#i used transfer paper for the shirt

[spooky-narwhal]

Hi I suck at taking photos but my mom got me ghostbusters socks pretty cool right?

[i-want-to-steal-youre-kneecaps]

I hated it how every bat shirt was black and edgy with "scary creatures" so I made my own!

Feel free to use if you want :)

[technicolorxsn]

what if we all made things ourselves peace and love

[lover-of-mine]

You know it's bad when not even being covered in paint is cheering me up.

[pedgito]

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.

[izzih22]

It’s my birthday today so can I have another fic as a present 🙏

This Is Why We Close the Door

Note: Happy birthday anon!! Hope you had a good day here’s a little something!!

1:24 p.m. – UConn Dorms

It’s raining, which means two things:

1. Practice got pushed until the evening so the court could be used for some athletic department event.

2. Everyone is bored and lurking in the dorm hallway like restless children.

Everyone except Paige and Azzi.

They’ve been locked in their shared room since noon with snacks, hoodies, and absolutely no plans to move.

Or… at least, that was the original plan.

Currently, Azzi is backed against the edge of the bed, shirt rucked up just enough to show the smooth skin of her stomach, breathing a little heavier than before.

Paige, somehow both annoyingly cocky and utterly love-drunk, grins down at her from where she’s bracing herself with one arm on the headboard.

“You’re staring,” Azzi murmurs, flushed but teasing.

“You’re just so pretty,” Paige says with a shrug, like it’s the simplest fact in the world.

Azzi rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “You’re cheesy.”

“Cheesy and in love. Tragic combo.”

Paige kisses her, and it’s not exactly innocent. Her hands are wandering. Her tongue is teasing. She’s got that look — the one that says yeah, I know what I’m doing.

Azzi lets out a breathy laugh when Paige’s hand slips beneath the hem of her hoodie. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” Paige murmurs, lips brushing her neck, “you’re still here.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Then another, louder.

Paige freezes, groans into Azzi’s neck. “If that’s Ice, I’m going to body check her into the dining hall.”

Azzi snorts. “Be nice.”

“I’m busy!” Paige yells, not moving an inch.

“Yeah, we know!” Ice shouts from outside. “We heard, that’s why we’re knocking!”

Paige falls forward dramatically onto Azzi, groaning like her life just ended.

Azzi giggles under her. “That’s what we get for not locking it.”

“We did lock it.”

“Then they’re knocking for sport.”

There’s another voice now — Jana.

“Hey, tell Bueckers to stop being in love for five seconds, we’re trying to play Mario Kart in the common room and she keeps making the hallway awkward!”

“GET A ROOM!” Ice yells.

“WE HAVE ONE!” Paige yells back.

Azzi is laughing too hard to breathe now.

⸻

1:32 p.m. – Still Trapped

Paige has given up on subtlety. She’s sprawled half on top of Azzi, her hand casually tucked under her girlfriend’s hoodie again, drawing lazy circles on her hip.

“We were so close,” Paige sighs dramatically. “You were looking at me like—”

“I was looking at you like I wanted you to make me a coffee.”

Paige gasps. “Lies! Slander!”

Azzi smirks. “Maybe also a little like I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

Paige leans in. “See? And I was gonna do just that until the peanut gallery showed up.”

“You act like they’re not gonna bother us every time we get alone.”

“They’re jealous of what we have,” Paige mutters, pressing her face into Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi pats her head like she’s a golden retriever. “I mean… you are kind of loud.”

“I wasn’t even loud it’s just quiet in here!”

Azzi just raises an eyebrow.

⸻

2:04 p.m. – Attempt #2

The dorm has gone quiet.

Paige turns off the lamp. Azzi lights the vanilla candle she hides from the RA. Rain is still tapping on the window, and everything feels warm and soft and private.

They kiss slower this time. More gentle, more intimate. Paige touches her like she’s memorizing her again. Azzi melts into it.

Then—another knock.

This time, a slip of paper slides under the door.

In Ice’s messy handwriting:

“Please keep it PG.”

Paige picks it up and groans so loud, Azzi has to shove her face into a pillow to muffle her laughter.

Paige: “I’m going to transfer.”

Azzi: “You’re not going anywhere.”

Paige flops back down beside her, sulking. “This dorm is a prison.”

Azzi pulls her close, presses a kiss to her temple. “You love me.”

Paige softens. “Yeah. I do.”

Beat.

Paige: “Wanna go make out in the locker room instead?”

Azzi: “Paige!”

Paige: “Kidding. Unless…”

[sunshine-on-marz]

The brightest

Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader

In which Hotch’s grumpy reputation may be on the line

Dedicated to my pookie bestie boo @st4rgzer

The Aaron Hotchner had smiled 6 times in 2 days. Spencer counted. It also just so happened that you joined the BAU 2 days ago. You’d transferred from a different unit, where you only worked for a few weeks before they suggested you move to the behavioral analyst unit, namely because you kept profiling, very accurately, and completely on accident. Well it wasn’t exactly an accident, but you had no clue you could make reading people a job, it was always just something you did. It was honestly insanely impressive. What might be more impressive is just how much you lit up the bureau from the moment you walked in. Your smile far brighter than the painfully fluorescent lights, and from the moment Hotch greeted you he knew he was in trouble

Something about your everything has him absolutely enthralled. The way you absentmindedly fidgeted with your shirt, your smile, your laugh, the small comments and jokes you make during conversations, all the small favors you do for the team, all of it had him head over heels.

The rest of the team was starting to get weirded out. In this very moment Emily was trying her best to explain to you that no, Hotch isn’t ‘nice’. He’s caring and fatherly but he’s not ‘nice’. “Honestly it’s really really insane that you’re calling him nice and it’s even more insane that you’re not wrong, I’ve literally never seen him be this nice for this long” she explains, Derek walking up behind her “we talkin about Hotch’s crush on the new kid?” He asks, leaning on the back of Emily’s chair before looking up at you “hey sugar” he says, you wave at him through your laughter. “Guys I highly doubt he has a crush on me” you explain “maybe he just likes me.. as a person” you explain. “Y/n he practically has heart eyes when he talks to you” JJ butts in, Spencer lifting his hand with a thumbs up. Just then Rossi walks in “are any of you working?” He asks, Emily answers “we’re working on convincing y/n that Hotch is in love with them”, Rossi just laughs. Which says a lot more then his words ever could. “See?!” Derek shouts, gesturing to Rossi who’s still laughing to himself.

“See what?” Hotch’s voice rang through the bullpen from where he stood at the balcony infront of his office. “Nothing!” Everyone said in unison, other than you, you just sat with a confused, but amused look on your face. “Y/N, my office” Hotch said, Emily and Derek having to cover their mouths to keep from laughing. You, albeit nervously, walk upstairs and to Hotch’s office. “Sir” you say softly as you walk into his office, he follows behind you. “You’re not in trouble” he says, chuckling softly as he watches your shoulders relax. “That’s good- no actually that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day” you say, exasperated and relieved. “I wanted to make sure you were settling in well” he says, you smile “oh yea it’s been great!” you smile “everyone’s been absolutely lovely! You weren’t lying when you said it’s a family here”, he smiles softly “it’s good to know you’re feeling included” he says, he slides you over a peice of paper. “The higher ups want us to start getting written statements from the new hires, to make sure everything’s running smoothly, would you mind filling this out for me?” He asks, you nod, he starts again “well excuse me for a second” he says as he walks out of his office, closing the door behind him and starring at his team who were all standing as close to the wall as possible without being in the window. “Will you all mind your own business?” He says, a sea of small agreement and apologizing spilling from the team as they walk off, only Rossi staying behind. “Yes?” Hotch says, raising an eyebrow as he waits for Rossi’s inevitable, and probably sarcastic, remark. “Let them get through the first week before you ask them out” Rossi says, laughing to himself as he walks away, Hotch just smiles, once again reminded of the downside of working with profilers.

I genuinely didn’t know how to end this sorrrrrrryyyyyyyyyy!!!!

I love you guys so so so much!

Remember to reblog and tell me what you thought of the fic!! Reblogs and feedback make the world keep spinning!!

