#god i love him so much. hes so special to me

[almostfoxglove]

ALI FAKHSDJGKH okay it's taken me 100 years to reblog this but I WANTED TO QUOTE SO MANY PARTS IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO NARROW THEM DOWN. holy shit. this was??? EVERYTHING. like, this is the canon I needed - redemption for what could have been with Helena and fulfillment of every delusion I've ever had about this man. it felt so true to the world of the show and to javi I'm actually announcing this as Canon. sorry folks!! I don't make the rules!!

gonna pop some favorite bits under the cut :,) AH

“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.”

lord help me I would not survive this I am NOT god's strongest warrior I am a puddle on the FLOOR this is him holding the secretary's finger and complimenting her nail polish all over again DSDKFHJK

“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?”

this is SO HEARTBREAKING ALI like what the FUCK oh my god. I feel like I can hear her and see her scared face and I'm going to cRY ABOUT IT

“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.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“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.”

OHHHHH, to take javier pena apart with a massage!! HOW I YEAAARRRN

“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—”

I love them so much. she's so charming and brings out the CRINKLY EYES and I would die for them both ok ANY DAY ANY TIME

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.

this is so !!!!! JAVI. saying it without saying it, ya know? that he sees her. I'm gonna cry brb

“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,”

“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?”

MY HEART POUNDED SO HARD AT THIS PART I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND

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.

*screams heard in the distance* *more wailing* *barking* *hollering*

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

THE URGENT IN THE MOMENT NOT THINKING "BABY"??? MY PERSONAL KRYPTONITE?? ALI THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE

“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—”

oh my god the pain of this realization fucking SLAPPED ME I just!! was there!! feeling her fear!! my chest is so TIGHT the angst is so GOOD

“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.

this was such a perfect ending. hopeful and soft but also still so javi!! and I'm obsessed with it. I've read this three times, oops. AND WILL DO IT AGAIN <3 all the ways you wove in the moodboard (THEIR LITTLE CODE PHRASE AHHHHH) are so fucking perfect and seamless. ugh. so good. thank you soso much for joining the challenge and sharing this fucking masterpiece with us, WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. you are a talent and a gem and I adore you <3

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

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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.

[theoutcastwrites]

Make You Mine - Childe x Reader

Almost 4 years ago I started obsessing over Liyue Qixing Secretary!Reader x Childe and never did anything about it. Now the dynamic is stuck in my head, 4 years later, and I'm ready to write miniscule drabbles about them, coated in longing and yearning and the like. Hooray

The soft, silver glow of the moon seeped through the open windows, illuminating scarred skin and hair as golden as cor lapis itself. Childe lay with his back facing you, sound asleep, ignorant of the countless thoughts that swirled in your mind. The unwillingness to say goodbye; the sheer desperation to keep him in your field of view; the fear of being exposed, once and for all.

If these thoughts raced in his head during the day as they did in yours, then he did a better job of not showing it than you ever could.

You shifted behind him. His tanned skin, littered in scars and freckles alike, was more than just a sight you wished to remember; you wanted to memorize the placement of every little blemish, every freckle, so that you could recognize them by touch alone. How many battles had he seen to acquire this many scars? How many of them were near-deadly for his skin to become so marred? How did he remain so gentle, with all the bloodshed he had witnessed at such a young age?

You figured you should simply ask him next time. Childe would happily tell you - though he might gloss over the more gruesome details to save himself from the pity you would no doubt offer - but he would tell you nevertheless.

Biting your lip nervously, you reached out a careful hand to trace his shoulder blades. He didn't react to that - still sleeping, you thought, and took it as a sign to continue. With a featherlight touch, your fingers trailed his broad shoulder, his bicep (you fought the urge to squeeze the muscle there, appealing as it was).

Childe was unfairly beautiful at his barest. Every man in Teyvat should envy him and strive to have half the charm he had; but maybe they shouldn't bother trying. Who could ever hope to compare if not the gods themselves?

Your fingers stopped at the back of his neck, where they were tickled by unruly ginger hair. You had half the mind to kiss him there but there was no point in waking him. Childe had to leave early, anyhow.

Rex Lapis must not approve of your relationship; because Childe had to leave for Inazuma on your only day off work and, to make matters crueler, you couldn't even walk him to the docks. Under better circumstances, you would have kissed him right by his ship until he could speak nothing but your name. Under better circumstances, he would have held you tight, regardless if there were people around to see, and you would have happily returned his embrace. Until such a day came, you would have to do with fervent touches at illicit meetings.

"I'll bring you gifts," he'd said hours earlier, "whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours."

"What if I only want you?"

He laughed, as though you hadn't bared your soul to him in that confession,"but I'm already yours."

"Then keep being mine. No matter where you go, just come back being mine."

Childe smiled wide, with cheeks dusted red and eyes crinkled around the corners. A kiss, and then:

"You say it as if it's not the easiest thing in the world."

Come morning, he would vanish without a trace, leaving naught but a cold bed in his wake. His sweet words, surely half-forgotten by Childe himself, remained in your head like a painful reminder of what you could never fully have.

[tpwk-formula1]

2K Special Masterlist

Here is the sneak peak to what you have to look forward to once I hit 2K followers! Before we get into the goodies I want to take a second to thank each of you so much for bringing this blog to life and reading and interacting with my stories! I started this blog because I decided to throw on a race last May… Who knew watching Lando winning his first race would change the entire direction of my life. I have never been chill about my love for F1 and while it has been under a year of me being a fan I have grown up around motorsports my whole life. Anyways enough with the sappiness I am just so thankful! 

I am trying to make my blog more interactive and while I love my pizza menu creating an entire fic from plot to porn to aftercare it can become too much so I am starting new AUs so while I am working on requests I can still make sure to keep you fed! Here are the introductions to the new universe here at Lee-Lee’s!

*Means once the first fic is posted they are open for requests to start building the AU! I also wrote in the TW what their hashtag will be so you can find all the requests for each on there! If I haven’t marked one of your favorites let me know and if there is enough of you guys interested I will add them! I want to keep it to only a few at first so I can keep each AU active

Porn Star! Carlos X Innocent! Reader*

Plot: Y/N is your average university student studying abroad in Spain for a few semesters when she stumbles across a Spanish speaking porn star. While her spanish was far from perfect she could understand his dirty talk clear as day. She can’t help her little panties getting soaked. Once she had exhausted his Twitter to it’s fullest she breaks down and buys herself the top subscription to his Only Fans. She’s quiet and lurks in the distance but as she grows more desperate for the beautiful man she grows more bold. Somehow one thing leads to another and she’s on a call with Carlos begging to cum for him.

