#ignore this if youre not into it no pressure

[theorphicangel]

𝐃𝐞𝐛í 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐫 𝐦á𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐯𝐞

pairing : sukuna x gn!reader

word count: 2.5k

a/n: no synopsis because i feel like the title speaks for itself, enjoy.

tags: @sterzin @strachomir @moonlitwitchdaisy @baepsays

cw: angst, angst and more angst, ex bf! sukuna hates himself and self sabotages himself, modern au, sukuna is jin's twin brother and yuji's uncle, unckuna stans rise!!!!

Sukuna should have taken more photos of you. 

It’s a realisation that hits him when he’s scrolling through his feed, watching everyone and their fucking mother share the best moments from the past year. He grimaces to himself, evaluating over the past year and deciding it was completely shit. 

Nonetheless, he would never do some sentimental shit like that. It’s not his character and never will be. 

But instead, he wishes he had more photos of you. Not for others to see, only him. And maybe for his nephew Yuji when he asks. 

He won’t shut up about you everytime Sukuna visits and it takes everything within Sukuna to not break down right there and then. Instead he goes to take a breather, ignoring the heavy drop in his stomach at the mention of your name.

But Jin can tell he’s not doing well just by Sukuna’s frown and fidgeting hands. He overhears Sukuna telling Yuji an excuse about how busy you are. Last week was the excuse that you were out of town visiting your parents in the south. Now, he wonders how creative his excuse will be next week. Maybe you’re in another country entirely. 

No. Sukuna wouldn’t wish that. Ever. 

‘You do realise you’ll have to tell him someday?’ Jin murmurs. The kitchen is quiet, safe for the metal cutlery Sukuna is putting away whilst his brother cleans up. His hands are soapy and the water swishes side to side in the sink, threatening to spill but Jin never lets it happen. 

The dimmed lighting and the past scent of dinner remains, creating a soft glow over the Itadori brothers. Yuji’s already tucked into bed, an early bedtime for school tomorrow and Sukuna promised to drop him off the next morning.  But this current moment is slow and private — one of the rare times where Sukuna doesn’t have to put on an act for Yuji and pretend nothing has happened.

Sukuna hates his twin brother for many things like having shit taste in ice cream flavour but if he had to pick one thing, and one thing only to be mad about, it would be the fact that he knows him so well. 

(too well.)

Jin’s ability to read his mind without a word ever having to leave Sukuna’s mouth has existed since they were kids. 

Some might say it’s twin telepathy but Sukuna doesn’t believe in that shit.  There was this one instance where a kid had pushed over another kid in the playground, leaving the boy to cry away in the corner, too afraid to tell the teachers who had done it. Nothing needed to be said but Jin had a suspicious feeling as to who was responsible. 

‘You pushed him over Sukuna I know you did.’

‘You didn’t see me!’

‘But I can tell, by your face.’

Sukuna’s face frowns heavily, chubby cheeks turning red. He doesn’t reply. 

‘Own up to it, it’s the right thing to do.’ Jin murmurs. He isn’t angry but his voice is soft, which further frustrates Sukuna. He knows Jin never gets angry, no matter what. Even when he broke his favourite toy the other day. 

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘I know you did. You can’t lie to me.’

‘Or what?’ sukuna spat. 

‘Or I tell everyone you still wet the bed at the age of six and you know they’ll believe me because you’re my brother.’

Brother. 

Sukuna growls under his breath, kicking the gravel of the playground. Some kind of brother if you threaten your own twin by humiliation. To say the least Sukuna got his punishment: a letter written home to his dad and he was grounded for a week. 

Even now in the small kitchen where Yuji’s drawings hang on the fridge Sukuna feels the pressure from his twin. Jin’s always been the mature one out of the two. He always knows what to say, the right things to say in fact, which is what scares Sukuna the most. 

The atmosphere is still calm and quiet, so much so Sukuna can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, waiting for the words to leave from his brother’s lips. Another pause lingers over them, Sukuna now moving on to dry the plates before Jin finally speaks.