[avatar-anna]

Whipped

Hockey player! Harry x Figure skater! Y/n

there are references to a previous oneshot. read here for more context!

"You comin' out tonight, Captain?"

Harry shut his locker as he shrugged into his t-shirt, water droplets spraying as he shook out his freshly washed hair. Rubbing some of the stray droplets off his face, he said, "Not tonight, boys. It's date night."

His teammates groaned in protest, a regular occurrence when Harry declined to go out with them. He shook his head at their collective disappointment, amused because when he did go out they typically got too hammered or went off in search of someone to hook up with.

"You'll be fine without me, I promise," Harry assured as they walked out of the locker room together.

"It's the principle of the thing," one of his teammates, Matt, said. He was new to the team this year, a transfer from a different school. "You never come out with us."

"That's not true!"

It wasn't true, was it? Harry had opted out of the last couple parties, preferring to take his girlfriend on a date or have a night in with her. Y/n wasn't overly fond of parties, and rightfully so after what she'd experienced a couple years ago, but even then Harry had begun to prefer their quiet nights together over a rager on Greek Row.

"It is. You're always with your girlfriend," another teammate said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Watch it," Harry said, his voice clipped, not having much tolerance for anyone who spoke badly about Y/n.

"Speaking of," Niall said, nodding to where Y/n waited by her car, her head dipped as she typed something on her phone.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, a smile involuntarily finding its way onto his face. "So fucking whipped," Matt muttered as Harry walked over to Y/n, the rest agreeing, making their own jokes at their captain's expense. Harry merely flipped them off as he walked away from them, shaking as his head as he returned his focus back on his girl.

"What was that all about?" Y/n asked, looking over at Harry's teammates with a raised brow.

"Nothing, they're just giving me a hard time about not going out with them tonight," he explained, tossing his duffle bag in the back of Y/n's car.

"Oh," Y/n said. "Do you want to go out with them? We can take a raincheck for tonight."

That was what he loved about Y/n. What Harry's teammates didn't understand was that his girlfriend wasn't telling him not to go out. Y/n never got mad at him if he wanted to celebrate a win at a party , she knew his team was a close knit group. But Harry found himself preferring spending time with her than with the boys. Did that make him a shitty teammate? He didn't think so. Did it mean he was whipped? Maybe, but he didn't really see a problem with that. Not when being with Y/n made him so happy.

"Don't worry about them," Harry said, pulling Y/n as close as she could possibly get. "They're just jealous they don't get to spend the night with the hottest girl at our school."

Y/n started to laugh, but his mouth was already on hers, effectively ending the conversation.

*.*

Away games meant hours spent on a stuffy bus full of immature hockey players. When Harry was just a freshman, he was delegated to the back , forced to share seats with the other underclassmen while the juniors and seniors all stretched out across seats closer to the front of the bus, far, far away from the bathroom.

Now that Harry was both a senior and team captain, he got his pick of whatever row he wanted on the bus. He usually opted to sit up front, Zayn in the aisle across from him and Niall the one behind. In the hours leading up to arriving at their opponent's rink, Harry spent his time listening to music, getting himself in the zone to lead his team to victory. It was why he chose to sit in the first few rows of the bus closer to the coaches so he could focus.

Around hour two into their trip, Harry reached for the paper bag that had his lunch.

In the past, Harry went with a teammate or two to grab something to eat before getting on the bus, but after Harry had complained a couple times to Y/n that a burrito followed by an hours-long bus ride was a habitual mistake, she began to pack him a lunch. He didn't ask, and she never said anything about it. The first time he found a brown paper bag in their shared apartment, Y/n merely shrugged and said, "I already pack my own for competitions, it's no big deal."

"What'you got over there, Styles?"

But it was. It was her little ways of showing she cared. Harry learned early on in their relationship that Y/n had a hard time expressing herself with words, but she made up for it in gestures, like packing him an away game lunch and leaving little notes in them for him to find.

Harry perked up at the sound of his name to find one of his teammates standing in the aisle of the bus, eyes alight as he observed the brown paper bag in Harry's lap.

"What does it look like, Matt? It's a bag lunch," Zayn chimed in, having pulled one of his headphones off his ears.

"Please tell me Y/n isn't packing you lunch before games," Matt teased. "Is she your girlfriend or your mom?"

A few teammates who had been listening laughed and joined in on ribbing their captain, but Harry merely rolled his eyes. Matt had had a lot to say about his relationship recently. Nothing overly rude or offensive, but it was often enough that it was starting to become a "thing," and that Harry definitely didn't want.

"Y/n made you lunch? Can she make me one next time? What's in it?" Niall asked, who had previously been dozing against the window.

Ignoring Matt, Harry showed Niall the lunch Y/n made—a chicken wrap on a whole wheat tortilla, trail mix, a banana, hummus and pita bread, and a drink with electrolytes. The contents varied each time, but it was always healthy and filling, and Harry honestly felt better as he got off the bus than he used to.

"That a note?" Niall murmured so Matt wouldn't hear, having moved onto another topic toward the middle of the bus.

Harry reached for the folded piece of paper scattered among the food in his lap, trying to be discreet. "Good luck today, bub! xoxoxo" it read, and Harry quickly folded it back up and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

"How things have changed since you first met," Niall said with a chuckle, punching Harry's arm lightly.

"I'm not so sure. I think she likes to embarrass me more than anything else with this stuff. It's definitely working."

"Matt's an idiot, ignore him," Niall said, and Harry was inclined to agree. "You gonna eat that pita bread?"

Later that night, Harry trudged through the apartment, his duffle bag sliding off his arm in a heap by the front door. "Baby?" Harry called, noting the lights on in the apartment but no girlfriend. "You in the shower?"

Harry swatted his friend's hand away before he could snatch his lunch.

*.*

"Over here!" she said, her voice coming from their shared bedroom.

Harry loosened his tie as he walked down the hall toward his room, ready to be rid of his game-day clothes. He never understood why the team had to wear suits before and after games, especially after. The very last thing he wanted to do after playing a hockey game was wear a dress shirt and slacks.

Not paying attention, Harry began undressing, shedding his suit jacket first, carefully hanging it up the way he knew his girlfriend would appreciate. When he turned around, he finally noticed her.

"What's this?" he asked, eyes roaming Y/n's bare legs appreciatively. She laid on the bed in just his home jersey, the hem hiked up high enough that Harry could see a hint of lace from her underwear.

"Just a little something for your big win," Y/n said, a grin that said she could read every ounce of desire on his face.

She started to stand up on her knees, to go to him, Harry assumed, but he stopped her. "Wait. Stay right there."

He could feel Y/n's eye roll as Harry whipped his phone out of his back pocket, fumbling around until he had his camera pulled up. As he focused his phone on her, she didn't look amused, but there was a glint in her eye that told him she thought he was an idiot.

"You do this every time I surprise you in bed," she remarked, flipping Harry off when he started moving around for better angles

"Need a new screensaver," he said by way of explanation, doing just that before he set his phone down.

"Get over here before I decide to put pants on."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, quick to ditch his own trousers before joining his girlfriend on the bed.

*.*

A couple weeks later, Harry was finally at a party. His teammates were there, along with Y/n and a couple of her friends. Y/n, who still got tense at large house parties, stayed close to Harry's side the whole night, not eager to venture anywhere without him. He didn't mind, of course, in fact quite the opposite. As they sat around a bonfire in the house's backyard, Y/n sat on Harry's lap, his arms circled protectively around her waist. She had been perfectly fine with sitting beside him, but he'd pulled her onto his lap before she could.

"How are you always so warm?" he murmured, nuzzling his nose past her hair and against the skin of her neck. "Hm? You're like a little furnace."

"Stop that! Pay attention to the game," Y/n said, still leaning into his touch.

Her hands rested over his, warming his skin caused by the chilly autumn air. Harry was in a chunky cable knit sweater, but the cold still pierced his skin, making him squeeze his girlfriend tighter. That and the pleased giggle that came out of her mouth when he kissed the back of her neck.