Sneak Peak:

“You’re not cumming until I get my hands on you”

TW: First Orgasm, CORRUPTION, loss of virginity… #porn star! carlos

Tattoo Artist! Lewis X Piercer! Reader*

Plot: Lewis has trained Y/N to be the perfect piercer but when his thoughts start turning unprofessional he can’t help himself to a new piercing… 8 to be exact. Y/N had completed several genital piercings in her time as a piercer but never has it been on someone she knew so personally so when her boss grows hard under her touch she can’t help but turn the relationship a bit unprofessional.

Sneak Peak:

“Yes 8 each spaced an inch apart” 

TW: Body Modifications, oral, pleasure dom! Lewis… #tattoo artist! lewis

Virgin! Oscar X PR! Manager Reader

Plot: Oscar could admit being a 23 year old virgin was a bit insane but in his defense he was to focussed on racing to be thinking about girls, but when he meets his new PR manager who has quickly become like a second mom despite the close age. After a drunk confession Y/N makes it her new mission to teach Oscar all things women and sex!

Sneak Peak:

“Osc, you don’t have to be so gentle”

TW: Sex lessons (all sex basics), Sub! Oscar

Charles X Pay for Sex! Reader

Plot: After his recent break up with his long term girl friend Charles can’t help himself but start looking on some shady websites. When he finds a “pay for sex” site curiosity got the best of him and when he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on he couldn’t not book himself a night. When he realizes he could purchase her for an extended stay he quickly writes her our an email with an attached deposit. After some communication she is fully prepared for her weekend in Monaco

Sneak Peak:

“Cumming already? God you’re never gonna want to leave”

TW: Free Use

Pierre X Tori X Max*

Plot: When Tori finally admits to her boy friend Pierre that their sex life was rather shit what she least expects is for him to come back a few days later with some grand plan. The plan in question is having a threesome… with another man, and not just any man but his teammate Max Verstappen. Y/N is even more shocked walking into Max’s apartment to find out he had a sex dungeon. A room he designed and built with the sole purpose of exploring all kinds of kinks.

Sneak Peak:

“We have a list of kinks we’re going to try tonight”

TW: Bondage, Sex Toys, Double Penetration, Edging, Multiple Orgasms

Lando X Luisha X Reader*

Plot: Lu and Y/N have been childhood best friends and on occasions more than friends. The two girls had shared their first kiss with each other, and some of their other first while they were in their later teens but when Lu started dating Lando it all kind of stopped. But after a nasty fight between Lando and Lu, Lu seeks the affection from her best friend. From then it became sneaky kisses, flirty comments, and far more sleepovers than the average 25 year old girls. When Lando catching them in the act they fear everything is about to crumble, but to their shock his only rule for their new dynamic was he got to join the fun sometimes.

Sneak Peak:

"I'm not mad, just sad I wasn't invited"

TW: wlw, Cheating, threesome… #Poly! Lando 

Oscar X Bookwarm! Reader

Plot: Y/N is your typical book worm. She reads all types of books from classics, to thrillers, and even self help books but when she gets a hyper fixation on spicy romance novels she can’t help the dirty thoughts running through her head. On what she thought was a private call she admits to her best friend that a part of her wished Oscar fucked her the way some book boyfriend fuck, but didn’t know how to bring it up to him since she was already satisfied in bed and didn’t want to hurt her longterm boyfriend feelings. 

Sneak Peak:

“Go on, read it to me”

TW: Oral, rough sex

Frat Boy! Lando X Sorority President! Reader*

Plot: Y/N and Lando have been friends since their freshman year at the University of Alabama where they met while pledging for their respective house. Their friendship grew quick and while they had their share of intimate moments throughout the year it takes one beginning of the year party for everything to change.

Sneak Peak:

"Fuck, I've been waiting for this"

TW: Cross faded sex… #Frat! Lando

Retired! Sebastian X Eloise! Driver*

Plot: When Eloise Harris was announced as the newest rookie to the 2025 grid after Checo was essentially fired she was completely stunned when her manager called her to let her know that her childhood hero is asking if she had a mentor. As the season is set to begin Sebastian comes up with the bright idea of having a reward and punishment system. While it started with small gifts or extra workouts it eventually started to morph into something more taboo.

Sneak Peak:

“Been such a good girl all weekend”

TW: Dom/Sub, Edging, Spanking

Gabriel X Older! Reader*

Plot: Y/N Norris is Lando’s twin sister and works for Mclaren in their stategry department. When she meets their development driver who will be joining Kick Sauber at the end of the season, she can’t help but notice the blushing cheeks or the wandering eyes of the young boy. When she comes across his Raya account she got curious and ended matching with him. That’s when sneaky meet ups and quickies start to become a regular occurrence. 

Sneak Peak:

“Shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m so sorry”

TW: Quickies, Secretive, Caught… #Rookie! Gabi

Single Dad! Kimi R X Nanny! Reader*

Plot: When the newly divorced Kimi realizes he needs some extra help during race weekends when his ex wife decides to runaway with some French model leaving him to raise their 3 year old twins on his own. When his teammate suggest getting a nanny the two of them search for the perfect nanny who is qualified enough to take care of 2 young toddlers. When they found Y/N they knew she was perfect. It was almost instant that Kimi knew having a woman like Y/N was going to be far harder than he realized. He assumes his quiet demeanor is covering his track but Y/N finds the cameras in her room almost instantly.

Sneak Peak:

“Kimi, I know you’ve been watching me at night”

TW: Stalking… #Single Dad! Kimi

CEO! Toto X Assistant! Reader*

Plot: When Toto hires Y/N he had no idea the lowkey bootcamp she was going to turn the Mercedes garage into. She took over some of Toto’s smaller jobs like making sure the new stylist was picking appropriate clothing for the boys or making sure their nutritionists where feeding them enough food. But when she starts assisting Toto with more personal things a quite unprofessional relationship starts to develop. 

Sneak Peak:

"Get on your knees under my desk"

TW: Sensual… #CEO! Toto

Nico H X Ollie’s Older Sister! Olivia*

Plot: Nico first noticed Olivia around the paddock pretty early into the season but when she showed up in the Haas garage with Oliver Bearman it takes him roughly 5 seconds to realize she was the older sister. Nico couldn’t help his wandering eye or the way Y/N is almost always looking in his direction when his eyes find her. When they both end up plastered in Vegas their next actions completely change the direction of their future.

Sneak Peak:

“I’m fucking screwed, Nico!”

TW: Pregnancy, Drunk Sex.... #Dad! Nico

Team Principal! Daniel X Rookie Horner! Reader*

Plot: When Max Verstappen announced his retirement at the end of the 2025 season due to his beautiful daughter being born Red Bull Racing was faced with the challenge of who will replace the 4X World Champion. After a long debate the settled on Y/N Horner the oldest daughter of Christian Horner. Red Bull knew he could no longer be the Team Principal so who better to replace Christian than Daniel Ricciardo, former Red Bull driver. Y/N and Daniel almost instantly start butting heads. He thinks she’s too cocky and was only handed her seat while she was on a mission to prove her boss wrong and keep her seat. She would do anything to keep her seat.