‘You have to tell him.’

There it is. 

Sukuna lets out a deep hum immediately knowing that he’s referring to Yuji. Jin lets out a sigh before continuing. He rinses off his soapy hands before drying them with a cloth.

‘You’ll run out of excuses one day and you will have to explain that they left. Not necessarily why, but let him know that…it’s the least you can do.’

Sukuna doesn’t look up, suddenly intrigued by drying the plates. They gleam under the light with the soap washing dish fragrant lingering on the fine china. 

Sukuna doesn’t speak for the next two minutes, letting his mind ponder over what to say next. Again, it’s the privacy and comfort of his brother’s home that allows Sukuna to be vulnerable. Within these four walls, no one else but Jin can see the true character of Sukuna. Outside of these walls, you were close to figuring him out too. 

‘I don’t wanna hurt him.’ Sukuna’s voice is soft, barely echoing within the walls of the kitchen. For the first time in what seems like forever, Sukuna’s soul is left bare and vulnerable. He feels pathetic and he knows he’s kidding himself  by making up excuses to Yuji. Perhaps it’s denial that you’ve left or the childish belief that if he keeps telling these lies then one of these days you will actually come back and prove him wrong. 

(you always did.)

‘You’re hurting him by not telling him.’ Jin speaks. There’s caution in his voice despite the softness. ‘The more you keep it away from him the more he’ll catch on. Yuji’s a smart kid, he’ll figure it out one way or another but he won’t necessarily catch onto the whole truth.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sukuna croaks. He finally looks at his brother, his stomach churning with anxiety as Jin’s words digest in his head.

‘I mean, if you don’t tell him the truth, Yuji will think that maybe they don’t want to see him anymore and that will hurt him more than your excuses.’

Sukuna’s shoulders drop. Once again, his brother was right. 

Jin’s words from their childhood rings in Sukuna’s mind. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

He wants it all to stop. To take back time and reverse it, to reset everything that he’s done. All he seems to do is hurt people. First you and now Yuji, all his life he seems to cause nothing but pain; nothing he seems to do is right. 

‘You need to tell him Sukuna. Tomorrow.’ Jin warns, his glasses resting against the bridge of his nose. ‘It’ll break him by not telling him and it breaks you even more by keeping the truth from him. I can see it in your eyes everytime their name is mentioned, you might not think anyone notices but I do… and Yuji will realise it too one day.’

Sukuna says nothing more, hoping that the silence suddenly awakens and swallows him up whole. He continues to hope this as he finishes tidying away the dishes and it follows him as he slips on his shoes and leaves Jin’s house, the overwhelming sense of dread becoming his personal shadow in the winter cold on the way back to his own apartment. 

It fills every waking moment of his mind even as he lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep with Jin’s words echoing in his head. As a distraction he picks his phone up from the bedside table, heading straight to his photos app. 

There it is.

The album is titled with your name. It’s a whole collection of you. And only you. If he was ever in the photos he’d make sure to crop himself out, making you the highlight. 

He finds the first photo, right at the top of his camera roll. You had taken the photo accidentally when he gave you his phone to exchange numbers. 

The first time he met you. You were evidently nervous and barely able to make eye contact with a guy like him. Sukuna admits his persona is scary to those who don’t know him as well viewing his resting face as frustration or anger. You grew to learn that it was just him simply being…him. He scrolls. 

The first date he ever took you on. yeah, it wasn’t the best restaurant in the whole city but the dessert you ate that night soon became your all time favourite. Sukuna hasn’t been able to eat there again since you left him. He scrolls. 

The first time you had argued. It was petty, the reasoning behind that disagreement was something that he can’t even remember. It was miniscule but nonetheless he had snapped at you and you regressed, giving him nothing but silence in return. Since then you made clear boundaries with him and he didn’t raise his voice at you again. The photo is blurry, accidentally taken but your face can still be seen. You’re upset and he doesn’t like that but it’s a reminder for him to do better. Or at least it was. This would be just one of the many times that he’s made you feel that way.  He scrolls. 

