#Used Trucks Removals
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Tumblr ads showing me strange sex toys or weird fake meet and fuck websites: 😑
Tumblr ads showing me hyperspecific and unusual construction tools: 🤨🫣🤔😳
#zipmode talks#sorry it just showed me. like. a ratchet wrench that you attach to a screwdriver/impact#incredibly funny considering using a drive bit with an impact is literally all you'd need to take a bolt on/off#the ratcheting part is completely unecessary if you're going electric#these things fascinate me#also showing me like.... a tool specifically made for removing giant bearings? which was probably cool?#also got an ad for like. a drawer instalation system for a truck bed which is stupid because the whole point of a truck bed is-#so you can put big things in it. imo. and the drawers took up the whole bed
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there are a lot of small courtesies that say a lot about whether a person thinks of others in their daily life, wherein they may take on a small responsibility or minor inconvenience for themselves to make things better for everyone overall. this is why big trucks in school parking lots with giant tow hitches that stick out two feet into either the driving lane or the pedestrian walkway can go ahead and tow each other right into a lake
#shouts into the void#it takes less than a minute to remove a tow hitch#you are not using it in the school parking lot#instead you create a hazard for everyone around you#we can talk about my issues with the trucks themselves later#this is about the tow hitches omg theyre not hard to remove????
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Why did I see an ad for a certain piece of political wear? This is tumblr! The majority demographic on tumblr mocks it. Literally why spend money on putting your ad here. 😭
#go back to the septic removal truck tank you came from ty#… that was a very specific way of referring to shit#tbf it’s septic tank emptying year for us sooo
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Just thinking about how boyfriend!Simon doesn't like to go out, but somehow ended up dating a party gal. He hated it in the beginning because he didn't know where you were and, worse, who you were with. But once he got used to it, he preferred staying home and wait for your drunk call in the middle of the night.
He would pick you up on his truck, made sure you got your seatbelt on properly. You would poke his face, smiling like an idiot from the alcohol. He would just scold you even though you weren't paying attention.
Simon would carry you over his shoulder to your shared apartment. It was light work compared to his usual training. He would sometimes spank your ass to get you to stop squirming around.
Simon would drop you on the edge of the sink counter in the bathroom. He would remove your makeup with a wipe as you tell him how fun the party was. Simon would wash your face with a wet towel as you instructed him to do cause you explained that makeup remover is practically soap.
Simon would drop you on the bed and asked you to raise your arms so he could take your little dress off. You truly trust him that he wouldn't try anything sketchy with you in that vulnerable state. He will slip on one of his shirts on you, knowing how much you love sleeping in his clothes.
Simon would tuck into bed as you mumbled how much you love him and how he is the best boyfriend you ever had. Lights turn off, the rustling of the sheets and tired sighs. He would snuggle up to you, spooning you against his chest. He would just be listening to your sweet mumbles, stroking your hair slowly. Glad that he didn't like going out to take care of you.
Masterlist.
Part 2.
#dont mind me cleaning my drafts#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#call of duty ghost#ghost#ghost cod#ghost headcanons#ghost fanfiction#ghost imagine#simon ghost x you#simon riley imagine#ghost x you#simon riley x female reader#simon x reader
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#Truck Removal Newcastle#Damaged Truck Removal Newcastle#Scrap Truck Removal Newcastle#Cash For Old Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Scrap Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Used Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Second Hand Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Damaged Trucks Newcastle#Cash For Accidental Trucks Newcastle
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Suggestive themes! 18+ only!
Something something lumberjack!Simon being absolutely feral for you after a fight where he says something stupid and you slap him without thought.
You’re never violent. Have never raised your voice at him, or at anyone for that matter. You never cuss, never instigate, you’re polite. But him smarting off without thought and having you open-palm slap him across the face drove him insane. He barely felt it, barely registered it. But the thought of you being violent, that you did it because you felt something so strongly in regards to him, had him rock hard and absolutely foaming at the mouth.
Your eyes widen and you instantly start to apologize, but his mouth slanted across yours seconds later and it had the apology halting in the back of your throat. You’re putty in his hands, which is good because he’s pawing at your hips and ass while walking you backwards to press up against the hood of his truck.
“So fuckin’ hard for ya, sweet’eart.” Simon groans against your lips, teeth clashing and tongue sliding against yours in a dirty glide.