Sneak Peak:

“Oh come on princess, P6 isn’t good enough to cum”

TW: DUB CON! Coercion… #Team Principal! Daniel

2024 F1 Grid X Paddock Bunny! Reader (requests are always open for the Paddock Bunny Series)

Plot: Y/N Brown has been with the majority of the guys on the grid by now but when they get the bright idea of renting out a sex club she gets to bounce from room to room exploring an intimate moment with each driver and their favorite kinks.

Sneak Peak:

"Get ready for a long night, Bunny"

TW: Gang Bang, Toys, Rough, Breeding

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟa/n: today is my birthday so I wrote this. Y'all wish me a happy birthday or I'II cry, ur choice /j

"Oh, look at this," He leans into your personal space far too close, making your heart run laps on your chest. If it was from fear or something else, you couldn't identify right at that moment; green eyes looking right at your soul, searching for all those secrets he already knew - forcefully discovered each and every one of them. "This frightful face, those gorgeous eyes staring back at me just like that... C'est magnifique, mon amour!"

He pries off the duvets from you, depriving you of that comfortable warmth in which you were hiding yourself. The cold air nips at your skin harshly, snow falling outside your windows while he giggles. He is always giggling. Rook was giggling when he kidnapped you and took you away from your old life. He was giggling when he made you watch him kill your loved ones - for he said "they are just holding you back from achieving your truly potential."

And then he was giggling when you tried to run away, laughing almost maniacally while he ran after you in that woods he knew so well. And when you got caught in his traps and had your foot twisted, he was almost clutching his belly as he was laughing far too hard, green eyes brimming with something you couldn’t quite name it. Maybe satisfaction? You weren't sure.

A gentle kiss is pressed into your cheek. He was far too passionate with his romantic display and didn't really care about your opinion on that matter - he could do worse if he wanted, for now if he wanted just kisses you wouldn't mind it.

"Do you know what day it is?" He whispers, almost like a salivating wolf, blonde hair sleeked back as he licks his own lips. "Non? Oh well... And here I was thought you were still counting the days so earnestly like a good little lapin."

His faux worried tone hurts more than you let him realize, twisting an invisible knife into your guts again and again, rearranging them to his liking. As the maniac he is, always stalking, always watching, hearing and smelling the air around you, so alike a snake but lacking its cuteness.

You cough, forcing yourself to think about something. Anything as his fingers are currently resting over your knees and soon they'll be making their way up will he could hold your hips in his hands, squeezing hard enough to leave his mark behind.

"A holiday, perhaps?" You try, voice uneven and weak.

Unexpectedly, he smiles. "Not a holiday, non, but maybe it should be. The entire world should celebrate it but... Maybe it's good that it isn't a holiday, people would be so sad and angry if I had stolen that much from them."

Your head pends to the side as if you didn't understand any word he just said - you had many moments like this with him. He could talk nonstop and never make any sense. And you just let him go on and on, not really hearing him, everything going on an ear and leaving by the other.

"I could make you guess again but you truly lost the passage of time, fufu," Rook smiled again, rearranging a stray hair that fell over your face as his thumb caressed your soft skin that he was so proud of caring. "It's your special day, mon ange, the day you graced this world and were born into it. Happy birthday."

It didn't feel like happy at all. If anything, a bitter taste took over your mouth as you think about how much time had passed since you were under his care in this God forsaken place nobody would know about. Where nobody would ever found you. Where your parents died. Where your life ended. Where nothing else matters.

You gulped audibly, breathing hard so the tears over your eyes wouldn't overflow and drown you. But it didn’t matter. Internally, you were drowning, fighting to keep living, even if your life wasn't all that interesting as the were so many restrictions on it.

"Thank you." You answered him, letting him pull you into a bone crushing hug as you drowned on his deadly scent or on his deadly lips who were stealing yet again from you, stealing your air, stealing all the kisses you saved to your lover. "Thank you." Was all you could said.

[loverangels]

HRSJIDJE IM BACK HII 🫰😋 I HAVE SOME MORE IDEAS since exams r finally done.

What about percy x cluess!reader that doesnt seem to get all the flirty action percy has been showing and thinks he's just friendly like that. Maybe throw in a hc about reader being in an aphrodite kid, and doesnt think that anyone could like them romantically cause they thinks its just due to them being aphrodite's child, and percy tries to show them that regardless of what god parent they have, he still likes us.

Can you tell my brain is fried?

-🌸

sooner

pairings: percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader

a/n: I'm in love with this request you never fail to serve with your requests nonnie!!! I wish you all the best for your exams and I hope this can be a little treat since I know how horrible exam season can be! Make sure to take care of yourself love!! 🩷🌸

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues across Camp Half-Blood as you walked alongside Percy. He was smiling in that easy, boyish way he always did, his hands casually shoved in his pockets as he glanced at you.

“So,” Percy said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “What’s the latest from Aphrodite cabin? You guys always seem to have, like, ten soap operas running at once.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong. Yesterday, Drew tried to use a love potion on one of the Apollo kids, but she mixed it wrong, and now he won’t stop declaring his undying love for a watermelon.”

Percy chuckled. “Classic. But what about you? Any love drama of your own? Got your eye on anyone special?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Me? No, no one. Why?”

Percy stumbled a little, but quickly covered it up with a shrug. “Oh, no reason. Just curious.”

He glanced at you, waiting for some kind of reaction, hoping for even the tiniest flicker of realization. But you just smiled at him, completely oblivious. Percy sighed internally. How could you not see it? The way he went out of his way to make you laugh, the way he made excuses to spend time with you, the way he felt like his heart might actually explode every time you smiled at him.

But to you, Percy was just a friend. And no matter how many hints he dropped, you didn’t seem to noticem

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Later that evening, Percy found himself standing outside the Aphrodite cabin. Again. He stared at the door for a moment, debating whether to turn around, but then he sighed and knocked.

When the door swung open, your older brother leaned against the frame, looking completely unimpressed.

“Seriously?” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been here so much, we’re starting to think you’re an honorary sibling.”

Percy flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… I just… I need advice. Again.”

The brother groaned and stepped aside, yelling over his shoulder, “Hey, lovebirds! Seaweed Brain’s back!”

Your siblings erupted in laughter as Percy shuffled in, his face red as a tomato.

“You’re still trying to get through to her, huh?” one of your sisters teased, lounging on her bed. “This is, what, the fourth time this week?”

“Sixth,” your brother corrected, smirking. “At this rate, we’re gonna have to start charging you.”

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what else to do! I flirt with her constantly, but she just smiles and changes the subject. I even asked her today if she liked anyone, and she said no!”

The group collectively groaned, and your brother flopped dramatically onto a couch.

“She is so oblivious,” one of your sisters muttered. “I love her, but gods, it’s painful to watch.”

“Have you tried being direct?” your brother asked, giving Percy a pointed look.