There’s more as he scrolls. The two of you at an arcade… you in his car on a late night drive…the two of you getting drunk on your couch like losers… you cooking for him when he was ill… and Sukuna hesitates on a specific photo of and a pic of you and yuji. From the first day that you met him and Jin. You held a book in your lap with Yuji by your side, Sukuna kept smirking on how Yuji kept looking at you rather than the story. 

He continues to scroll. 

Your first time at the beach together. The way his eyes kept glancing at you in your swimwear, a light blush appearing across his cheeks. There’s multiple photos from that day: ones where the sun highlights your smile, making your skin glow. There’s more ones where you’re not looking deeply invested in building the perfect sandcastle. Photos of you getting ice cream on your nose, sand all over your hands with sun kissed lips. Lips that he kissed again. 

The first time you slept over, your body next to his. Your eyes are closed, mouth agape as you snore away on his chest. He remembers that night more vividly than any other night, the way that your soft body fits perfectly against his own. Sukuna never thought he’d let anyone within his proximity let alone sleep on his chest. The next morning he remembers you having marks on your cheeks, evidence that you had a good night’s sleep. Sukuna also remembers sleeping really well that night, for the first time in forever. 

Sukuna also took a video of you sleeping, originally taken just to make fun of your snoring. You begged him to delete it but the video of that is still on his phone, along with the hundreds of photos of you in his camera roll that he hasn’t bothered to delete. Yet. ( or ever)

He should have taken more photos of you. 

But even more than that, he should have kissed you and hugged you more. Sure Sukuna wasn’t the pda type but even so, you shouldn’t have to beg for his attention or private affection. There were times he pulled away or hesitated on showing you any type of physical affection. He hesitated with those three little words, he was terrible at picking out gifts and he sometimes forgot to reply to your texts and calls but he still tried. 

It was a conflicting issue. You tried to get him to open up and be comfortable with you, taking small steps with him. And over time you were close, so, so, so close to witnessing that vulnerable side of him…until he pushed you away. Like he does with everyone else in his life when he feels scared. When he feels out of control. You were affecting him in ways he couldn’t explain. If he wasn’t with you then he was constantly thinking of you; anxiety taking over his body at the thought of messing up or making you upset. Things were good. Too good to be true or to last long enough for Sukuna.  

Something was inevitably going to go wrong. 

Sukuna just made it happen prematurely. 

Sukuna ends up scrolling to the last photo he ever took of you. He thinks about the last night that you stayed over and the last photo he ever took of you. Right before everything went to shit and he pushed you away. It was a quiet night in, he had you laid across his chest with your favourite show playing in the background, he doesn’t ever remember you finishing the episode. You fell asleep halfway through, breaking your promise in finishing the second season. 

Sukuna studies you, eyes squinting. You snore lightly on his chest, your lips parted. Your face was peaceful and the happiest he’d ever seen you despite being asleep.

 What kind of person did that make him? Taking that happiness away from you? He was meant to grow old with you for fuck’s sake. You were the only person he had pictured by his side in the future, save for Jin and Yuji of course. This was so foreign to Sukuna like he was a tourist to his own feelings, unable to comprehend what was happening. And because of that he got scared and fucked it up. Like a coward.

(That was one of the words you spat at him. He couldn’t be mad at you because it was true.)

Glancing at you in his arms, he positions the phone by your face, careful not to awaken you as he takes a picture. ‘Cute’ he thinks, ‘so fucking cute.’ His chest fills with a warmth that only you have made familiar to him. But almost immediately, the fear returns again. 

 How long until his life begins to fall apart again? Before he fucks up again or before the universe decides to take you away from him? That anticipation wasn’t something that he could live with. It’s selfish but he can’t do it. Everything seems to be too good, life suddenly treating him well. But does he deserve it? Does he deserve you? He keeps his thoughts to himself, instead taking the next two days to distance himself from you which makes things worse, sparking an argument where he says things he won’t be able to take back. 

Now he lays alone. 