“M’sorry, Si. Didn’t mean to.” You’re able to mutter between rough passes of lips and teeth, but he’s just shaking his head as he wraps both hands around your hips to lift you onto the hood.
“Nothin’ t’be sorry for, lovie. S’my fault anyways.”he replies on a breath, slotting himself between your spread thighs and dragging his hands up your back to tangle in your hair. He’s using one hand to hold your neck while the other is tugging your hair back to arch your neck and jaw for his rough ministrations.
“M’not violent though. S’not right of me.” You try again, panting and sighing deep in your chest as his stubbled cheeks scratch at your skin while he sucks hickies and bite marks into the delicate skin of your throat and shoulder.
“Hot as fuck is wha’ it is.” Simon retorts, using the excuse of removing his mouth to talk to bite a little too hard into the meat of your collarbone.
“Fuck, Simon. Too hard.” But your hips are still rocking against his body where your legs are wrapped around his broad frame.
“Sorry, sweet’eart. My bad.” But he’s grinning mischievously, not really sorry at all.
You roll your eyes and laugh, wrapping your own hand around the back of his neck to bring him back in for another kiss and another taste.
#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost cod mw2#ghost cod smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#modern warfare#mw2 drabble#cod mw22#call of duty mw2
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"On a freezing cold Wednesday afternoon in eastern Kentucky, Taysha DeVaughan joined a small gathering at the foot of a reclaimed strip mine to celebrate a homecoming. “It’s a return of an ancestor,” DeVaughan said. “It’s a return of a relative.”
That relative was the land they stood on, part of a tract slated for a federal penitentiary that many in the crowd consider another injustice in a region riddled with them. The mine shut down years ago, but the site, near the town of Roxana, still bears the scars of extraction.
DeVaughan, an enrolled member of the Comanche Nation, joined some two dozen people on January 22 to celebrate the Appalachian Rekindling Project buying 63 acres within the prison’s footprint.
“What we’re here to do is to protect her and to give her a voice,” DeVaughan said. “She’s been through mountaintop removal. She’s been blown up, she’s been scraped up, she’s been hurt.”
The Appalachian Rekindling Project, which she helped found last year, wants to rewild the site with bison and native flora and fauna, open it to intertribal gatherings, and, it hopes, stop the prison.
The environmental justice organization worked with a coalition of local nonprofits, including Build Community Not Prisons and the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, to raise $160,000 to buy the plot from a family who owned the land generationally.
Retired truck driver Wayne Whitaker, who owns neighboring land and had considered purchasing it as a hunting ground, told Grist he was supportive. “There’s nothing positive we’ll get out of this prison,” he said.
The penitentiary has been a gleam in the eye of state and local officials and the Bureau of Prisons since 2006. It has always sparked sharp divisions in Roxana and beyond and was killed in 2019 after a series of lawsuits, only to be quietly resurrected in 2022. Last fall, the bureau took the final step in its approval process, clearing the way to begin buying land...
In his book Coal, Cages, Crisis, Schept noted that mine sites are considered ideal locations for prisons or a dumping ground for waste, rather than places of ecological value, as some biologists have argued. The Roxana site has been reclaimed, meaning re-vegetated with a forest that now shelters a number of rare species, including endangered bats.
Opponents argue that a prison will bring more environmental problems than jobs. Letcher County was 1 of 13 counties ravaged by catastrophic flooding in 2022, a situation exacerbated by damage strip mining caused to local watersheds. The prison slated for Roxana will exacerbate the problem.
The Bureau of Prisons estimates it will damage 6,290 feet of streams and about 2 acres of wetlands. (The agency has promised to compensate the state.)
DeVaughan said the purchase also is a step toward rectifying the dispossession that began with the forced removal and genocide of Indigenous peoples. The Cherokee, Shawnee, and Yuchi made their homes in the area before, during, and after colonization, and their thriving nations raised crops, ran businesses, and hunted bison that once roamed Appalachia.
In all the time since, coal, timber, gas, and landholding companies have at times owned almost half of the land in 80 counties stretching from West Virginia to Alabama. Several prisons sprang from deals made with coal companies, something many locals consider the continuation of this status quo.