Percy frowned. “I’ve been trying! I’ve dropped hints, I’ve asked leading questions, I’ve been—”

“No, no, no,” your brother interrupted, waving his hand. “You don’t ‘hint’ at things with her. That’s like trying to teach a rock to swim. You have to be blunt. Like, hit-her-over-the-head-with-it blunt.”

“Tell her,” one of your sisters added. “Straight up. No room for her to misinterpret it.”

“She’s gonna think I’m crazy…” Percy mumbled.

“She already thinks you’re crazy,” your brother deadpanned. “Just own it. March up to her, look her in the eye, and say, ‘Hey, I like you. I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, and you haven’t noticed, so now I’m telling you.’”

The room went silent for a beat, everyone nodding in agreement. Percy groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s your only shot, Jackson,” your brother said, patting him on the back. “Go get her.”

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The next day, Percy found you by the canoe lake, skipping stones across the water. He took a deep breath, his heart racing, and walked over.

“Hey,” he said, smiling nervously. “Got room for one more?”

You glanced up, your face lighting up when you saw him. “Of course. You’re always welcome, Percy.”

His heart skipped a beat. You had no idea what you did to him when you said things like that.

For a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, watching the ripples spread across the lake. Then Percy cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“So,” he began, his voice a little shaky. “There’s, uh… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to him, your brow furrowing in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Percy said quickly. “It’s just… I’ve been trying to tell you something for a while now, but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of it.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Percy took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had. “I like you. Like, like-like you. And before you say anything, no, it’s not just as a friend. I think you’re amazing, and funny, and brave, and honestly, you’re all I think about.”

You blinked at him, completely stunned. “Wait… what?”

“I like you,” Percy repeated, his face turning red. “As in, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks because I have a massive crush on you.”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process his words. “But… I thought you were just being nice!”

Percy groaned, running a hand down his face. “How could you possibly think that? I literally asked your siblings for advice because I didn’t know how to tell you!”

“You talked to my siblings?” you asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes!” Percy exclaimed. “Half the Aphrodite cabin is sick of me because I’ve been driving them crazy trying to figure out how to get you to notice me.”

You blinked again, the pieces finally clicking into place. “Oh…”

Percy laughed weakly. “Yeah. Oh.”

There was a long silence as you stared at each other, Percy’s heart pounding in his chest. Finally, you smiled.

“Well,” you said softly, “you could’ve just told me sooner.”

Percy groaned. “You’re impossible.”

But then you leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, Percy’s face was bright red, but he was grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Totally worth it.”

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a time, way back in time, and a bit to the side, when all of humanity had perished in a nuclear war. And for seven days and seven nights the world went through the cold and dark of space with no complex life upon it. And on the eighth day a massive dragon came to the earth from far out in space, so large the earth could barely fit him, so large his body eclipsed the moon as he flew down, and he came to sort through the bones of the dead.

And seeing as the planet was lost, and seeing as humanity had destroyed itself. He chose to bring three humans back from the dead, and he would ask them each to defend their species' right to exist. And if one convinced him he'd fly ten days into the past and prevent the war, and if they failed he'd let the world remain dead.

And the first human to be brought back was a great head of state, and the head of state told him, "We humans are a great race. We have made many wonderful things, technologies, and inventions. We are special you see, we feel love, and honer, and are of the most upstanding of moral characters. And more so, it was only through betrayal we were destroyed at all. And beyond that, we have the right politics, and the right religion, or at least some of us do. Humanity needs to exist, the universe can't lose so much!"

And the dragon looked at him and replied, "No. I have been to athousand planets, and seen countless species of your like. Know in your final moments that you are but one of many paths civilization can take. And if it is a dead end then so be it." And in a blue breath of fire he killed the head of state again.

The second person to be revived was a lawyer. And the lawyer said, "We humans can be perfect servents for you. We build things. We are so easy to oppress that we do it to each other all the times. We could be your servents, your slaves if you need us to be. We can work for you, and create whatever you want. Or if youd rather have us as pets or toys we could be that for yoh. You could be king of this planet if you wanted, we could be your subjects, and we'd worship you as a god for sure. Whatever you want and you can have it."

And the dragon replied, "I have no more reason for humans as servents then you have for ants as servents. And in your last momments, know that I consider it so very shameful that you would wish to enslave yourselves to me. Let that prove you worth destruction if anything." And in a blue breath of fire that human fell too.

And the third human to be revived was but a poor factory worker, who had spent her life making things she would never afford. And in the quietest of voices she told the dragon, "It is a shame I think, that so many should die for so few. I never made the choice to go to war, to destroy humanity, and nobody I know made that choice either. I'd say, if anyone I ever made had the choice there would be peace, and yet we are to die of another's choice for war. And beyond that there are so many animals and planets to have perished, so unfair that so many creatures die for the actions of only one species. Perhaps even if you do not spare humankind spare the creatures we killed instead."

And with those words the dragon understood. And with those words the dragon made his choice. And with those words humanity was saved.

[girl-lostconnection]

YESSS I SO AGREE!! omggggg she’s such a productive queen. and after she finishes her trilogy, mailing a signed copy to her man, duh, she’s already working on her fourth. but this one is a standalone, i think. “the diaries of the soldier’s lover,” she titles this one. and she writes about how simon essentially saved her from losing her mind in year 10 and how she wishes she could be like a little angel on his shoulder, following him always. she names herself his guardian angel and thanks him deeply for the love that he has helped to grow, like a rose blooming with no thorns.

and she mails him a copy of this, too. and i like to think that for her first trilogy (some fantasy story she conjured) she used a pseudonym. but this one has her name written all over it. because she’s just so proud of him!! and she’s signed his copy, with big frilly letters and a heartwarming message.

price is like, “damn, simon, gettin’ a lot of mail lately, aye?” whenever simon comes to get his weekly mail from price’s office, and simon is too choked up to even say anything. did a tear just stain the page? no, surely it’s raining in here. or the ceiling is leaking! surely.

he reads this book like his gospel, and he’s sure that with this one, the book that he inspired, she’s touched the hearts of many wives out there. his wife is a famous author. all things that will be true within due time.

he writes her a letter, a simple diamond ring tapped haphazardly inside the envelope. “does it count if i ask you to marry me through parcel?” he writes, messy scrawl and silly little arrows and correction markings.

she cries, too. and yes, of course it counts, you oaf. she wears that ring everywhere. her husband is a lieutenant, she finds out in his next letter. he is a leader. and a damn good one.

she wears this ring even after price has shown up at her door, metal necklaces dangling from his fingers and his boonie hat long forgotten — his head bowed in shame.

AGHHGGHHH this au is eating at my brain and im not even mad i dont even caaaaare, they’re so precious and broken and they fit together. and im so sorry for the angst it just kinda happened…… 😣

— 🍓

NO YOU DIDNT. NO ANON HOW COULD YOU, YOU KILLED SIMON OMG.