"Hey, lovebirds! Feel like rejoining us anytime soon?"

Harry peeked out from behind Y/n, grinning cheekily at his friends, who were also sitting around the bonfire. Before he could say anything, Niall shouted from his seat over the music, "You guys are so in love it's gross."

The lighting outside was dim, the fire casting an orange glow over everything, but Harry could tell Y/n was blushing as the rest of their friends teased them playfully. It was no secret to Harry how his girlfriend felt, but she was more reserved than he was, and he knew it was a lot for everything to be out in the open, even so far down the line.

"He's fucking whipped, is what he is!"

Harry heard Matt's voice scattered throughout the others, and he could hear the slight edge to his tone. He wasn't quite sure what his teammate's problem was, or why he felt the need to comment on Harry's relationship all of a sudden, but it was starting to get on Harry's nerves.

Not having heard the bite that Harry did, his friends laughed. Y/n didn't, though, merely smiling at him as she squeezed his hand affectionately. "Don't let them get to you, bub," she murmured before standing up from his lap. He felt the loss of her warmth immediately, but didn't pull her back down to him. "I'm gonna head inside to go to the bathroom."

He didn't know if she actually had to, but Harry saw the offer to escape for what it was and took it. "I'll go with you," he said, standing up himself and taking her hand in his. They were almost to the sliding door that would lead them back to the house when Matt spoke, his voice rising above the rest and making them both stop.

"Seriously? You can't be alone for five minutes? For God's sake, let him off his leash, Y/n."

Anger coursed through Harry's veins immediately, but he did his best to push it aside to focus on his girlfriend, whose face was carefully blank.

"Sorry, what was that?" Y/n asked, slowly turning around to face him. Harry instantly read the look on her face. It was the same one she wore when he forgot to switch out his laundry or wash the dishes.

Matt stupidly doubled down instead of backing off. Niall and a couple of Harry's friends tried to stop him, understanding Y/n's anxiety about being left alone at parties, but he didn't listen.

"Never in a million years did I think our team captain would be so whipped for some—some—"

"Stop before you embarrass yourself," Y/n said, her voice not wavering once. "Maybe if your head wasn't so far up your own ass, you'd know I don't make Harry do anything, like you seem to believe. If he doesn't want to hang out with you, then that's his business, but honestly I don't blame him. You kind of suck."

Matt looked at Y/n in disbelief, mouth open but no words came out. Then he looked at Harry, as if his captain would offer some assistance, but Harry didn't do anything of the sort.

"Don't look at him, you're dealing with me now," Y/n said, stepping toward Matt. "And before you make some stupid fucking-ass comment about him being a bitch letting me fight his battles, save your breath. You started this, I'm ending it. Suck a dick and keep my name out of your mouth."

That's when Harry stepped in. He loved that Y/n was defending him on his behalf, but Matt was a good two heads taller than her, and his teammate had had a few. He didn't think Matt would get physical, but Harry was starting to realize Matt wasn't really a stand up guy.

Then, Matt muttered, "Fuck this," before storming back inside the house. The backyard was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, no one quite knowing what to say. That was until Niall said, "Well, that went about how I expected."

Harry let out a relieved chuckle, his free hand running through his hair. When everyone went back to their own conversations, he focused his attention back on his girlfriend, who hadn't said a word since Matt left.

He knew it took a lot for her to do that, that as confident as she was, Y/n still got anxious, especially in a setting like this. Squeezing her hand once, which had begun to tremble just slightly, Harry murmured quietly in her ear, "Let's go home, baby."

With a stiff nod, Y/n agreed, letting him lead her from the group and back into the house. When they were in the car, Y/n finally said, "Sorry if I made things uncomfortable. Matt's a dick but he's still your teammate."

"Don't apologize," Harry replied immediately. "He got what was coming to him."

They let the conversation end there, driving back to their apartment in silence, save the music playing through the car's speakers.

It wasn't until they were both in the comfort of their own bed that Y/n brought it up again. Nestling under the covers and into Harry's side, she said, "You're totally whipped, you know that, right?"

Harry sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I know."

[ramyrun]

the opposite of hate

Tags: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, unresolved tension, post-time skip AU, high school setting, mutual pining, sarcasm, emotionally repressed idiots

Word Count: ~3,700

You never really planned on hating Suna Rintarou.

It just sort of happened.

One moment you were minding your business in chemistry class, scribbling notes and adjusting your lab goggles. The next, he was leaning over, squinting at your paper with that deadpan face of his, and saying—

“You spelled ‘reaction’ wrong. Twice.”

You had not.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I mean… unless we’re in a parallel universe where vowels don’t matter, you definitely did.”

Your pencil snapped in half.

You’ve been at war ever since.

It didn’t help that he liked getting under your skin. He’d glance at you whenever he cracked a joke to see if you’d react. You always did. With eye rolls, muttered insults, and the occasional middle finger.

Suna found it hilarious. You found him intolerable.

It would’ve stayed that way if your homeroom teacher hadn’t announced a school-wide creative project and decided—through either sadism or cosmic misfortune—that you and Suna Rintarou should be paired up.

“No refunds, no swaps,” the teacher said cheerfully. “You two will be working together over the weekend. Make it good.”

You stared at Suna in horror. He smirked back.

“Can’t wait,” he said, voice flat as ever.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Looking forward to our bonding experience.”

You briefly considered transferring schools.

The school provided a winter lodge for the project. Cozy. Isolated. A firepit in the common room. You figured you could survive it as long as Suna stayed on his side of the room.

He did not.

“You’re in my light,” you muttered as he leaned over your half-finished design board.

“I am the light,” he replied, not moving. “Also, this border is uneven.”

“It’s called asymmetry. It’s artistic.”

“It’s giving ‘failed attempt at balance.’”

“It’s giving ‘no one asked you.’”

“Aw, you do care what I think.”

You threw a glue stick at him. He ducked and laughed—actually laughed. You hated how warm it sounded.

You made it three hours before the snowstorm hit.

Thick, heavy flakes battered the windows, and the power cut out just before sundown. The Wi-Fi died with it. You stared at your dead phone. Suna stood beside the fireplace, inspecting the woodpile like he’d done this before.

“Well,” he said, dragging a blanket off the couch. “At least we’re not freezing.”

“Yet.”

“You worried?”

You gave him a look. He held your gaze.

“I’ve survived worse,” you said coolly.

“Same. I’ve worked with you, after all.”

You kicked a pillow at him.

By the firelight, everything softened. Even Suna.

He ditched his hoodie in favor of a plain t-shirt, hair sticking up in that lazy way it always did. You sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching final drafts. He sprawled next to you, one arm behind his head.

“You know,” he said eventually, “you’re not actually bad at this.”

You looked up, confused.

“The project,” he clarified. “Your design stuff. It’s cool. Even if your color choices are a hate crime.”

“Wow. A backhanded compliment. I’m touched.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. I’ll treasure this moment forever.”

He let out a breath, almost like a laugh. Not quite.

“Why do you hate me, anyway?” he asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You blinked.

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. It’s obvious. You glare at me like I kicked your dog.”

“You act like I am your dog. That’s why.”

He looked at you then, eyes half-lidded, amused.

“You think I treat you like a dog?”

“You whistle at me. You called me ‘scrappy’ in front of the whole class.”

“It was a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?”

“You fight. You don’t let people walk over you. I respect that.”

Silence.

You swallowed. Looked away.

“You could’ve just said that.”

“You’d have bitten my head off.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The storm didn’t let up.

You both fell asleep by the fire. You on the couch, Suna on the floor, arm tucked under his head. When you woke up, he was already watching you.

“Creepy,” you muttered.

“Comforting,” he replied.

“Debatable.”

“Admit it. You missed me.”

“I dreamed you got buried in an avalanche.”

“Romantic.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

“We should finish the project,” you said instead.

“Mm. Or we could stare at each other a little longer.”

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse jumped.

You didn’t expect to like working with him. Not just tolerate it—like it. He was smart. Subtle. He noticed things you missed and challenged your ideas in a way that felt… motivated, not mocking.

