Are the drabbles still open? If so Nevada x reader and "Go on tell me, tell me you don't love me"
oooooo we’re going angsty here *cracks knuckles*
& PS: THANK YOU SO MUCH!! <3 :)
warning: rough handling of reader, cursing, pseudo-movie-spoiler…
“You’re heartless, you’re a brute-” this couldn’t be true. Why would anyone spread such awful lies? Further- why the Hell wasn’t he denying the accusation you had hurled his way?
Nevada Ramirez wasn’t one to back down: ever, really. Yet here, standing in the middle of his club during the daytime, stumbling over his cheap leather boots- he seemed too weak or drunk to even bother to keep standing.
You wouldn’t let him get off the hook that easily; “They said you ordered it, said you made the call-” damningly, you pointed at him, crossed the room in record time and slammed your hands against his chest. The pressure caused him to take a few steps back, but beyond that, he acted as if nothing had happened. “I’ve always known you were scummy, but this? A CHILD, Nevada?”
Never before had he laid a hand on you. No, you’ve seen him hold guns to people’s heads, you’ve watched him bust lips and crack skulls against cement: but this was the first time his fists had ever come for you. Thankfully, be it a flash of contrition or the fear of your retaliation, he managed to reel himself back before landing any blows.
“You don’t know shit,” he insisted, more shouted than anything, and shamelessly prodded a fingertip against your sternum. “We haven’t spoken for days, then you come in here like you own the damn place and raise your voice like you know what the Hell I’m going through!”
What he’s going through? “YOU’VE been avoiding ME: What about that boy’s family? He had a Mami, a Papi- Nevada, you handed out a plethora of death sentences when you ordered he be tossed off the damn bridge.” You wouldn’t back down, not now, not after learning what he’d done. “Why would you do that, Nevada? Can you imagine loosing someone that innocent, that precious, so close to you-”
His nostrils flared, you’d obviously struck a chord of some sort. The restraint he typically maintained seemed to fall to the wayside, and he advanced on you too quickly for your appropriate reciprocation. Trying to run backwards failed you- you tumbled over your own shoes and he bent at the waist to lean over you.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW, PRINCESA?” So close, so loud, red faced and breath smelling of liquor: he was too much, too all at once, you could only whimper and recoil. “I take care of you, I protect you- what the Hell do YOU know about loss?” He spat, it splattered across the cement and you shifted the opposite direction. “I have my reasons, you weren’t supposed to find out about this, so drop it and go home before I toss you to tracks, too.”
A threat? How had this dissolved so quickly, “Ne-Nevada, what is the matter with you?” Now, your voice lowered, a feeble attempt to drag him back to his place as your lover. “You’re nothing like the man I love, you’re nothing like you-”
Something snapped, you couldn’t quite place it, but the look on his face gave him away. “Go on,” he dropped down, so his knees fell on other side of you and you were trapped under his weight. His thighs fell to your sides, you desperately splayed fingers against his jeans to try and shove yourself away from beneath him. “Tell me,” he was howling now, animalistic and deep: it broke your heart, the pain in his tone- “Tell me you don’t love me, then you’ll be free and you’ll never have to bother with me again,” his palms came to your shoulders, and he rattled you up, demanding a reaction, “leave me be to wallow with El Diablo, I’ve sold my damn soul down the river in the name of revenge, let me fuckin’ rot-”
Wetness fell over you, dripped along your face, fell in little pools of saddness atop your chest- tears. Nevada was crying, bawling really, and every inch of him began to tremble. Your fear dissipated, and instead of combating his manhandling with a battle of your own, you reached for him. Afraid of an assault, Nevada flinched; but you pressed past his hesitation, to cup his face in your hands.
“Nevada, mi amor,” at the mere sound of your sweet voice, the one he’d deprived himself of since the incident in question, he softened. Like a dog in desperate need of attention, he nuzzled his face into your palm, sighed longingly and had to catch himself with his hands on the floor, on either side of your head. “Nevada, this isn’t you, you know I love you-” your thumbs went to wiping away his tears, he lifted a leg so you wouldn’t be trapped any longer. “Why, what happened? Tell me, please-”
The King crumbled, fell to the ground alongside you and wept against the cold concrete. Of course, going horizontal on the hard floor wasn’t ideal, but at least now he seemed to be on your level. You rolled to your side, wrapped arms around his wilting shoulders, drug him across the gap between the two of you so he could bury his wet face into your throat.
“My nephew,” he spoke against your skin, pursed lips to leave kisses atop goosebumps, “he’s gone… he’s dead, because these stupid fucking kids-”
You tried to hush him, ran your fingers through his dark hair, ignored the pain in your spine from laying on the ground- but he persisted with the confession.
“I wasn’t thinking, I haven’t been able to sleep,” he sniffled, leaned back just slightly, still welcoming your embrace. “And all the goddamn money, I owe people that shit, they want cash not rain checks…”
“So if you don’t get the money back,” you traced his jaw line with worried fingertips, “they’ll come for you… and you’ve already lost your nephew…”
He shut his eyes, tight, struggling to manage through the reminder of his poor sister’s pain. “It was kids, goddamn kids, taking mi familia away, giving kingpins a reason to take even more of who I love from me-”
You pressed your lips to his: the kiss was sloppy, sad and forced, but at least he didn’t have to recount his horror any longer. Maybe you could never understand how he felt, you hadn’t experienced such a close loss before, but he was suffering. Perhaps the punishment didn’t fit the crime for the poor boy who had to pay a life for a life…
but, your man needed you, and if he was going to make any decent decisions in the near-future: he needed a chance to rest.
“Nevada, let’s go home,” you were whispering now, he whined pathetically at the heavenly suggestion- he hadn’t dared to come back to your two’s apartment since he knew he crossed the line. “You get sleep, we’ll go from there, you need time to grieve: before any more lives get stolen away.”
“I’m so sorry, mi amor, what have I done?” While you worked to rise to sitting, he fell to your lap, hid his shame in your skirt. “I’m broken, I’m awful, I’d never… typically, I would have never…”
“Nevada, come on,” you cradled him best you could, said a silent prayer in hopes any God worth it’s salt truly had forgiveness: for him, for you. “Nevada, I love you… let’s go home.”