In all seriousness that’s a damn good idea, anon, you should actually write it out, it’s sweet and it sounds really nice and it’s so so warm.

God, I almost cried on the part with him typing in a ring and asking her hand in marriage, god, of course Reader would marry him, how could she not. God, actually, step aside Reader I’m gonna marry this man. Oh my god.

And Price showing at her doorstep with Simon’s dogtags because it’s not the first soldier he’s buried but damn, if this wasn’t a special one. And I’d imagine your Reader wearing his dogtags until the day she dies, talking about him like he’s still alive.

She’d probably say things along the lines of “Yeah, my husband is really proud of this one, thank you so much” or “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m not available. I’m married” and people always get a little worried when they find out Simon is no longer alive.

Because she keeps on living and she still talks about him like he’s there. And maybe for her he really is. Maybe that’s the way she keeps herself tethered to reality, joining the support club and writing another book — talking to the spouses of other military personnel through them. Sharing their pain, extending her hand through the pages and kind of saying “hey, I feel it too. I know your pain. You aren’t alone. I’m here”.

And she never judges other spouses for their ways of coping because hey, she gets that. She knows how it feels to choke on tears when the love of your life is lowered into the ground.

She knows how it feels to write to someone who can never answer, she knows how it feels to turn to talk to someone who’s not there anymore, how it feels to forget sometimes that hey, he’s dead.

Someone once wrote that when their spouse died they felt so shocked and overwhelmed that their first subconscious instinct was to call the said spouse and share news with them. Their first instinct was to go for comfort to the person they lost.

That’s how (i think) your Reader would feel in lieu of Simon’s death.

Luckily for the rest of you, who aren’t me and strawberry anon, im not gonna kill Simon. I have fragile heart, I wouldn’t do that to you, guys *pats your backs* death is too finite for me.

And I like to get real creative with suffering (damn that sounded ominous)

[broidobe]

𝔦𝔷𝔷𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔩𝔦𝔫 𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔞𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔱

requested!

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

just so loving honestly

he likes you put an arm around you and light a cigarette for you to share

there’s not a lot of talking but the silence is very comfortable

he’ll often put on a soft rock record for you two

to calm you down

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he’s a sucker for your hips and your sides

during literally any position he’s caressing them

when your on top, he guides them in the most loving way possible

he’s just so smooth with them

he treats them like they are human

he doesn’t really have a favourite body part on himself

it would probably be his dick

because it makes you feel good

and that’s like his purpose of being on earth in his mind

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he likes cumming in you

he doesn’t like to make much of a mess

but if you ask him to cum anywhere?

he totally will

he doesn’t mind facials but it’s something that happens more in quickies

but we’ll get into that later

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

izzy secretly loves the way your clothes smell after you’ve worn them—especially your lingerie. 

sometimes, when you're not around, he’ll take a moment to hold onto them just to feel closer to you.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s actually a natural

he had barely ANY experience before you

just the odd groupie and still, that was like NEVER

he just kind of learned from all those stupid ass pornos

y’know…

he totally went to those theatres

and he would totally fuck you at one

once again, we’ll get into that ;)

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

i really went into detail on this in his nsfw headcannons so go there more more detail (linked on the gnr masterlist)

but it depends on mood honestly

when he’s feeling really affectionate:

missionary

lazy?

spooning

submissive? (ooohhhh boy he’s totally a switch guys)

cowgirl. this is his favorite position. 1000%. but once again, READ THE HEADCANNONS FOR MORE DETAIL

when he feels freaky somewhere totally unconventional?

anything sitting or standing works for him

normally sitting with you on his lap

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s really serious

like he might do a quiet hah if you accidentally knock something over

but he takes sex pretty serious

nice and laid back

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i feel like he’s borderline bald down there

he shaves it

and there are like short prickles down there

he’s very neat down there

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he’s just so passionate

he pays attention to everything you do

he praises the shit out of your body in bed

not very vocal or loud but when he is he does NOT degrade you in any way

he just tells you how beautiful you look and such

god, you look so perfect right now

that’s my girl

you’re so good for me. So damn good

i love hearing you like that

you take me so well, baby

j = jack off (masturbation headcannon)

never really did it

he kinda saved it for “special occasions”

or at least what he thought as special

aka watching a porno at the theatre

but with you he doesn’t do any of that

he just doesn’t ever masturbate

he feels empty doing it without you

he’d definitely call you when on tour and jack off to your voice

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise and possession

he thrives on the idea of you being his

izzy lives for building you up with dirty praise.

telling you how good you feel, how perfect you look, and how no one else could ever compare.

he’s got a thing for making you feel claimed—whether it’s biting, marking your neck, or leaving faint scratches down your skin as a reminder.

he is lingerie OBSESSED

especially delicate, sheer pieces that leave just enough to the imagination.

if you surprise him in something lacy? he’ll absolutely lose it.

he’d keep the pieces he loves most and ask you to wear them just for him on special nights.

voyeurism but not really??

it’s something he hasn’t really told you

he’s into the idea of watching you at your most vulnerable state

he’d only let someone he REALLY trusts have you though

axl, being someone he’s close to, is probably his pick

he doesn’t know why, i mean axl would probably try to steal you, at least that’s what he thinks. the truth is, axl wouldn’t do that to izzy, especially cause he is literally OBSESSED with you.

izzy is absolutely obsessed with what you look like when you are cumming

so that’s another contributor to voyeurism

he’s not big on exhibitionism

but oh my god he knows how to build tension in public

running his hand up your thigh under the table, whispering something dirty at a party, or pulling you aside for a quick kiss that’s way too heated

very gentle hair-pulling

he doesn’t want to hurt you

but he loves having a fist of your hair in his hand

has a book of freaky ass polaroids of you

he keeps them hidden away like a personal treasure trove.

he loves flipping through them when you’re not around

mutual masturbation is something he can’t get enough of

remember how he said in the nsfw headcannons 

you know how to make yourself feel the best, not me

yeah

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

your room

it’s comfortable, it’s spacious, it’s perfect

he can act however he wants without embarrassment

but don’t think i forgot the movie theatres

he loves taking you to them

not in a travis bickle way though (someone will get this reference, i swear)

because you wanna go too you horny bitch

but it’s just the thrill of not only being in public but also watching porn at the same time??

holy god

and if the theatre is empty??

he’s gonna make you guys try every position they do in the film

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he’s not the horniest guy ever

but if you sway your hips in a certain way

it gets him going

and really anything about you

if you are wearing anything revealing??

expect to be late to wherever you’re going

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

any sort of painful actions

he doesn’t want to hurt you at all

and degrading

he doesn’t want to make you feel small or insecure

because he thinks you are the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he lovesss giving

and he’s damn good at it

he’s like the tongue wizard

but he also loves getting head

the first time you guys ever had “sex”, you just gave him a blow job

and he swears that he saw god that day

he literally got so overstimulated you guys COULDN’T go on or he would’ve died

so he definitely prefers receiving but he loves giving just as much!