Changing that dynamic is a priority for the Appalachian Rekindling Project, which hoped to buy more land to protect it from extractive industries and return its stewardship to Indigenous and local communities. DeVaughn said Indigenous peoples throughout the region will be welcome to use the land as a gathering place...
DeVaughan sees its work establishing a new vision of economic transition for coalfields, one that relies less on “dollars and numbers” and more on “healing and restoration” of the land and the Indigenous and other communities that live there.
She is working with some personal connections in the Cheyenne and Arapaho nations to acquire a herd of bison and plans to work with local volunteers, scientists, and students to inventory the site’s flora and fauna."
-via GoodGoodGood, February 6, 2025
#kentucky#united states#indigenous#first nations#comanche#north america#land back#rewilding#indigenous activism#conservation#prison abolition#bison#forest#good news#hope
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The Telltale Signs You Need to Get Rid of Your Used Car or Truck
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🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋
𝜗ৎ⋆。˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...
or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!
warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!
a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)
this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3
a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.
“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.
she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.
sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.
rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.
letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.
"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.
your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.
a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.
you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.
the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.
you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.
he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.
you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.
"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.
still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.
"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.
a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.
just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.
"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.
you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.
"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.
your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.
looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.
you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.
#𝜗ৎ ⋆。˚ bambis works#^ྀི trailerpark!angel!reader#rafe cameron#fanfic#outer banks#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks smut#obx#obx smut#obx fanfiction#obx rafe#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe edit#rafe fluff#rafe outer banks#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe cameron moodboard
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as soon as i sit down to log notes for work. Cat.
#i would say hes quality control but he actively makes everything worse. clicking and typing and such#he only lays on my desk while im at it#we could take turns using the desk but nooooo he wants help type#or lay on the parking break when im playing my trucking game#he is the size of the whole desk#i can not stop him from jumping up nor can i remove him#only endure his presence#im reflecting on my desk stuff and its all hand me downs from my brother#pc keyboard mouse...not moniter that was a christmas gift from him. but the tv i used before that....and my ps4................
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drop the act — satoru gojo


contents ★ fem!reader, fake dating to real lovers, fluff, 0.8k+ wc. ノ requested for my milestone event.
event m.list ★ jjk m.list

“let’s just stop.” satoru’s announcement came out of the blue. his tone came off serious and firm, which was quite uncharacteristic of him. it took you by surprise, a dumbfounded expression was written all over your face. even though you knew that this whole ‘fake’ relationship situation wouldn’t last long and that it was bound to come to an end sooner or later the moment he found someone he truly loved, and although you prepared yourself for that day, you just couldn’t help but feel a hint of sadness and hurt as your heart clenched painfully inside your chest.
why? because what first started as nothing but a mere attraction, a show to stop your parents’ constant nagging about you not seeing anyone at you age while most of your peers had gotten married already, turned to real and genuine feelings of love. as time passed by since the start of your relationship with him, you found yourself helplessly fall for satoru and those sweet, tender acts of his. the way your name slipped off his lips ever so sweetly, and how it rung into your ears like a serenade. how he took your hand into his as they fitted perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that complete one another. how he casually threw his arms around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world to do for him.
you knew that all of his sweet actions and gestures were all just a part of his act to make it seem as believable and convincing as possible, and he did exactly that. no one, not even your parents, had a single doubt that the two of you were really dating. to outsiders, your relationship was what they call 'goals'. not knowing that it was all just a show, a camouflage. although you knew it all along, but you couldn't help but fall for him.
satoru was your ideal type for what a lover should be, and you wanted to do nothing more than to confess your feelings for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. after all, the two of you only ever agreed to do this was because there were no strings attached. it was only a matter of convenience for both you and him, since he also happened to be in the same situation as you. so when you asked for his help, he was more than willing to oblige.
you wanted to tell him not to leave you, to stay with you longer, that you’d gotten so used to being with him to the point where you weren't ready to live without him, that you needed him. just thinking about how the two of you would part ways from then on, and how satoru would eventually move on like nothing happened between the two of you and maybe even find himself someone whom he’d truly love almost made your head spiral out of control.
if only you had known your feelings for him would grow this intensely, you wouldn't have agreed to do this.
your body moved on its own as your hand grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. you swallowed a lump that was starting to form in your throat.