You fought, but not in the usual way. Not to win. To sharpen each other.

You built a two-part portfolio: his half minimalistic and dry, yours vibrant and chaotic. The lines connected in the middle.

Contrast. Unity.

When it was finished, you both stood back and stared.

“Huh,” Suna said. “It’s not terrible.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

“We make a good team.”

You glanced sideways. He wasn’t smirking.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “We kind of do.”

He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave you was… different. Less teasing. More real.

It made your heart stutter.

Back at school, people asked how it went. You shrugged. Suna said nothing.

But things changed.

He sat closer in class. Passed you notes with dry commentary. Gave you his pen when yours ran out. Nudged your shoulder in the hallway like it meant something.

And one afternoon, as you closed your locker, you found him leaning against the one beside it.

“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets. “So.”

“So?”

“If I told you I don’t hate you,” he said, tone light but eyes serious, “would you laugh in my face?”

You stared.

“Probably,” you said.

“Good. Keeps me humble.”

You bit your lip. Smiled.

“I don’t hate you either,” you admitted. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Depends how annoying you are.”

He stepped closer.

“Right now?”

“Tolerable.”

Another step.

“And if I kissed you?”

You blinked.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He raised a brow.

“You want to test that?”

Your heart stammered against your ribs. But you didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

He did.

It was slow, soft, infuriatingly gentle. The kind of kiss that said, I’ve been waiting.

When he pulled back, his hand was still on your cheek.

“Still think I’m the worst?” he asked.

“Definitely.”

He grinned.

“Good. Keeps you humble.”

END

Let me know if you want a continuation, bonus scenes (like a jealous moment or an “accidental sleepover” situation), or a version with a spicier rating!

[jessiso]

"Mine"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Dom! Aaron Hotchner x Sub! Reader (18+)

After you flirt with a new agent, Hotch’s jealousy snaps—and he shows you exactly who you belong to in the most possessive, dominant way possible.

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, rough sex, possessive behaviour, spanking, dirty talk, jealousy, dom and sub dynamic, degradation/praise kink

w/c 1,200

...

You don’t mean anything by it.

Really, you don’t.

The new transfer from DC—Agent Carter or whatever—is just there, and you’re bored. A little sass, a little eye contact, a little smirk. Nothing major. Just enough to let your lips curl when he compliments your shooting stats, or when he leans too close under the excuse of reading your file.

But someone else is watching.

You feel it—him—before you even see him.

Aaron Hotchner is a constant presence in your peripheral.

Silent, watchful, calculating.

You can feel the heat of his gaze from across the bullpen, his posture stiff, arms crossed. That jaw of his is tighter than you’ve ever seen it, the muscle ticking like a warning.

You should stop.

You don’t.

...

It’s after hours when it happens.

Everyone’s gone, the office dim and quiet except for the soft hum of the vending machine and the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway.

You don’t expect the door to your office to slam shut behind you.

You whirl around—your breath catching—just in time to see him.

Hotch.

His tie is gone. Sleeves rolled. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his eyes? God, they’re molten black.

“What the hell was that today?” His voice is low. Dangerous.

You blink, playing dumb. “What was what?”

“The flirting.”

You cross your arms, cocking a brow.

"With Carter? It was harmless. You jealous, Hotch?”

He doesn’t respond.

He just walks. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator with all the time in the world.

You back up until your thighs hit the edge of your desk, heart pounding.

Then he’s in your space. His hands slam down on the wood beside your hips, caging you in.

“You think that’s funny?” His voice is gravel. “You think it’s cute? Letting some boy sniff around you like that?”

You swallow, trying to stay composed. “I don’t belong to you.”

A dangerous smirk curls his lips. “No?” He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear. “Then why are you soaking through your panties right now?”

You gasp, and it betrays you.

He knows.

You’re fucked—and you love it.

He doesn’t kiss you. Not right away.

Instead, he spins you around and bends you over your desk like a goddamn doll.

Papers scatter, your breath whooshing out as your chest hits the wood.

“You want to act like a brat,” he growls behind you, “you get treated like one.”

You feel his hand snake up your skirt—rough, fast—then yank your panties down.

Cool air hits you and your knees almost buckle.

Then—

SMACK.

The first slap lands on your ass, sharp and loud.

You whimper.

“Count.”

“What?”

Another slap.

“Count.”

“One,” you breathe out.

“Louder.”

“One!”

The second is harder. Then the third. You count each one through gritted teeth, your core throbbing between your legs, dripping down your thighs. By the fifth, you're moaning the numbers, thighs shaking.

“Look at you,” he hisses. “Flirting with that little agent like a whore, and now you’re dripping all over my shoes. Filthy girl.”

“Hotch, please—”

“What do you want?” he snaps. “Use your words.”

“I want you—God, I want your cock, please—”

He laughs, low and cruel. “Oh, now you remember who you belong to.”

You feel the head of his cock rub along your slit—teasing, punishing.

“Beg for it,” he growls. “Beg me to fuck you like the slut you are."

“I’m yours,” you pant. “Please, Aaron—I need you to fuck me. Claim me. Make me forget his name—please.”

The growl that rips from his throat is feral.

He thrusts into you in one smooth motion—deep, brutal, unforgiving. You cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the desk as he pounds into you with zero hesitation.

“Say it,” he grits between thrusts, each one rougher than the last. “Say who owns you.”

“You do! You—fuck, Hotch—you do!”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, your back flush against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. The only one who gets to hear you moan like a whore.”

“Yes—yes, only you—”

His hand snakes between your legs, fingers circling your clit with expert pressure. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably fast.

“You gonna come for me?” he murmurs, mouth pressed against your neck. “Gonna soak my cock like the desperate little slut you are?”

“Yes—fuck—Aaron, I’m so close—”

“Then come. Now.”

His voice—his command—tips you over the edge.

You shatter.

Your body spasms, pulsing around him, crying out his name as he fucks you through it. You’re barely coherent, trembling, when you feel his pace falter.

With a groan, he thrusts deep, filling you to the hilt as he spills inside you, hips jerking.

Then silence.

Just the sound of your ragged breathing and his hand resting on your ass, rubbing softly.

“You ever let anyone else look at you like that again,” he mutters, voice rough, “and next time, I won’t be so gentle.”

You laugh—hoarse, breathless.

“That was gentle?”

He smirks.

“Careful,” he says. “You’re already on thin ice.”

You slump forward, skin slick with sweat, chest heaving against the desk.

Your legs feel like jelly, your brain a haze of overstimulation and satisfaction.

You barely register the soft grumble of your name, not until his hands—those big, capable hands—grab your waist and pull you upright, pressing your spine to his chest again.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Instead, he stays inside you, holding you there, like he’s making a point. Like he wants you to feel him, long after this moment ends.

“Still think you don’t belong to me?” he murmurs into your neck, voice low and wrecked.

You shiver, tilting your head as his lips graze just below your ear.

“I didn’t think you cared,” you whisper, still breathless.

His hand drifts up, cupping your jaw. Gently. A sharp contrast to the way he just claimed you.

“I’ve cared since the first time you walked into my office with that smart mouth and those eyes,” he says. “You just didn’t notice.”

You blink, chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

Hotch finally slides out of you, and you whimper at the loss. He turns you around carefully, lifts you up onto the desk, and starts to clean you with one of the tissues from the box nearby. His touch is precise, gentle, almost reverent—like he’s making up for every filthy thing he just did.

“You okay?” he asks, meeting your eyes.

You nod, smiling a little.

"More than okay.”

His gaze flickers to your throat, then your lips.

“You’re not allowed to flirt with anyone else,” he murmurs. “Not unless you want me to bend you over in front of them and remind you who fucks you like this.”

You laugh, throat raw, and grip his tie that's still draped over the chair beside you.

“Noted, sir.”

He leans down, lips brushing yours finally—soft, this time. Like he’s sealing the deal.

When he pulls back, he’s smirking.

“You’re coming home with me.”

It’s not a request.

And God, you don’t want it to be.

