. You closed both of the curtains behind you as the cold water felt like a miracle on your skin.

“Do you need me to…” he trailed off.

“No,” you shook your head. “I just really need to fuck you now.”

Loki nodded and in an instant, he grabbed your face between his hands and planted his lips onto yours frantically. It was messy and erratic and unlike him but wholly him. He was as desperate as you, pulling you against him as his back met the wall of the shower and your hands caressed his body and traced the tattoos of his chest.

His cock was pressed in between you. You took your hand and wrapped it around him, his reaction taking you aback as he broke the kiss and leaned his head against yours. He still held it between his hands and moaned at your ministrations. It was better than his own but still not enough.

David pushed you back against the adjacent wall that the water was hitting. Your back was cold against the plastic covering and one of his hands traced down your body, gripping what he could and placing kisses along your collarbone and neck.

Your limbs were on fire. You ran a finger over his tip and gathered the wetness that seemed to never stop flowing from himself or from you. He reached for your leg and perched it onto his waist the best he could under the circumstances.

You met his eyes and nodded, reaffirming to him that it was alright and everything would be fine. And it would be if he hurried up.

Helping line him up at a perfect angle, you felt the tip of his cock swipe at your sensitive folds. It was breathtaking. So different from anyone else and it made your heart pound twenty times as fast. You let go of him to give over control and immediately, he eased into with little friction.

You were so beyond wet that you took him easy. He slipped in, feeling the mold of you give way to the pain the drug had caused and even if he stayed still and not moved, it would have been enough to feel normal. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. The feel of your plush walls were too much—too smooth and too lush to cause him to stop so he snapped his hips back and held your waist tight against the wall.

Loki pounded into you with a force. Feet slipping and hands searching for purpose, you held onto his broad shoulders tightly.

“Shit,” he grunted. “You feel so fucking good.”

Even if it was dubious, even if he was not in the most perfect state of mind, you treasured the sentiment.

He thrusted in and out, dragging out the time he’d spend going back into your pussy and even with the water pouring down around you, you could hear the sounds of your arousals meeting. At the thought of your combining juices, you cupped the side of his face and kissed him intensely. His lips met yours, fingers digging into your skin as your bodies heated release cam forth.

“I can’t last that long,” you mumbled underneath the sounds. Your fingers shook against his stubble and your legs were like hello. “I just can’t.”

“It’s fine,” he said breathlessly. “I won’t either.”

You nodded, pushing back his hair as he slowed for a second and the pain began to return.

“Flip me around,” you ordered. David searched your eyes for any kind of regret and found none.

He did as told. Slipping out of you, he turned you around in the shower and immediately you put your hands against the wall and stuck out your ass in his direction. Legs slightly spread, it was easier, he imagined, than the position he chose.

“Ok,” your voice was in the direction of the wall. “I’m good.”

“Yeah?” He offered. He took his dick in his hand again and pumped himself as he groped your ass now sprinkled with the water from the shower head. “Let’s finish this, hm?”

You hummed a reply. “Fuck me hard, Loki, and when we’re done, you can take me to that restaurant you always talk about.”

“Yes ma’am.” His breath was hot on your neck. He used his foot to separate you legs a bit more and maneuvered himself to enter you again. With you holding onto the wall, he took both his hands and grasped you hips so tight it’d leave a bruise and quickened his pace from before.

You groaned, gasping into the wall as you rested your forehead against the cool side. He was relentless in his mission; concentrated and forgetful of manners or his own truth. He let go. There was a sting of his body as your tailbone rammed against him, the feel of him so full inside of you relieving the burn and replacing it with something far worse: lust.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, leaning into you and letting his lips fall on the back of your shoulder. One of his hands slipped from you waist and intertwined with yours against the wall.

“I’m—“ you started as the toe curling sensation fluttered over you again. It was fast, not a mere minute of your cunt being filled did you feel the orgasm build and build. “I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated.

“Do it,” Loki’s voice was next to your ear. “Come for me, baby, come on… I’m right behind you.”

You squeaked as he hurried his motions. Like waves crashing into the side of a cliff, your orgasm blinded you in a white light. You squeezed your eyes shut and mouth hung open slightly. Your moan was elongated by his thrusts and your breathed heaved in your chest.

It was an exorcism of sorts—the drug leaving you and finding peace with the harshness of the sex you had.

As he promised, David wasn’t far behind. A fee thrusts later and he staggered, spilling himself inside of you with a hand on your back to steady you. He felt that white light too; cleared of the torment that wasn’t too bad after all.

The sound of the shower was all that masked your breaths as the feeling muted and reality set in. It was only then that you truly realized that you, a detective, fucked your coworker, your partner, in the showers at work mid-day on a Tuesday, without regard for being quiet.

You chuckled, then laughed. Loki didn’t know what to do or say, so he slipped out of your warmth and caressed your side. Even out of the haze, he left another kiss.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Dinner?”

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic and any other fics that you choose to read of mine. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always very much appreciated. It keeps writers like me motivated—we all love to hear from you.