"do we really have to?" your voice was shaky as you sounded very desperate. your eyes were practically glued to the floor as you anxiously awaited for his answer, refusing to ever look up. your chest moved up and down rapidly as as result of your heavy breathing.
you heard him sigh as he removed your hand away.
"yes, it’s gotten really tiring having to keep up with this act." your heart sank at his response. it really was the ending, and you were trying your hardest to fight the tears that eagerly awaited to fall.
satoru reached his hand out and used his thumb to lift your chin up, forcing you to look at his beautiful sky blue eyes. his lips slightly parted as he began speaking.
“let’s drop the act, i love you for real.”
and the sudden declaration hit you like a truck, did he just say that he loved you? it took you a couple of long minutes to process his words and fully register them in your mind.
the seriousness and earnestness of his tone along with his unwavering gaze at you left no room for doubt, he definitely meant every word he said. and you couldn't believe what started as a mere act at first had actually become something real.
the anxious look on your face began to relax as all tension slowly escaped your body, replaced with a wave of joy and relief. you let a few happy tears fall down your crimson, red cheeks as a result of being overwhelmed with emotions, which satoru gently wiped.
"yeah, let's." you hummed, a soft smile made its way onto your face. you wrapped your arms securely around his neck as you stood on your tippy toes, whispering softly into his ears in a moment of genuine intimacy and affection which you had felt for the very first time.
"i love you, satoru." although it wasn't your first time saying those words to him, but this time it felt much different, much more meaningful.
he smiled softly and leaned closer as the distance between you and him was completely gone.

taglist: @sylusdoll @ayrastv @hanaeriin @spkyssn @stunies @kalsplace
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojō x reader#gojo fluff#satoru fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#gojo x you#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo fanfic#satoru fanfic#gojo drabbles#satoru drabbles
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Just Us | Old Man!Logan x Reader
🌶️ 18+
Summary: You and Logan have been on the road with Charles and Laura, but finally catch a moment for yourselves.
It has been too long since you and Logan have spent time alone together. Ever since taking in Laura and making the decision to take her north at her mother’s wish, the four of you have been sharing dingy motels and catching whatever rest you could in the truck. Charles needed to be taken care of and the kid had to be corralled, exhausting you and Logan on top of the constant threat of Dr. Rice and Pierce.
You could tell this sudden change of pace was weighing on Logan’s shoulders heavily. The circles under his eyes were darkening and the worry lines on his forehead were deepening. The frustration was eating away at him, but deep down he knew he had to do this. You could tell he needed release. He found this situation ridiculous and constantly asks you why you let him do this. After all, you, Charles, Caliban and Logan had been successfully under the radar until now. Life was peaceful and even somewhat enjoyable for Logan’s standards. Now, Caliban is dead, Charles refuses his medication, and the pair of you are tasked with taking a child to a sanctuary that could not even exist.
An unexpected change of your path lead the four of you to the farmhouse of a sweet family whom Charles and Logan helped on the highway. They fed you dinner and offered to lend you all a place to sleep, which Logan quickly accepted, catching your gaze from across the dining room. Your eyes trail down his body, catching a glimpse of his clenched fist, and a certain outline in between his legs. Your eyes travel up once more, sharing a shy smirk with Logan.
After helping Charles into bed and getting Laura comfortable, Logan grabs your hand tightly and nearly drags you off into your shared room. His heavy footsteps drown out your giggles- His body language could only mean one thing.
“Well, aren’t you eager?” You say to Logan in a lowered voice, biting back a smile. He closes the door behind you and locks it, spinning you and pressing you into the door.
“You have no idea, bub.” Logan growls.
He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head tightly. His head dips to the crook of your neck, biting and sucking desperately. Your head drops back instinctively, bumping the door behind you. He was so impossibly close already, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside you.
With his free hand, Logan finds the buttons of your jeans and masterfully undoes them. He releases your wrists and your hands quickly find his cheeks to pull his mouth away from your neck and to your lips. He groans deeply into the kiss and shoves your jeans to your knees as your hands tighten in his dusty grey hair. He pushes his knee into yours, forcing your legs open, and shoves his jean covered thigh against your core. You instantly moan into Logan’s mouth.
“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had you to myself? Too damn long.” He says, guiding your hips as you grind on his thigh.
“I’ve missed you.” You choke out, causing Logan to chuckle.