[loserboysandlithium]

A Taste: Eddie Munson One Shot

18+ Minors DNI

Summary: this is a series of one shots written in Eddie’s POV about his sexual experiences. ;) this one is the first time he got a taste. ;) I hope you enjoy. 🖤 Chapter list found here .

Part two:

“Just the regular?” I ask, my eyes shifting from her eyes straight to her tits. Fuck.

“Mhmm..” she hums lightly, a slick smile spreading on her pretty lips. This time she’s in a little black dress. Short. Fuck, is it short… the material clinging to her curves in all the right places.

I grab the little baggy from my lunchbox trying to shake all the dirty thoughts from my mind and spin around to see her plopped down on my bed flipping through my sketchbook.

“These are really good, Eddie.” she smiles sweetly, flicking her eyes up to me.

This was the last thing I needed. Her seeing my dorky drawings of dragons and elves. I could feel my face getting hot. She was so far out of my league and I was already nervous enough.

“They’re nothing. Just some random shit.” I try to laugh but it comes out slightly hoarse, making me groan out loud.

“You okay?” she giggles as she sets the notebook to the side, shifting slightly causing her dress to ride up her thighs. Her legs part just a bit, the smallest glimpse of her panties now on display.

“You look pretty. Really fuckin’ pretty.” The words fly from my lips before I can stop them and I watch as her lips curl into a smile.

She pats the mattress beside her and I make my way over, sitting down at least a foot away from her. Fuck, she makes me nervous.

“I won’t bite.” she teases, scooting herself closer so her leg is now pressed against mine.

“You wanna smoke?” I ask as I pull a pre rolled joint from behind my ear.

“Mmm, please.” she hums, her eyes flicking to the joint in my hand before landing on my lips again. I place the joint between my lips, striking my zippo, bringing the flame to the rolling paper as I inhale deeply.

Smoke fills my lungs as I offer her a hit. She smirks as she takes it between her finger and her thumb, taking a long drag for herself. My eyes remain on her mouth, watching as the smoke rolls beautifully from her plump lips as she exhales.

We pass it back and forth a few times, a nice buzz settling across both of us. She’s closer somehow, I can feel her against my side as I turn to look down into her pretty eyes. She takes a deep hit, her fingers landing on my chin, gripping tightly as she pulls me close.

Fuck. My lips brush hers as I part them, allowing the smoke to transfer from her mouth to mine. And then it was over. I shoved my tongue in her mouth, tasting the weed as our tongues swirled together, both of us panting into the kiss.

Her hands grasped at my shirt taking two fistfuls as she pulled me down on top of her. My hands were shaking just a bit as they began to roam across her body. Holy fuck.

And then I was between her thighs, her tiny dress shoved above her hips as I yanked her panties down, flinging them to the side.

My tongue glides through her folds, her slick coating it completely. The moan that left my body was one I’d never heard before. I hook my arms under her thighs, pulling her closer as my eyes fall shut, my tongue alternating between flicking and swirling, my lips moving erratically across every part of her wet pussy.

“Eddie, fuck.” she moans softly, her fingers threading into my curls as I open my eyes to look at her. Fuck me.

Her lips are parted, her eyes locked on mine as I begin to suck gently on her clit. “Yes, baby. Mmmm..” she breathes, her hands holding my head in place.

“Feel good?” I gasp as I come up for a bit of air. I’m fucking drunk on her taste as I meet her eyes once again.

“Mhmm. Don’t stop, baby. Please don’t stop.” she whimpers making my dick fuckin’ throb.

I move my hands to her inner thighs, spreading her legs even more, pressing her knees hard into the mattress as I slide my tongue as deep as possible earning the sweetest little cry from her.

“Oh fuuck..” She lets out a soft whine as I begin to fuck her with my tongue.

My hips rut against the mattress, my cock aching for any fucking friction as she falls apart beneath my tongue. I think I’m gonna cum.

“Eddie, holy shit baby. So good.. feels so fucking good.” she praises and my eyes almost roll to the back of my head. I move back up to her clit, tugging the sensitive bud between my teeth making her hips jolt up just as I slip two fingers into her pretty pussy.

“Fuck! J-Just like that.” she cries as I curl my fingers into that soft spot inside of her. I can feel her all over my fingers, sticky and warm as I begin to fuck her.

My brain goes fuzzy. Her taste, the way she feels clenching around my fingers, the lewd sounds of her perfect pussy sucking my fingers in again and again. Her back arches off the bed as her nails dig into my scalp, the sound that comes from her lips is downright pornographic as she soaks my hand making me come undone. I can feel my warm cum making a mess inside my jeans as I moan into her sweet pussy.

I remove my fingers, bringing them to my lips, sucking them clean of every bit of her cum as I kneel on the bed.

“More, sweetheart. Fuck. Want you to ride my face. Please.” I beg, desperation laced in my tone. I needed more. I couldn’t get enough of her.

“Yeah, baby? You gonna make me cum again?” she laughs breathlessly, pushing my chest hard making me fall to the bed.

“Anything for you.” I whisper, watching in awe as she crawls toward me.

She moves to straddle my face, her dripping pussy hovering just above my lips.

“Good boy.” she purrs.

🖤Tag list: @hideoutside @chrrymunson @trinitywifey @hellfirenacht @emsgoodthinkin @blood-puppy @gri959 @girlfuckthatwhore @joannamuns9n @harrycanyonmoonn @mrsjellymunson @leelei1980 @little-wormwood @melifluorei-d @mrsmarch64 @avavolturi @munsonsblunt @darknesseddiem @yujyujj @eddie-munsonsbitch @ali-r3n @oliskitten @jessicakennedy957 @costellation-hunter @spenciesprincess @siouxiesiouxtryhard @josephbuttoneyes @jamiecb66 @amoiur @eddiernunson @floredaqueen @manda-panda-monium @tclick73 @moviefreak1205 @lil-quinnie @asimpforthe80s @phoenyxrayne @luv4peterba1lard @mrsrdlw @bug-boy32 @hanahkatexo @wasabimia @zeysartzone

I’m not sure if I missed anyone but I’m so sorry if I did and if you’d like to be added or removed just lemme know 😘🖤

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Ignored

Prompt: After feeling ignored by Marco you decide to try and rile him up.

NSFW

Marco X Fem Reader

Marco had been working overtime since a battle had rendered more than a few crewmates injured. Tate was able to take care of most of them with the other nurses but Marco still had to do all the paperwork for said injuries and supplies used. He was also behind on creating a list for restocking, for the next time the Moby Dick docked.

You understood of course, he’s a busy man being the First Division Commander and a Doctor. But it had been days since he has given you any attention. He’d even forget to eat if you didn’t bring him food, and he’d just nod a small thank you while still looking at his work. Try as you might he’d ignore you and tell you he’s almost done, despite still having a hefty stack to complete.

You sighed thinking about your predicament, leaning against the railing of the ship. “What’s up Y/N?” Izou asked while coming up behind you.

You groan not even glancing at him while hanging your head lower, “Marco’s been ignoring me~” Izou lets out a small chuckle before sitting against the railing next to you. “I know he’s busy, but he’s barely even spared me a glance this entire week!”

“Well maybe, you need to catch his attention in a different way…” Izou hints at what he means by tugging on your shirt.

“Doesn’t work. He just blinked at me telling me he was busy last time I undressed in front of him,” The method would work every now and then, but as of right now it seemed as though Marco was unfazed by everything.