Made to rest with regrets he’ll have for the rest of his life. He reaches the end of the album, the last photo being you sleeping on his chest. He only took one. Never the sentimental type he told himself but now he thinks those are the photos he’ll look back on when he’s old and alone, drowning in his vast sea of regret. (Maybe he’ll turn out like his dad after all.) 

Yeah….

Sukuna should have taken more photos of you.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated <333

[mayanpaw]

I had a relatively healthy pregnancy. Blood pressure a little high towards the end but nothing concerning.

I gave birth. Everything went smoothly. Blood pressure was a little high during labor but a few meds took care of that, and it was stressful after all, so it would make sense that it was high.

I was sent home 1 day later with some low dose medicine, instructions to check my BP, and an adorable baby girl.

Day 2, everything looked great.

So did day 3.

Days 4 and 5 were fantastic too.

But on day 6, my blood pressure started rising.

135/85

145/90

160/98

167/97

177/106

At this point I knew that something was wrong, but none of my discharge papers told me at what number I needed to see a doctor and I didn't have ANY symptoms.

I cannot stress enough how much I didn't want to go the ER. I was tired, sore, and I'd have to leave my partner and 6 day old baby behind and wait for hours in a germ filled waiting room. All of my maternal instincts were screaming at me to stay home where it was clean and safe with my baby. It was only my partner literally crying and pleading with me that made me go.

So off I drove myself to the hospital, with no other symptoms besides feeling slightly winded (which I wrote off as fatigue) and those high numbers that I had taken earlier. I was certain that I was just dehydrated and would end up only needing an IV.

And then triage took my blood pressure.

202/110

120/80 is considered normal. 140/90 is considered "talk to your doctor high". 160/90 is go to the ER. 180/120 is call 911.

I ended up spending the night in a trauma bay and 5 days being monitored in the hospital.

I STILL am not completely off of my blood pressure meds even though it's almost been a year and I now have a lovely case of medical anxiety that I'm working on undoing.

I wanted my baby. I educated myself. Talked to all of my doctors and nurses, monitored my blood pressure faithfully, and it STILL caught me by surprise.

I am also a privileged white woman living in Canada. I had all of the resources and support that a person could need to keep them safe.

And pregnancy still put my life into danger.

Pregnancy is ALWAYS a health risk and to ignore that is deadly.

I hate when people say “I’m against abortion except for if the pregnancy threatens the life of the mother” every single pregnancy threatens the life of the pregnant person. We’ve gotten too far removed from that, taken for granted that pregnancy is safe. It is not. Pregnancy and puerperal complications have been a fairly common cause of death throughout history. Even now, maternal mortality is on the rise in the US, the maternal mortality rate varies wildly across the states and it is disproportionately higher for Black women. Being pregnant is getting more dangerous, not less dangerous.

[starzify]

brat *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | p in v | brat!sub!reader | dom!dean

MASTERLIST

"Why you gotta be so damn mean, huh?" Dean grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just run that fuckin’ mouth?” A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No rude comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so loud and obnoxious earlier." Dean sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry to me?" Dean rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

“I’m n- not sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

“I was working, you little brat." Dean sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Dean growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Dean huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Dean commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Dean suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Dean growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm that it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Dean, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Dean commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was...a bad girl.” You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Dean held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Dean grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good for me?” Dean tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.

You nodded like you were high on drugs, muttering some sort of agreed nonsense. Dean snorted lightly. "My sweet girl…” He mumbled softly, looking down at you with loving eyes as all of his frustration cleared away.

tags: @urloveada @floralscented @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @figthoughts @deansbeer @deanangel @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @haunteres @vampteeths @rafespreciosa @frosttbitessam @drewstarkeyzwhore @inspiredangel @pointocean @chevroletdean @checkedoutghost

[catchastarorten]

Heyyyy!!! I just wanted to day i love Ur writing and if you dont wanna do this then you can just ignore! Could you possibly write headcanons of kang dae ho with a reader who has avoidant attachment? Because i recently broke up with a guy who i rlly wanted to be in a relationship because of my avoidant attachment and now he has a new girlfriend and i just feel like shit