“Well you’ve got me for at least tonight sweet girl.”
He removes his knee from between your legs and helps you step out of your jeans and panties. He takes your hand and leads you to the bed, laying you down on the edge of it. You prop yourself onto your elbows and watch Logan unbutton his flannel and reveal his weathered body. He had been through so much in his life, but he would always make time for his girl.
He works off his jeans, leaving him only in his plain boxers, and leaving you with a wide eyed stare. This would never get old. He inserts himself between your legs and reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head and unclasps your bra while he’s at it. He sighs at the sight he had been missing for the last few weeks. He may not tell you often, but you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You ready, bub? Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
You whimper out a desperate reply, but it isn’t good enough for Logan. He leans down, hands placed on either side of your head. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips.
“Use your words, honey. Let me hear you.” He growls into your ear.
“Please, Logan. I need you.”
He chuckles, breath fanning over your ear and neck.
“That’s what I like to hear. Such a good girl for me.” His voice dripping with desire.
He pushes his hands up and pushes his boxers down his hips, revealing his hard cock. He strokes it lazily before guiding it to your entrance. He enters you inch by inch, teasing you both. Even though it’s only been a few weeks without touching each other, being on the run has made it feel like years. Logan finally sinks his hips to become flush with yours, filling you completely. The two of you are panting into each other’s mouths, just completely full of desire and love for the other.
“You ready for me to move, hon?” He whispers in between labored breaths. You nod meekly, hair sticking to your forehead. He kisses you tenderly, his beard scratching your chin. Logan begins to move at a slow pace, but quickly picks up speed. He wants nothing more than a passionate night with you, but it’s been too long to hold himself back.
His speed increases, thrusting into you as hard as he promised. Your jaw goes slack to release a moan, but he covers it quickly with his large hand.
“As much as I wanna hear you, we don’t want to wake our hosts, huh?” He says, smiling at your fucked out expression. You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucks you hard.
“You’re close bub, I can feel it. Just let go for me baby.” He whispers, forehead against yours.
You let out a stifled moan against Logan’s hand as he pulls out and releases all over your stomach and thighs. He flops beside you with a groan and maneuvers himself to the top of the bed, pulling you into his muscular chest and wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders.
“I missed you.” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut.
“I know.”
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine imagine#xmen x reader#wolverine#old man logan#logan 2017#wolverine smut
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Okay, I know people as a general rule tend to not care about invertebrates as much as cute, fuzzy mammals, but this is a must-read if you care about animal welfare. The short version is that horseshoe crab blood has been used for decades in medicine as a way to test whether something is truly sterile; the blood clots in the presence of bacteria. Since then millions of horseshoe crabs have been captured and drained of blood, even though a synthetic alternative was developed a few years ago.
They go through a pretty brutal experience in the process. They're caught by fishermen who often throw them by their tails into a pile in the open air, and they're then trucked to a bleeding facility where they're strapped down and their blood is removed with needles jabbed directly into their hearts. Over half their blood may be taken, after which they're supposed to be returned to the ocean. However, it's likely many of them never make it back, instead turned into fish bait and sold by the same fishermen who caught them in the first place.
Apart from the fact that this is a horrific thing to put any animal through, the attrition due to fatalities has put a serious dent in horseshoe crab numbers. This is compounded by massive habitat loss, pollution, and the capture of horseshoe crabs as food, particularly as the females of one species are considered a delicacy. And other animals that rely on horseshoe crabs are suffering, too. The American rufa subspecies of the red knot, a medium-sized shorebird, is critically endangered as the horseshoe crab eggs it must have in order to successfully complete migration have become increasingly scarce, and it is likely the bird will become extinct if trends continue.
While there are guidelines for medical horseshoe crab harvest, they're considered optional. The few laws that exist are poorly enforced. Short of a complete ban on horseshoe crab blood in favor of the synthetic alternative, these animals are in very real danger of going extinct after a history spanning over 400 million years on this planet.