“That’s not what I meant Y/N~” Izou smiles before leaning in close to explain.

~~~

         It had taken a bit of convincing for Tate to give you the nurses uniform, but even she had to admit that the first commander had been working too hard recently. She’d given you the stack of papers Marco had to go over for the day, that normally an actual nurse would take to him and sent you on your way. She made some jabbing remarks about keeping the reports neat as you left.

         But now that you were in front of his door you were nervous. You didn’t mind the nurses dress on others, but you, being used to shorts, thought it a little too high for your taste. You tug the dress down a little more, noticing how your cleavage became all the more evident when you did so and groaned slightly.

You finally build up the courage to knock on the door, and wait for a response. You hear Marco call out to come in and slowly open the door, poking your head in a bit. Marco was sitting at his desk just as expected, his glasses on as his read the reports in front of him and you suddenly thought this was a bad idea. Sure, you had disturbed him in the past successfully, but looking at his furrowed eyebrows as he wrote something down made you think maybe now wasn’t the best time. Even just wearing the nurses attire made you feel a bit embarrassed, a light tint forming on your cheeks as you step all the way into the room. He mutters for you to place to documents on the left, not even glancing up.

The noise of you closing the door behind you finally brought his attention away from his work, glancing up. He makes eye contact with you before you see him snake his eyes down your body, taking in the uniform. He puts his pen down and leans back in his chair with an amused smirk on his face, “Oh? I don’t remember a new nurse being added, yoi~”

You blush harder, you hadn’t expected his entire attention to be on you from the get go. You gulp before getting the courage to continue, “Well the transfer just happened today~” You saunter over to his desk, making sure he can see your cleavage as you lean over his desk, placing the papers on his to-do stack, “This is where you wanted them. Right, sir?” You looking up at him, pushing your boobs up a little bit.

He glances at your face before glancing back down, “I’m sure I can do them soon enough here.” You see him lick his lips before glancing back up to you. “But alas it will still take time before I touch any of them.” You small smile falters at his words. He starts to grab his pen again and you remember what Izou told you.

You grab his hand and your other goes under his chin to make him face you and you lean in closer, staring at his lips. “I’m sorry Doctor, but it may be time for a break” You glance up at his eyes before quickly adding, “Tate’s orders.” Smiling a bit as you see his eyes fill with desire. You lean in closer finally kissing Marco for the first time in almost a week and he happily welcomes the intrusion.

You feel one of his hands rake his hand through your hair, grabbing and pulling after a while. He smiles at you, “That was a nice break, but now I have to continue.”

You gawk at his words, “You workaholic!” You’re frustrated, angry even, at this mans resolve to keep working over even just spending 5 minutes with you, he seems rather amused at your outburst, “Here I am, trying to do anything to get you to pay attention to me! And you’re just ignoring it!” You straighten your back, fully standing up now, “I even convinced Tate to give me these clothes and you’re only interest is in work!” You gesture down at your body before turning around embarrassed. You hear a small chuckle behind you but refuse to look, “You think this is funny but you haven’t even come out of your room all week!” You cross your arms staring at the floor in front of the door.

What you weren’t expecting was arms grabbing hold of you before turning you around and slamming you against the wall, hands quickly going to hold up your thighs so that you are no longer standing on your own. Marco pressed his body up against you and you can feel how hard he is through his trousers. “Well, my love, maybe I’ve been holding back so that I can make an absolute mess of you when I’m done,” He whispers into your ear before nipping your earlobe making you moan, you grind your hips towards his “But it seems that someone, is a little impatient.”

You look at him innocently as you wrap your arms around his neck, “I have absolutely no idea what you mean Sir,” smiling as you attempt to pull him closer to your lips.

To your shock however he doesn’t allow you too, instead leaning back even more with what you can only explain as a devious smirk. He glances back at his work at your heart sinks, “I can’t stop now, I’m almost caught up,” He turns back to you, “But I think little miss Y/N needs a small punishment from pulling me away for so long.” And he lets your legs down one by one.

You watch as he goes back to his desk sitting down, before looking up at you and your confused faced. He stays silent as he pats his lap and you slowly walk towards him. As you get closer he widens his legs before grabbing your hip with one hand and snaking his hand up your thigh with the other. You look down at him, only imagining what your punishment could before he glances up at you, “You’re not wearing panties. Are you Y/N?” And you nod in embarrassment, realizing just now how wet you had become.

He retracks both his hands from you, and you watch as he pulls out his cock. You stare at how it stands tall, a slight amount of precum accumulating at the tip and lick your lips. He pats his lap again and you take the hint to straddle his legs, his tip slightly caressing your entrance. You place your hands on his shoulders as you moan, sinking down a little bit. Finally feeling even, the slightest amount of relief, you rock your hips up and down until his full length is inside of you.

You don’t notice his devious smirk as he watches you get use to him, your head leaning back slightly at how full you feel. When your finally ready you start to bounce, but just as quickly as you started you felt hands on your hips, stopping you. “Uh, uh, uh, Y/N” Marco leans closer to you, “This, is a punishment”

“Marco please” You plead with him, trying to grind but he holds you firm. He ignores your begging as he readjusts his chair to get closer to the desk.

 He wraps his arms around your waist, placing a hand on your back to push you against his chest and rubbing it gently, “Y/N, I have to finish this stack at the very least.”

You bury your head into the nook of his shoulder pouting. “What am I supposed to do then Marco?” You cry as trying and failing at grinding into him. His length feels great in you but you still want more, “I just want you. Please Marco, Please.” You desperately try to convince the man inside you to fulfill your wishes as you kiss at his neck.

“You’re punishment yoi.” He tightens his grip on you slightly and your breath hitches, hoping for the best, “Is to sit there quietly, until I finish this stack.” And without even waiting for a response, he leans forward just enough to look at his papers, picking up his pen to ignore you.

You groan into his neck thinking about your situation. The dress hiking up ever so slightly, you feel the tights digging into your thighs, and you breast pushed up against Marco’s chest, nipples rubbing against the smooth fabric. But the most important thing is just how good it feels to have Marco inside you. With the position the two of you are in you know that there’s another inch that could go in and trying to grind down into it, only to be met with a hard slap to your ass.

You gasp out at the sudden pain before quieting yourself. Your arms tightly hugging onto Marco as you try to stop thinking about the pressure inside of you. Your thought’s keeping wandering to riding him or him slamming into you, even the thought of him standing up and fucking into you as he walks to the bed that’s just across the room.

You tighten around him and hear him groan. You smile at his reaction and start to suck on his neck. At this Marco slaps your ass again, “Yoi. I told you to sit quietly. That also means not distracting me.” His voice is low but firm and you let out a small whine, nuzzling into him, before settling down again.

Minutes go by and you can’t help yourself again. It’s too much. How can he expect you to sit still when he’s inside you? You feel his cock throb every now and then and it’s driving you insane. You readjust your legs, in doing so also allowing some friction start but you notice Marco not caring about it. Slyly you start to adjust ever so often, savoring every time his dick brushes deeper inside you with the slight movement.

After a few too many movements you hear papers moving and your heart skips a beat at the thought of him finally being finished, you whip your head around but slump over slightly in disbelief as he places more papers in the stack that was almost completed, “Don’t think I didn’t realize what you were doing Y/N.” He whispers into your ear before giving you another hard spank making you bend over, “You’re not taking this punishment very seriously Yoi,” Another spank as you moan, arching you back into the sting as he grips your ass, thrusting harshly into you, “Is this what you want?” You don’t answer, only moaning in pleasure as his relentless thrusts brush against your cervix. You feel his hand grip your hair again, harshly pulling your head back, forcing you to make eye contact with the strangely calm face compared to what he’s doing, “Answer me Yoi.”

Your mouth hanging open and tears filling your eyes you attempt to nod your head and feel him tighten his hold on your hair, “Y-yes. Marco this is what I want,” You moan out but the second you answer he stops his movement making you grind down for more.

The sinister looking in his eyes tells you he’s not going to continue and he pushes you back against his chest, “Then stay still like a good little girl. Every time you distract me I’m adding more to the stack.”

You let out a cry at the absurd demand, “Marco, Please.” With another hard spank and a couple of papers shuffling makes you realize he’s serious and stop immediately from anymore transgressions, letting out one last whimper before settling back down into the crook of his neck.