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

usually, he’s really slow and lovely, making sure to hit every spot

but sometimes a spark will come

and he will get so rough and hard

this is normally right after shows when he ego has been boosted to the extreme

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he doesn’t love them

but he doesn’t hate them either

quickes only happen before shows

and they normally are you sucking him off and him giving you a facial

but if he has more time, he’ll bend you right over the vanity and take you right there

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

mehhhhhh he doesn’t really take risks

he more for building up tension in public then actually going at it

he’s up to try anything in bed as long as you are

you pretty much always are the one to step and an say you wanna try something

because he gets worried you won’t wanna

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i’d say three rounds, twenty minutes each

he knows how to preserve his energy so he could probably go for more

but then he’d just get tired

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he’s not the biggest fan of them

he’s okay with you having them but he kinda gets jealous if you use it without him

it’s like “jeez you like it more than me”

but he adores using it on you

he doesn’t like the really techy ones though

just a simple bullet or something because he wants to be the one to drive you over the edge 

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he really doesn't tease

maybe he’d tease your entrance before thrusting into you but that’s basically it

he doesn’t like upsetting you lol

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

as discussed in his headcannons, he’s pretty quiet

but when he says something, it’s unforgettable

he does slightly moan when he cums or thrusts into you

but it’s not a grunt

it’s very light and it’s honestly adorable

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

has a thing for your collarbones

he’s always kissing, nipping, or running his fingers along them.

it’s his favorite place to linger

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7 inches take it or leave it

he doesn’t have a lot of girth to it

but damn he knows how to use it

he knows he’s above average

and he is totally cocky about it

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i would say average

he’s not constantly horny like most people around him

he’s just very chill

it also depends on how you act around him

he mirrors your sex drive

if you are desperate, so is he

if your not really into having sex that day, he’s fine with it

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

10 minutes

he eventually just passes out

and a lot of times he does it with a lit cigarette in hand

so thank god you stay awake longer lol

[donttxtathebeach]

Y/N Nolan on New Movie Anora & Auditioning for Quentin Tarantino | Jimmy Kimmel Live!

Word count: 1k

Warning: none

a/n

My favorite part is coming soon!!

masterlist

|previous| next|

“Y/n, it’s so wonderful to have you back on the show. First Maxxxine, and now Anora—what a year you’ve had!” Jimmy says with a warm smile.

Y/n laughs, a little surprised at the whirlwind. “I know! It’s been quite the year, for sure. I’m still kind of catching my breath, but in the best way.”

Jimmy grins. “And now, after playing Maxine, you’re stepping into Anora. How does it feel to take a bit of a break from your horror roles and dive into something new?”

Y/n shakes her head. “Well, funny enough, it wasn’t really a break at all. I was actually going back and forth between the sets of Maxxxine and Anora during the entire production of both movies. So, it was a lot of running between sets and trying to switch gears as much as possible! It was intense, but I loved every second of it.” "I mean, when Maxxxine was ending, we were starting to shoot for Anora, so I was trying to finish Maxxxine strong while also trying to get to know Anora on a deeper level, and juggling two completely different characters is not easy, but I enjoyed it!"

Jimmy raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You were juggling two films at the same time? That’s impressive! So, with Anora, you’re filming in Brooklyn. How was that experience?”

“It was incredible," Y/N says, her eyes lighting up. “Brooklyn has this raw energy, and it really set the tone for the film. We filmed a lot in the streets, which gave it this gritty, authentic vibe. The city became a character in itself, really.”

Jimmy nods, intrigued. “And with Anora, you’re speaking Russian. That’s a big shift from your usual roles. How did you prepare for that?”

Y/n chuckles. “Oh, it was a challenge, for sure, especially with the accent that I got from being around my dad's British side of the family. I had a coach for months, and she was trying to help me hide the little bit of British in me while also layering the Russian, and at first, I kept thinking I wasn’t getting it right. I’d listen to my lines and go, ‘Wait, is that even Russian?’ But I pushed through, and I really tried to connect with the character beyond just the language. It was important to me to get the essence of her, not just speak the words.” "Sean was also glad that my Brooklyn accent was very authentic, and I was like, Thank God, because it was so fun to do. Now when I talk to people, they're like, Wait, youre not actually from Brooklyn; everyone thinks I'm British because of the way I pronounce some of my words, but I'm from Nantucket; I grew up around people from there, so I acclimated to the accent and the way they pronounce things, but now that I'm older, I think I'm sort of losing it."

Jimmy laughs along with her. “I think you nailed it. Now, speaking of your family, your dad is a director. What was his reaction when he heard you were taking on such a big role, especially since you have been doing horror films for most of your adult career?”

Y/n grins. “He was incredibly proud, as always. He’s been in the business for years, so he totally understands the work that goes into something like that. But he never really said anything about the switch in genres. Honestly, he’s been so supportive, as always so to him; it was just something else that made him elated to talk about.”

Jimmy leans forward. “And you not only acted in Maxxxine, but you also wrote and produced it. You’ve been playing Maxxxine—also known as Pearl—throughout the entire trilogy starting from X. That’s got to be a special connection to that character, right?”

y/n nods thoughtfully. “It’s so personal to me. I’ve been with Maxxxine—Pearl, really—since the very beginning. Being a writer and producer on Maxxxine really allowed me to get even deeper into her psyche. It was such an honor to contribute to her story in that way, especially after living with her for so long. I can truly understand why my dad loves his job so much. Taking a step back and seeing her from a different point of view made me truly appreciate all directors and production put into the director's art. It felt like a really full circle moment.”

Jimmy smiles, clearly impressed. “That’s amazing. And with all of these accomplishments under your belt—five Oscars, nine Emmys, and now up for a Golden Globe—you’ve already achieved so much at just 25. How do you keep everything grounded?”

Y/n looks a little sheepish, but grateful. “Honestly, it’s a little overwhelming at times. But I’ve always said that it’s not about the awards for me—it’s about the work, the characters, and the stories. I’ve been acting since I was five, and my dad always taught me that the craft is what matters. So, while I’m incredibly grateful for the recognition, it’s the work that keeps me grounded.”

Jimmy laughs in disbelief. “Five Oscars, nine Emmys, and a Golden Globe nomination? You make it sound like it’s no big deal! But I have to ask—how did you land the role in Anora? Did you audition?”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “Actually, I didn’t audition for Anora. Quentin Tarantino came to the premiere of Pearl before we even started shooting Maxxxine. He came up to me afterward and said, ‘I need you to be my Anora. This isn’t an A24 film, but I need you to play her.’ It was so unexpected, but Quentin’s one of those directors you just want to work with, you know? So, I said, ‘Okay, sure, but I’ll be bouncing between sets.’ And he was completely fine with it. He really wanted me to play her.”