Thankfully, this article is not the first to bring forth the issues surrounding horseshoe crab harvest. Here are a few resources for further information and action (US based, though horseshoe crabs are threatened throughout their entire range):
Horseshoe Crab Conservation Network - https://horseshoecrab.org/conservation/
Wetlands Institute - https://wetlandsinstitute.org/conservation/horseshoe-crab-conservation/
Horseshoe Crab Recovery Coalition - https://hscrabrecovery.org/
#animal welfare#animal cruelty#cw animal cruelty#animal suffering#horseshoe crabs#invertebrates#wildlife#animals#environment#conservation#endangered species#extinction#nature#medicine#science#scicomm#science communication
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the future mrs. torres {j.t}
Joaquin Torres x Reader
gif not mine!
wc: 633
a/n: just a fun little thing of Reader and Joaquin stressing Sam out.
🩵🩵🩵🩵
This weekend you were finally off to visit Sam. You were so excited to meet the new Falcon as well, Sam has talked about him a lot. Your flight to Virginia wasn’t bad, you rented a car driving to Sam’s place from the airport to surprise him. You pulled up behind his truck, leaving your bags in the car heading up to the door before knocking. When the door opened, you inhaled deeply hoping your surprise would be a welcomed one.
“Shut up” Sam was in disbelief looking at you before he pulled you into a hug. “You’re actually here” he pulls away getting a good look at you. “You grew up too fast go back to being the annoying teenager again”
“Absolutely not” you laugh remembering how Sam had the privilege of raising you, being your father figure.
“I can’t believe you’re really here Peaches” using the nickname everyone called you growing up.
“I finally got the time off and wanted to surprise you. Hopefully I get to meet Joaquin since you speak so highly of him” you say with a smile. At the sound of his name Joaquin happens to walk by, let’s just say the both of you were momentarily speechless. Sam being the protective father figure he is he waves his hand in front of your face.
“Nuh uh. Absolutely not” he starts but you just sidestep him, offering Joaquin your hand introducing yourself, but letting him know Peaches is also okay. He shakes your hand eagerly.
“It’s nice to finally meet you” you say with a smile.
“It’s nice to finally meet you! Sam and Bucky talk about you all the time” his smile made your heart flutter a bit.
“Please tell me they say good things. Sam loves to embarrass me” your tone was playful, and Joaquin was definitely one to match that energy.
“I promise they said good things. However, if you have anything on them please tell me. I’m all ears” he says finally dropping your hand.
“Absolutely not. Get away from him Peaches” Sam interrupts pushing you away from Joaquin.
“Sam come on we just started a conversation” you try pushing back, looking around him to see Joaquin laughing .
“Yeah Sam come on, I just met the future Mrs. Torres and you’re not letting me be great” Joaquin sends you a wink. You’ve never seen Sam move so fast when he turned around.
“Stay away from my kid” he points at Joaquin, you take the moment to go to Joaquin’s side hugging him, and his arm goes around you too.
“But daddy I love him” you quote The Little Mermaid. Sam rubs his hand down his face.
“I’m walking away before you get annoying” Sam turns away walking off.
“I promise to treat her right Sam” Joaquin yells after him.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” you call out.
“There’s room in my bed” he says loud enough hoping Sam hears. Before you could answer Sam’s head pops back in the room glaring at you both.
“You better not” he warns you.
“You’re no fun Pops.” you say laughing making Sam crack a smile.
“I have to go call my mama and abuela” Joaquin announces removing his arm, “Have to let them know I just met my future wife” he smiles walking off.
“Tell them I said hello” you call after him, before looking at Sam “Sooo can I move in?” you ask him with a smile.
“Whatever Peaches” Sam rolls his eyes, “Let’s go get your bags” he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you out to the car.
“I think being Mrs. Torres doesn’t sound too bad” you comment walking out to the car.
“Don’t make me send you away” Sam jokes, knowing that you might actually become Joaquin’s wife.
part 2🩵
#joaquin torres oneshot#joaquin torres imagine#joaquin torres x reader#the falcon x reader#joaquín torres#joaquin torres x fem!reader#joaquin torres fluff#danny ramirez fic
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𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi
summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.
author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.
content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending
word count — 10k
The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.
“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.
And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart.
Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.
You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.
It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.
You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.
When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.
“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.
The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction.
“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”
“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”
His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt.
He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”
“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.
Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.
“How often do they come in here?”
“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”
He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.
At this hour, it was only you and him.
You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee.
“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”
You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.
You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.
Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.
Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.
You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.
“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”
You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.
Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.
“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”
“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”
You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”
“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”
“I can try, but—”
“I’ll pay.”
Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.