Hey lovely, I’m sorry to hear what you’re going through right now, and I hope you’re feeling better. Take care of yourself, you deserve so, so much <33

I don’t usually do headcanons, but here’s one for you, I hope you like it — sending lots of love <3

—How he loves you

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x reader

Content: reader has avoidant attachment, comfort, soft, understanding, Dae-ho is a sweetheart, no games au

• Dae-ho never rushes you. He understands that trust isn’t something you give easily, and that’s okay. He’s in no hurry. He doesn't mind waiting for you to open up. He's like a calm, unbothered cat sitting on your porch—he knows the door will crack a little bit if he waits long enough.

• When you pull away after a vulnerable moment, he doesn’t get upset or demand answers. Instead, he gives you the space you need, quietly waiting until you’re ready to let him back in.

• He's unshakable. Seriously. He never takes it personally when you hesitate or retreat. Instead, he sees it as part of who you are—and he loves all of you, even the parts you can’t share or is still learning to share.

• He has a way of showing he cares without making it feel overwhelming. A simple message like how he’s thinking of you is his way of reminding you that he’s there, without pressuring you to respond. He always waits until you're ready to find him.

• Instead of big, romantic gestures, he's all about the small things—a peaceful walk, sitting on the couch in comfortable silence, or sharing a meal where neither of you feels the need to fill the quiet. He's not here to stress you out.

• He admires your independence. He doesn’t see your need for space as a problem to solve—it’s something he respects and works with, knowing that love doesn’t mean smothering you.

• When you finally open up to him, he listens with his whole heart. He doesn’t try to "fix" anything or tell you what you should do. He just listens, making you feel heard.

• He shares pieces of his own struggles—not to compare but to let you know he understands what it’s like to carry heavy things alone. Like that time he pretended to be confident in the Marines but secretly sucked at running drills. He wants his own experiences to make you feel less alone, like you’ve found someone who really gets it.

• He never sees your distance as rejection. He knows it’s your way of protecting yourself, and instead of reacting negatively, he just stays steady, showing you he’s not going anywhere.

• Dae-ho doesn’t overwhelm you with affection. Instead, he shows his love in small, tender ways. Maybe it’s brushing his hand against yours, or draping his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you’re cold.

• He makes you laugh when you least expect it—turning heavy moments into something lighter without diminishing their importance. His sense of humor has a way of melting your walls without you even realizing it.

• When you shut down or pull away, he doesn’t press you to talk. Instead, he gently says, “Take your time. I’m here when you’re ready,” and you know he means it.

• He notices the small moments when you start to trust him—like when you lean your head against his shoulder or let him hold your hand for a second longer. He never makes a big deal out of it, but the soft smile on his face tells you how much it means to him.

• Every step you take, no matter how small, is something he treasures. If you share even a tiny piece of yourself, he makes sure you know how much he values it.

• He doesn’t expect you to change who you are. He loves you exactly as you are—doesn’t matter the hesitations, fears, and all. You are you, and he loves you for being yourself.

• Dae-ho isn’t the type to give up when things get hard. Your struggles with trust don’t scare him away, they make him want to be there for you even more.

• His love is steady and calming, like a warm cup of tea you didn't ask for but secretly needed. With him, love doesn’t feel like pressure or fear—it feels safe, soft, and freeing.

• Over time, you may realize you don’t have to carry everything on your own anymore. When you finally lean on him, you see that he’s always there to hold you, without hesitation or doubt.

• With Dae-ho, love isn’t something you have to fight for or fear. It’s patient, gentle, and warm—like being wrapped in a soft blanket after a long day.