What feels like hours, but is likely just minutes go by, and you start to feel comfort in the dick buried deep inside of you. You relax a bit and Marco gently rubs the small of your back muttering a good girl that makes you swoon. You adjust slightly to get more comfortable and Marco seems to understand that you aren’t doing it out of pleasure this time. Every now and then you feel a slight thrust into you with a question on if you’re still awake and you just hum in response, moaning slightly at the movements inside you.  

After a couple more papers down Marco leans back sighing, “I’m almost done baby girl, just a few more.” He holds your hips and you lean back to be able to look at his face, deciding to take a small chance you rotate your hips, grinding deeper into you and he lets out a small groan as his head falls back, “You sure do know how to motivate me…” He leans in, a hand on the back of your head to lead you to his lips for a passionate but quick kiss before he resumes his works.

You rock your hips a bit and you hear Marco swear under his breath before he pushes your head back into his shoulder, “Just a couple more and I’m done.” You can hear the desperation even through his calm and collected tone.

Just as Marco was grabbing the second to last report from the stack you both hear a knock on his door. You tense up and start to get off him but Marco stops you, pushing you back down as you whimper out, “Just stay still and don’t make a noise.” He smirks and you can’t help but to listen to him as he calls out to the person to come in. Deciding to bury your face once again, to not let the person see how embarrassed you were.

“Hey Marco, have you seen Y/N-“ Izou stops as he fully walks into the room, seeing you presumably just sitting on Marcos lap. The desk providing just enough cover to hide how you’re dress was hiked up above your ass now, every small movement letting it inch higher.

“She fell asleep a while ago Yoi,” Marco answers nonchalantly but he decides to play by wrapping an arm around you while he slowly thrust into you, reaching deeper than he had anytime prior. You try to hold back your moan but realize quickly it’ll be of no use and decide to bite Marco’s neck to suppress the urge.

“Are you telling me.” Izou sputters out, slight anger in his voice, “That Y/N came here. Dressed like a nurse. And you didn’t do anything?” The commanders were always open about their affairs so it didn’t shock you to hear such a question but it still made you blush, not that anyone could see. “Marco you have to start treating her better! I know you’re busy but show here some attention!” Izou was scolding Marco, not knowing how the grip around your waist tightened, or how Marco rocked his hips painfully slow to drive you mad.

You had been waiting for so long for this, but you couldn’t show Izou this side of you/ Marco seemed to love how to you silently shudder from his movements, and how you had slowly bit his neck harder and harder to suppress your moans. At this point you could taste a slight tinge of blood, feeling slightly guilty you loosen your grip only for Marco to thrust quickly into you making you bite down harder.

“Don’t you dare get up,” Izou warned Marco, seemingly unaware of what the movement was actually for, “If Y/N just fell asleep she should rest peacefully,” He turns to head back towards the door, “I didn’t actually expect her to dress up for you. But if she’s willing to go this far for you Marco, even waiting for your workaholic ass, you should keep her.”

“Oh don’t worry about that Izou, I’ll make sure she knows how much I love her soon,” The words coming out of his mouth had you blush but you soon became to distracted to listen as Marco’s other hand grips your thigh, pulling your leg further apart as he thrusts again. You can feel him talking but can’t quite catch what he says.

“That just means I can go clothes shopping! Don’t think you can avoid it, Marco!” Izou exclaims before leaving, muttering something about having to prepare well.

As the door shuts you release Marco’s neck from your teeth, leaning back to be able to look at the man in front of you. “You did so good love,” Marco praises you and you see small blue flames come from his deep bite mark, “Why don’t we continue this on the bed?”

[deacblues]

check out my sweet new shirt! process notes below:

i've been wanting to make my own shirts for a while now, and it was way easier than i expected! cheaper than buying the official shirt, too; i bought all the necessary supplies from michaels for less than 25 (canadian) bucks.

i decided to design the ghost in illustrator for two reasons: for exact control over the linework, and so i wouldn't have to worry about the drawing being in a high-enough resolution to print. but that required learning how to use adobe illustrator, which was a little frustrating...

after i arrived at a ghost i was happy with, i printed it out onto some transfer paper (which took a couple times to get right, yeesh), cut it out (which ALSO took a couple times to get right), and ironed it onto a plain, black t-shirt! it was one of those cheap, cotton gildan tees they have at michaels. i love those shirts--seriously! i hate soft fabric shirts that cling to your body. give me crappy, rough cotton any day of the week!

i never had to iron any clothes before (i'm not a slob, it just never came up before, alright?) so i was kind of nervous about screwing it up. which i kind of did--whoops! it's not super obvious, but i ironed the ghost on off-center and kind of crooked.

if you're wondering why i'd go to all this trouble instead of just spending ten more dollars to buy the official shirt, i'll tell you. for one, i like having control over the fabric of the shirt (gildan cotton, baby!). but more importantly: i don't think the official ghost looks the same as the ghost in homestuck.

for the record, i'm totally being fickle here. the ghost that's on all the merch is exactly how hussie pictured it from the start. in fact, it's probably an altered version of the ghost from the homestuck beta! and that ghost looked just like it did in hussie's concept art.

but in the actual comic, the ghost looks way different--probably because hussie was dedicating no more than 30 seconds to drawing each ghost. and so it looks really goofy!

and it was this chubbier, goofier-looking ghost that i tried to put on my shirt.

P.S. sometimes, during act 1, the ghost had beady little dot eyes (like john). i tried using those eyes early-on, but i gave up when i couldn't get it to feel right:

[katz-chow]

perv!price and perv!simon being so gross when they're around you!!! talking about you together and getting all silent when you come into the room, their cocks almost begging to be freed from their boxers when you turn around, they're eyes immediately darting to your ass!!

and john's glad that's it's simon he can talk to you about, the way your tits look when you're training, how tight your pussy would be... simon is responsible, he'd take good care of you!! just spar with him and let him rub his bulge against your clothed cunt, cumming in his boxers at the fantasies corrupting his already fucked up mind.

price can't help himself from bending you over his desk and telling you that your panties are too inappropriate to wear for work, just so you can take them off, leaving him to huff at and wrap around his girth, jerking off and using them to soak up his cum. did he leave you without any panties? yeah, and simon had a field day being able to take photos up your skirt. 69 with him for the first time as he'd been teasing you with his eyes all day, practically undressing you with just his gaze.

feel free to ignore if you're too busy, uninterested, or uncomfortable ! :) 🌷🌷🌷 love your work, like always 🎀

warnings: gn! reader, exhibitionist, power play, voyeurism, oral fixation, a tiny bit of blood (cherry popping)

a/n: orla, orla, orla…i can always count on you to bring the best hard smut to my blog…i also love this power play of a duo

they pull rank all the time too, it’s so unfair :((

getting word that lieutenant riley needs to go over your paper work with you when you just transferred and being worried you’ll be sent back for a stupid reason. but when you get there, he makes you kneel next to him, behind his desk and look up at him with your pretty eyes, waiting. you look so cute when you’re so eager to please. he sticks his big, calloused fingers into your mouth and makes you suck on them, your lewd drool dripping down your chin and onto your shirt, making it sticky and cling onto your chest. but you can’t help but be good for riley, he’s your lt and he treats you so well, this is the least you can do.

price who orders simon to fuck you in front of him, commanding how the two of you go at it. he sits back, cock in hand and cigar on his lips as he watches simon pounds into your precious hole. your legs start to give out as your third orgasm rocks you to an all high but simons grip on your hips make sure you’re always upright and at the perfect position for him to slam his thick cock into you.

“f-fuck…please lieutenant please i cant…ah!” you beg him as you fit him rip you open purpose, dick making sure your cervix is bruised and you’re bleeding just a bit. he loves seeing you babbling and drooling under him while he knows his captain is noting all of this, thinking about the promotions you two are going to get. he sits at his desk, cock leaking and twitching onto his trousers as he watches the two of you. the way your ass bounces as simon thrusts into you, pinning your hands to the way and your chest fully pressed up to the cold drywall. price scoffs, a lit cigar between his lips as he strokes himself, knowing damn well he can actually make you cum rather than just aimlessly slamming into you like simon ruthlessly is.

[fatkish]

I am doing my second watch through of mashle to try to satiate my love of abyss 😭 could I ask for a request of y/n being a student that volunteers in the medical wing and taking care of abyss after he is injured at the end of season 1? Could you make it super fluffy and adorable please?

(Awww yes, Abyss is such a cutie. I’m going to write the reader as gender neutral since you didn’t specify what gender the reader is, hope that’s okay)

Abyss Razor x Reader