Jimmy looks amazed. “So Quentin Tarantino just walked up to you and said, ‘You’re Anora’? That’s incredible! How did you feel about that?”

Y/n grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It was surreal! I’ve always admired him as a filmmaker, so to have him offer me that role was just a dream come true. And I think the fact that I’d be juggling two sets at once didn’t even phase him. He just wanted me to be a part of it, and I was all in.”

Jimmy nods appreciatively. “That’s the dream, right? You don’t even need to audition when you’ve already got someone like Quentin Tarantino wanting you in their film. Now, I’ve heard you’ve been called the ‘Queen of Horror’—how does that title sit with you?”

Y/n laughs a little bashfully. “It’s such an honor! Horror has been such an important part of my career, and honestly, I actually do not particularly love horror films, but I love the rush. It’s exciting to be a part of it, and if people want to call me the ‘Queen of Horror’, I’ll accept it. But I also want to branch out and do other things too. There’s so much more I want to explore.”

Jimmy smiles warmly. “You’re doing amazing things already. And I know there’s much more to come. Y/n, it’s always such a pleasure to have you here. You’re one of the most exciting young talents in Hollywood right now.”

Y/n smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Jimmy. That means so much to me.”

Jimmy grins back. "Y/n Nolan, everybody! Be sure to check out Anora and Maxxxine, now in theaters!”

|previous| next|

[boolger]

Kitten love

Idk, just a Gaz x gn!reader short fic — not checked for mistakes or anything. Sfw.

He went out with the others on his team a couple of hours ago. The moment it passed two hours, you knew you wouldn’t get a sober Kyle home. Not that you minded… a drunk Kyle was always an experience.

You had made small preparations. Food in the fridge that you could easily reheat, in case he wanted food, made sure you had painkillers for tomorrow where he would undoubtedly need some - clean clothes you would need to get him into.

You had almost fallen asleep on the couch when you heard familiar laughter out in the hallway and a moment later the doorbell rang. Then a familiar voice called out your name.

You darted to the door, opening to the sight of a grinning Kyle, half ways hanging onto Johnny, who was one big grin as well. Price and Simon gave you a nod each, standing behind them.

“Special delivery for a Bonnie thing,” Johnny happily declared and Kyle instantly straightened up, hands reaching out for your cheeks and before you could do anything, beer tasting lips were on your own.

You laughed, tugging him to the sight, giving the others a wave, “thanks for getting him home safely!”

“Always, luv’! “ Price called out.

“Ey, they’re married!” Kyle said, protectively holding onto you, making the others laugh.

“We’re not married yet, you idiot,” you giggled, trying to get him to let go and he finally did, wandering into the apartment.

“Just know that we did try to stop him,” Simon said, as the last one, before he closed the door, leaving you befuddled - but you locked the different locks anyways before turning around, going towards the living room, where you indeed found him —

On one knee.

“Marry me?” He asked, voice slurred, raising his hand a little higher - only it wasn’t a ring he was offering you.

“… is that a kitten?” You asked, watching the dirty little thing squirm in his grip.

“Is that a no?”

God, he was drunk. His bottom lip quivered. Like a puppy that had just been kicked.

“Kyle, sweetheart,” you replied, stepping closer, watching the kitten in his hand let out a pitiful meow, “you proposed to me three months ago - I already said yes.”

The smile that appeared on his face must almost have hurt.

“Well that’s good, innit?” He said, looking down at the squirming fluff ball, “I found this for you.”

“Kyle, I love you, but why do you have a cat?”

“He was abandoned in a box! All alone ‘nd cold and I just knew ye wouldn’t have left it behind.”

You let out a sigh and picked up the kitten from his hands and he giggled, swaying a little on his knees. The kitten let out another loud “meeeeow,” and you couldn’t hold back a smile.

“I guess we have a cat now, then,” you finally said - then Gaz began giggling louder, a sound that was very much out of character for him.

“Three,” he said and before you could manage to ask what, he pulled out two more kittens from his hoodie pocket. Two more screaming little things.

“Kyle, for fucks sake!”

“They need a home, baby!” He said staggering to his feet and you grabbed the two kittens, so that he wouldn’t fall with them, “we can give them that home!”

“For tonight - Kyle, we can’t just get three kittens,” you argued, ignoring his pout, “they’ll sleep here for tonight and we will go to the shelter tomorrow.”

You didn’t know what to even do with the cats - but then he pulled even more stuff from his hoodie, milk formula for kittens and a kitten-safe shampoo. Kyle looked absolutely in love, watching you feed the three tiny creatures, before you bathed them. The others had definitely not tried to stop him, you decided, in fact, you suspected the three other men had encouraged this kitten-saving adventure your man had been on.

“They’re going to the shelter tomorrow,” you reminded him, pretending that you sounded just as stern as you had earlier. Even if you couldn’t help but love the three kittens small purrs as they slept in a box next to the bed.

“Sure,” Kyle slurred, kissing your neck and shoulders, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You did not go to the shelter with the kittens the day after - or the one after that. Kyle had already named the three kittens and you had already fallen in love with them.

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go!!

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

Hmm interesting...

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back. You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

Ho lord, I was on the edge of my seat throughout this ENTIRE scene, proverbially biting my nails. 😬😬 Especially wincing at this part:

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

(Good metaphor/play on words there though 😅)

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭 But it was so interesting watching her try and figure out the puzzle of this room (and Diane's game). I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

But most of all, you had thought about Beau. Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood. Fuck.

Oh God, oh God, oh Goddddddd!!!!!!!

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized. The ring.

Oooh I'm sensing some symbolism here, despite the gravity of the situation!! lol GO, BEAU, GO!!!!

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning. I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

When I tell you my heart was in my throat during this entire scene, but this is the part that gave me stomach flips...

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays: Pudding.

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes. A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

Beau and Randy's parting was bittersweet, but Beau's apprehension coming to the reader's hospital room was honestly kind of adorable (since we already know where this is heading) lol.

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?” Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.” Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

This was a crazy ride of a series, but beautifully weaved with a lovely finish. Amazing job, my friend!! 💕💕

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,��� he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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[lovecatsys]

one of my favorite Akihiro bits is that he gets. SO mad when people imply he's insane or compare him to people like Bullseye or Sabretooth or his dad and acts like he's super calm and always in control when the reality is that in a fight if something doesn't go his way he IMMEDIATELY loses his cool and starts going apeshit violent. Like okay sure you're not like your father. Sure.

[quietwingsinthesky]

was writing this down for an ask but realized i was quickly getting off topic for that ask lmao. let’s talk about Dean’s handprint, the wild misinterpretations of it, and how those have affected how people read Anna covering it during her sex scene with Dean.