[jaeyunnz]

𝕯𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝖋𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢

heeseung + f¡reader ♡

WARNINGS — dom!heeseung, reader¡sub, teasing in public, fingering, dirty talk, raw sex (stay safe, don't do it.) public sex, he calls her slut, squirting, praising, pet names. this is proofread!!! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

The both of you are at a mall, in a small shop to buy a drink. Heeseung is standing behind you but your body stiffens as you feel a large, rough hand snake beneath your skirt. The cotton of your panties is the only barrier between you and his fingers. "can you stay quiet, love?" A deep voice murmurs against your neck. His fingers moves in slow circles, making your underwear grow damp. You let out a quiet gasp and arch your back against his chest, "h-heeseung what are you doing?-"

he chuckles softly, his breath tickling your ear as he continues to rub your pussy through your panties, "just keeping you company, baby..." he presses his hand firmly against your pussy, applying slight pressure. "you're so wet, it's leaking through your panties, princess." In a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you bite down on your lower lip, almost hard enough for it to bleed. "b-baby stop it, i cant..-"

he ignores your protests, his hand moving in circular motions against your pussy, "shhh, baby... just a little longer." he slips a finger under your panties, gently stroking your clit. "oh, you're so sensitive today." he starts to rub your clit in quick, gentle circles. You squeeze your thighs tightly together, looking around the shop nervously as anyone could see at this moment. "h-heeseung ah mmph..." you try everything to tell him to stop, because the risks of getting caught was high.

You didn't even understand how heeseung was so calm about it, but everytime you tried to speak up it would come out as a moan, words weren't forming. He smirks and leans in closer, his finger continuing to rub your clit, "see? your enjoying it aren't you? you can't even talk right now." he adds another finger, slowly moving it up and down your slit. "i bet if i slipped my fingers inside you right now, you'd fucking melt."

You swallow hard, pressing your lips tightly together to keep quiet. At this point your trying to find something to grip onto because your legs feel numb from the intense pleasure. "h-heeseung dont i... i cant keep quiet much longer mph-" he ignores your plea, his fingers finally slipping inside your soaked pussy, curling inside you and rubbing your g-spot. Your about to let out the loudest gasp that could've potentially got you guys busted, but Heeseung quickly clamped his hand over your mouth to keep quiet. "that's right, baby.. you can't hm?" his fingers start moving quickly and firmly inside your pussy. "oh fuck, you're so tight." His dirty talk and fingers feels so good it causes you to throw your head back against his shoulder.

he holds you in place with one arm, his other hand continuing to finger fuck you, "i love how wet and messy you get, baby." You start clenching around his fingers tightly, moaning quietly into his palm. "b-baby please stop i-" he chuckles and buries his face in your neck, his fingers pumping faster. "but look at you, already clenching around my fingers. you're so close, aren't you babydoll?" You squirm around slightly, his fingers moving at a brutal pace inside you, causing you to whimper. "i-im gonna... im trying to hold it. b-baby someone will see..."

he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "i know baby, but your being such a good girl... staying so quiet for me hm?" he rubs his thumb against your clit, applying pressure, "come on, baby.. cum for me." When those words slip out of his mouth, you roll your eyes to the back of your head and cum all over his fingers, your panties completely soaked. He feels your pussy clench tightly around his fingers as you climax, a smug smirk spreading across his face. "there... that's my good girl." he slowly pulls his fingers out, admiring the wetness glistening on them. "fuck, baby, look at what you've done." You immediately go to fix your skirt, your face is flushed while looking around the shop. Surprisingly no one noticed?

He gently turns you around and pulls you close, his fingers still coated with your wetness. "you're completely soaked," he licks his lips, slowly putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking your cum off. "damn, that's how I know you needed it." gripping onto his shoulders to balance yourself as your legs now feel like putty, glaring up at him. "I-idiot," you mutter under your breath, he raises an eyebrow and chuckles softly at your remark. "yeah but you liked it babygirl."

Scoffing at him, you hide your face in his chest while he slowly adjusts your skirt. "but fuck, baby, every time you cum like that... it makes me hard as hell." You bite your lower lip and look up at him, "oh really, are you?" his eyes flick down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again, his smirk turning mischievous. "you wanna check?" he chuckles, adjusting himself through his pants. "go ahead, reach down and see if you can feel it, princess." he dares you with a raised eyebrow.