And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.
You nod quietly.
-
His order changes depending on his mood.
He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.
Nothing less, nothing more.
And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.
“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”
Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.
It’s a nice sound.
“One is married, two kids.”
You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.
“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”
“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”
Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.
“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.
Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.
“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”
The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.
A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.
They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.
Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.
One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration.
Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become.
One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.
You should have known better, you should have spoken up.
Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.
There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.
You needed solace.
Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body.
“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”
“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.
That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.
“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”
You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”
There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.
“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”
“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”
He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance.
“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”
“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”
You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak.
“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”
“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”
“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”
“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.
“Yeah—yeah, why—”
“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”
It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.
“This is gonna cost, Javier.”
“Name your price, hermosa.”
–
Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.
“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”
You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you.
“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”
“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.
“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”
He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”
He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.
The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”
Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.
“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.
“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”
“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”
The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves.
–
It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.
You thought they would choose something less…obvious.
But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.
The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in.
You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.
“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”
You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”
“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”
“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”
It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code.
“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”
Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.
“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”
You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.
You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.
“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”
“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”
“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”
“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”
You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.
–
Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.
“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”
Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.
“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.
You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.
He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur.
“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”
Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.
You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”
“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.
“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.
“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”
“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.
Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”
His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.
His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine.
“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”
“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”
Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.
He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.
“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”
“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.
“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”
He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.
He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.
“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”
“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.
“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”
“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”
Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.
When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.
You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.
A willing participant, a body, convenience.
Deep down, you know.
But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.
Regardless, you both ignore it.
–
Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it.
The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.
He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.
Got a lead. Money is for last night.
You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.
We should do it again sometime, chiquita.
You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.
He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional.
There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.
Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing.
Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.
He was only doing his job.
–
A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.
It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.
You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.
Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.
“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”
His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.
My couch, the sex.
“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”
“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”
As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”
The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later.
–
Javier is efficient, you learn.
What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief.
It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.
You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.
He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.
When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.
He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.
And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes.
He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.
But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.
You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.
He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.
“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”
He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.
Benny. Benny…Benito?
He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”
“The gala, yeah.”
He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose.
The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.
He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.
“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.
“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.
“When were you gonna tell me that?”
It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.
“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”
It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.
Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.
“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.
“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”
“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”
Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.
He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.
Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely.
“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”
His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”
Always one step ahead.
–
The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.
Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell.
You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.
Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.
“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”
Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.
“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.
“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.
“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”
He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”
Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.
“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.
The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.
When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.
Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.
You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.
You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.
You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.
“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”
The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.
“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.
“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.
“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.
You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.
There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.
Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.
You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.
–
Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.
But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.
Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.
He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.
Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.
“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”
He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.
He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person.
He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.
And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.
You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.
Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.
“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.
“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”
“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.
“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”
He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.
“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”
You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”
“It’s none of my business, really.”
“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”
“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.
It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.
Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.
You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”
“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him.
It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.
“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.
The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made.
He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.
–
Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about.
“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.
Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”
“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”
You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”
You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.
“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”
“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”
You could handle the way it was eating at you.
“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”
His face hardens at the mention of his father.
It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.
Tell me where he touched you.
“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”
Was he scared of you?
Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.
“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”
The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.
I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”
His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.
You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”
“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.
Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.
“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.
“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”
“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”
It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.
It was a mess, both of you were.
He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him.
And you know he needs, wants, without saying.
He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.
“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”
He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.
“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”
You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.
“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.
“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”
Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”
Tonight was good enough, for now.
–
The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.
White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.
“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.
When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.
They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.
“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.
“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”
“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”
“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”
The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”
“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”
Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.
You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.
“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”
You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”
You know what they want, what they need.
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.
The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces.
Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.
–
You wished you could warn him.
One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.
You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.
The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood.
You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.
You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.
“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”
Out?
You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.
“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”
You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.
“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”
You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.
“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”
“Here? What—what do you mean?”
–
Here meant Colombia.
Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific.
Javier had a place close to home. His family.
And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.
His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son.
They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling.
Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.
“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”
“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”
It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”
Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.
“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”
You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”
You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver.
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”
It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.
A code, a message. A lifeline.
Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore.
It was beyond him, out of his control.
And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.
“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”
You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely.
“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”
On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times.
He was done, he wanted out.
-
"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.
"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?
"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.
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