We have to establish the obvious first: the number one way the handprint is misinterpreted is to establish a romantic connection between Dean and Castiel from their very first meeting. Because of how popular the ship is, we’re now left with the unfortunate aftermath of people knowing the ship first and the show second, and therefore being more inclined to interpret the show through the lens of the ship. Needless to say, while looking at season 4 through that lens for hints of destiel is fun, it doesn’t lead to a thematically cohesive reading. The handprint is the best way we can demonstrate this. If we take the handprint to indicate that Castiel has been romantically interested in Dean since minute one, or even that he sees Dean as a person rather than an instrument of Heaven’s will at first (put a pin in that), then the rest of his character arc for the season is incoherent and meaningless. To assert that this is what the handprint is about takes the conclusion Castiel needs the entirety of season 4 to reach and transplants it onto him at the very beginning in order to make it easier to find evidence for the ship.

There’s a lot of media out there where interpreting it through the lens of a ship, even one unintended by the author, can enhance the original text. (Lest we all forget our Winter Soldier roots.) Supernatural does not have that relationship to interpreting it to be about destiel. A season 4 where the handprint means Castiel is in love with Dean is a weaker story and does a huge disservice to Castiel’s actual character arc.

So, now that we’ve established what the handprint isn’t, can we talk about what it is? Yes. It’s pretty simple, actually.

Think of it this way: To Heaven, Dean is livestock, and the handprint is the brand telling everyone (but especially Dean) what ranch he belongs to.

Let’s start with the obvious: it isn’t a metaphorical brand at all. It’s literal. It’s burned into his skin permanently (or at least, when the makeup department wants to put it there.) I’d argue that from the nature of it being notable as the only scar Dean has from being raised from Hell and later showing up during his sex scene with Anna that even if we don’t see the handprint, we’re meant to interpret it as continuing to be there for… well. The rest of his life, most likely. And that’s horrifying. The handprint is telling us two things when it shows up: one, letting us know that Dean’s resurrection was intentional and through a manner we as the audience don’t have the information to guess at yet. Anyone who watched the show airing, or watches it now without knowing about angels would have assumed demonic deal intervention as being the cause of Dean’s new lease on life, and this. handily. discards that theory. But secondly, it tells us that this resurrection was violating. All resurrections on Supernatural are.

We assume from Castiel’s line, you know the one, we all know the one, Mr. Gripped-You-Tight, that he’s the one who put it there. However, to then make a further leap that it was Castiel’s personal decision to do so is, I think, a misunderstanding of his role. Take that pin out now. Dean is not a person to Castiel at this point. They’re not friends. Dean is a tool for Heaven to use, a tool that should be honored and grateful to be picked up at all. Make no mistake: Castiel branded him for Heaven, not for himself. Castiel’s a ranchhand. They aren’t in the business of letting the cows run free if they look a little sad to be slaughtered later.

Castiel needs to start here for his arc to be as impactful as it is. He can’t begin rebellious. He has to learn how to doubt. He has to develop a personal friendship with Dean that threatens his allegiance to Heaven. He has to see Anna having chosen to fall rather than obey Heaven and to be betrayed by Uriel being so desperate that he’s turned to killing their brothers and sisters trying to find a way out from under Heaven’s control.

There’s another line I think gets misinterpreted a lot in this initial meeting. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” On its face, easy bait for someone looking for shipping fodder, but that misses the actual point of the line. It’s a powerplay. We don’t learn until later why Dean wouldn’t think he deserves to be saved (aside from his general Winchester levels of self-esteem, but knowing that trait about him actually serves as a pretty good red herring to mask real reason Dean is thinking about himself as irredeemable now until the reveal. It’s not that Dean had a low opinion about himself in general, but that he tortured people in Hell and can never forgive himself for that.) , but Castiel does know. All of Heaven knows what Dean’s sin in Hell was. Without saying it, Castiel can remind Dean of it here. This line isn’t about Dean being so inherently good that Castiel had to rescue him. It’s about making sure Dean knows that the only way he can be ‘redeemed’ is through obedience to the heavenly powers who own his ass now. This is how he deserves to be saved. Because God commanded it. Because they have work for him.

And if he doesn’t bow? Then, as Castiel puts it in the very next episode, “I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” This threat hanging over Dean’s head won’t go away for the rest of the season, not from Heaven. The only shift is that Castiel’s continued doubt and disobedience levels the playing field between them. They’ll both be punished, rather than Castiel taking on the role of disciplinarian. (It’s a really clever way of dealing with that power gap between them, actually. There’s always a bigger fish.)

The handprint and Castiel’s early conversations with Dean serve as a reminder of the precarious position he’s in. We shouldn’t take him ‘being saved’ at face value, no more than we should take Heaven being good just because they’re the angels in this equation as a given. Dean hasn’t been saved. He’s being used, just as much (if not arguably more) than Ruby is using Sam. (Because at least Ruby truly believes this is for Sam’s benefit, in the end.) And the worst part is how aware of it Dean is. How could he not be? His entire stint in Hell is defined by how Alistair used him. He’s just been handed off to a different owner, one that will still happily push him into the thing they ‘saved’ him from the minute it proves useful. Dean needing to torture Alistair reminds us just how little his circumstances have actually changed. He’s not allowed to say no to this.

So. The handprint is Heaven’s mark of ownership. It’s Dean’s status as their tool, their victim, burned into his flesh and inescapable. What does it mean when Anna places her hand over it?

I’ll lay my cards on the table. I’ve been thinking about this for so long because the aforementioned tendency to assume that the handprint is evidence for destiel means that the scene between Anna & Dean also gets lumped into being interpreted as more evidence for destiel. For over a decade, I have endured people joking about Anna being jealous of Cas for getting to leave a mark on their boytoy. And that’s one of the nicer things the Supernatural fandom will say about a woman who they perceive as a threat to their ship.

So, not to be rude or anything, but fuck Castiel. This ain’t about him.

This scene—It’s a lovely scene, a fantastic continuation of Dean and Anna’s previous conversation into the language of a sex scene—is about two people who have both been used and threatened by Heaven connecting over that shared trauma. Before, Anna gives space for Dean to open up about Hell, but he can’t, not yet, and though she knows what he’s gone through, she hasn’t been there herself. But when it comes to what Heaven has made of them, she does understand. It’s an incredibly vulnerable moment.

You make the handprint about Dean and Cas, and you erase what that scene is about entirely: the way Heaven’s abuse has tangled itself deep into Dean and Anna’s lives, into their bodies, and how they can resist it, if only for a few moments together.

The handprint was never about Castiel at all. It was about Heaven and its dehumanization of Dean.

[ccbatman]

what if i said hal's mom called him "hally" specifically as a play on halley's comet, huh. what if i said she did that because she knew no matter how far he went, he'd always come back to her, hm. what then.

[im-still-watching-anime]

i LOVE how we can always rely on atsushi to acknowledge how impressive akutagawa is anytime he does anything

[russellius]

📍 MELBOURNE: George Russell, professional - and very enthusiastic - cap thrower