You’re a third year student from Orca dorm. You spend most of your time when not in class either studying and experimenting with new medicinal spells and potions or helping out in the medical wing. Unlike most people, your magic is actually hindered by using a wand. Since your specialty is healing magic, using a wand focuses your magic at a single point instead of engulfing an area evenly in your magic. The way you heal is that your magic mends things on a microscopic level. Technically your specialty is repairing inanimate items but you’ve dedicated yourself to healing living things.

Take a shirt for example, if the fabric is torn, then your magic reconnects and stitches the fabric’s fibers back together on a microscopic level. With living things, you repair things on a cellular level. Say someone had a paper cut. You would cover the cut in your magic which would then begin to close the cut by reconnecting the tissue. The time it takes to repair wounds varies depending on how deep/severe a wound is, how many different things are injured, as well as the total area/amount of the injuries.

You’ve spent years practicing how to use magic without a wand. As of now, you’re able to cover an area within an eight inch radius of each hand. You focus your magic into your hands and push it out sort of like a wave. You’ve also discovered ways to imbue potions and items with your magic so that they can carry and transfer your magic’s effects. The potions help with broken bones and similar internal injuries by targeting the injured area, healing from the inside out and shortening the recovery time.

Due to your time spent in the medical wing of the school, most students who’ve been there a couple times or have had to stay multiple days there are familiar with you. Unlike most people, you’re incredibly kind, you go out of your way to help the other students by doing things like getting notes and gathering their missed assignments and helping them complete them while they’re injured. Or you’ll bring them food or make something for them specifically. Your bedside manner is exquisite and you’re a favorite among the student body, especially the younger classes.

But you’re not a pushover. If you find out that someone has been bullied or harassed by someone, you’re one of the first people to raise a hell storm. You don’t tolerate bullying or the mistreatment of others. You may specialize in healing, but that doesn’t mean you can’t break them as well as you fix them. You had noticed that multiple students from both Adler and Orca dorms had been drained of their magic leading to the pileup of bodies in the medical wing. You knew something was up and you wanted so badly to put a stop to it, but your patients come first.

You suspected Lang was behind this recent development so to say you were surprised to see Lang’s top dogs enter the medical wing so battered and bruised was an understatement. Despite what you may have been feeling, your work comes first. You knew who Abel Walker was, you knew who the Magia Lupis were, despite your abundance of coins earned from your studies and extracurricular activities, you were never targeted for some reason. When you saw the condition that Abyss was in, you asked Abel to remove Abyss’s robe and shirt while you get your necessary supplies ready.

When you came back, you immediately set to work on repairing Abyss’s wounds. Starting from the deepest point and slowly working your way to the surface of his skin. Within thirty minutes, you had managed to repair his wounds entirely, although he would be extremely tired and lethargic for a day or two due to how taxing the healing was on his body. While your magic doesn’t drain the energy from your patient, your magic can’t create something out of nothing. Most often, when dealing with severe injuries, your magic takes the fat tissue and excess skin and uses it to repair wounds by breaking down the excess tissue and using it to replace and repair the damaged tissue. If there isn’t enough excess tissue or fat tissue then your magic uses muscle tissue to repair injuries.

After making sure that Abyss would be fine and reassuring Abel that Abyss would be fine, you sat Abel down (forced him to sit down) and began to heal his injuries. After healing Abel’s injuries, you gave him a good ol’ smack to the back of his head and proceeded to scold him like a child for his actions against his fellow peers. If anyone had been awake and saw this, they would have thought you were his mother and he was an extremely tall child. After chewing Abel out, you grabbed a comfortable chair and set it next to Abyss’s bedside for Abel to sit in. After that, you left the medical wing and went to the nurse’s kitchen where food and medicine was prepared for those in the medical wing. While you were cooking the soup for the boys, Abyss had woken up. After explaining what happened while he was out, Abel waited by Abyss’s bedside for him to regain the strength to move about on his own.

After finishing up cooking and cleaning up the mess you made, you returned with hot tea, some cookies as well as an easy to digest chicken noodle soup. You handed a bowl of soup to Abel as well as a cup of tea and some cookies before sitting next to Abyss. You knew better than anyone that Abyss wouldn’t have the strength to feed himself, he could try but he’d likely spill it all over himself with how much strain he’d be putting on his shaking limbs. So you pulled up a chair and began to feed Abyss, to which the poor boy tried to put up a fight saying he could take care of himself, only to have trouble holding the spoon correctly. Having given up, he allowed you to feed him but with a red face since his blush wouldn’t fade.

After making sure both the boys were fed, Abel couldn’t help but ask. “Why are you helping us? After what we did, you obviously were affected by it since you had to treat our victims, so why are you being kind to us?” He asked. Abyss too had been wondering why you would go out of your way to help the people who caused so much trouble for you and others. “Well why did you hurt people? From my experience and perspective, people hurt others because they themselves were hurt and never healed fully from it. When one is hurt, there’s typically two responses, one is to forgive and move forward, and the other is to succumb to hatred and desire for those that hurt them to suffer equal or more pain. Basically, either you forgive those that hurt you, or you demand an eye for an eye.” You told the boys.

Both Abyss and Abel looked down at their laps, letting your words sink in as they remembered those who hurt them. “I’m not saying that you didn’t suffer nor am I writing off what you experienced, and I’m not saying that people shouldn’t be punished for doing bad things, I’m simply saying that hatred and revenge are not worth the damage it will do to you.” You explained as you sat back down after cleaning up everyone’s dishes. It was quiet for a moment before Abel spoke up. “Say someone you loved was killed by someone they were trying to help, what would you do?” He asked. Abyss also looked at you, knowing that Abel was talking about what happened to his mother and was curious about your answer. “Well, of course I’d be sad, angry too, but above all else, I’d want to know why they were killed, what caused this to happen, what was the killer thinking, what was going on in their life that they felt that this was the best course of action? Before I condemn someone, I want to look at their life, I want to try my best to understand them, and maybe they were or are just a terrible person who simply enjoy bringing pain to others, but on the off chance that that person was hurt and is dealing with the pain the only way they know how, then I want to help them.” You answered.

Abel sat back as he thought about what you just said. Abyss thought about how people treated him and how his parents treated him and even tried to kill him. “Personally, I think the way society views magic is flawed.” This got their attention as both boys thought back to a certain mushroom haired boy who managed to beat both of them without magic. “I’ve studied other races capable of using magic and none of them have lines or marks on them that don’t naturally occur in their race. But humans that are capable of magic have marks. What if humans were never meant to use magic? What if magic wasn’t a gift given to us by god, but something we took for ourselves? What if the marks are proof of humanity’s sin? Either way, whether magic was given to us or we stole it, it doesn’t determine how much someone is worth. We teach children that you’re only worth as much as your most powerful spell. That magic is worth more than anything, even being a decent person. I want to change the way people view magic. But the only way to do that, is to earn the respect and trust of everyone. That’s why I heal” you looked up after your little rant and saw both of the boys just staring at you.

“I’m so sorry, I totally just started rambling. Forget the word vomit I just said. I’m going to go to bed, feel free to stay here with your friend.” You quickly spoke from embarrassment as you gathered your stuff. “I like that” Abyss said. You turned to look at him, he wore a small soft smile on his face as he looked at you. “Perhaps, you’ll be able to change things. I look forward to seeing the results of your work” he added. You smiled and thanked the boys afterwards and went to bed. From that day on, if you were in class, one or both of the boys would often accompany you to your class even if theirs were on the other side of campus, they’d spend time with you studying or simply hanging around while you worked in the medical wing.

From that day forward, you gained two shadows who followed you around and looked after you. Opening doors for you, helping you carry your things, helping you with your experiments, etc. anything the boys could do they would do. Even when you insisted that you didn’t need help, they still would argue and do what they could. You made two new relationships and lifelong friendships with them. They would follow you wherever your path lead you, not only did they believe that they owed you this but they believed that you would bring about a brighter future for everyone. And they wanted to be there to help and support you.