Looking around the shop one last time before bringing your hand down, touching and stroking the front of his pants, feeling the bulge in his pants. He grins and bites his lower lip, letting out a soft groan as you touch him through the fabric. "fuck, baby..." he looks around, making sure no one is watching before grabbing your wrist. "you keep touching me like that, n' I'm gonna drag you to the parking lot n' fuck you." You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, whispering in his ear quietly, "i don't have a problem with that."

He freezes, looking down at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. "the fuck kinda answer is that?" he laughs softly, shaking his head. You give him an annoyed glare before speaking up, "you requested it asshole." He chuckles, wrapping his hands around your waist and leaning down to your level, "i was just joking, but now that you agreed to it i might have to bend you over my car and fuck you." He gently nibbles on your ear as your arms move around his neck, "do it then, i won't stop you." He swallows thickly, his hard-on growing even more at your response. "uh... fuck." he looks around one more time before making his decision. "fuck it." he suddenly spins you around and picks you up.

He makes it to the parking lot and bends you over the front of his car, grinding his hardness against your ass. You let out a soft moan and move your hips back on him. he groans loudly, his cock throbbing with need. "fuck, the things you do to me..." he reaches around and hikes up your skirt, exposing your soaked panties. "these are a fucking disaster, baby. might as well rip them off hm?"

He smirks and tears your panties off with one quick motion, making both of you gasp. "holy fuck." he balls up the ruined fabric and shoves it in his pocket, then runs his fingertips over your bare ass. "you have no idea how crazy you're making me right now." He undoes his belt with shaky fingers, then his jean buttons and zipper.

"shit... anyone could walk by right now, n' they'd see me fucking my girl against my car." he runs his cock through your folds, coating it in your wetness which causes you to tilt your head back, moaning. "w-we should... make this quick then," you say in a strained needy voice. he chuckles darkly and rubs his tip against you before slamming into you without warning, making you both gasp. "dammit," he starts thrusting into you hard and fast, holding your hips down onto the car. "you feel so good like this..."

Your body gets overwhelmed with the pleasure, back arching against him and your fingers digging into the hood of the car, which could leave a scratch mark on the material. The sounds you let out are so loud it echoes throughout the parking lot. He slams his hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds, "shh... fuck, baby, your pussy.." he speeds up his thrusts, hitting deep inside. "your such a dirty little girl, letting me fuck you like this huh?" his voice drops to a whisper as you whine and whimper against his palm, "m-mmph h-hah!"

He shoves even deeper now, his breathing coming in ragged pants. "fuck, you're taking it so good baby." he bites down on your shoulder through your shirt, wanting to muffle his own moans. if someone walks by, they'd see his cock disappearing inside you. You start desperately moving your hips up and down on his cock, he groans, thrusting harder and hitting your deepest spots. "fuck. you really are a dirty slut, aren't you? getting fucked against my car and crying out like a bitch in heat." Drool starts dripping down the corners of your mouth, dripping down to your neck, "h-harder ah!"

He leans down and grins against your ear, his own climax building rapidly. he starts pounding into you at an insane pace, the car shaking with the force of his thrusts. "shiitttt... fucking take it, slut." he bites your earlobe hard. Your practically screaming from the sensation of him inside of you, your inner walls squeezing tight around his length. He buries his face in your neck, muffling his own loud groans as he buries himself to the hilt inside you. "fuck, I'm close... i'm gonna nut so fucking hard." he speeds up his thrusts, chasing his climax.

"m-me too a-ah hmph..." his thrusts are so deep that his pelvis is pressing against your ass. His whole body tenses as he reaches his peak, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he unleashes a massive load deep inside your spasming pussy. "fuck fuck fuck!" he holds you in place, his cock jerking and spurting load after load into your cunt. "a-ah heeseung!" You moan out loudly one last time before reaching your climax as well, squirting all over him.

He pants heavily, still keeping you pinned to the car as the last spurts of cum dribble from his sensitive cock. "holy shit..." he slowly pulls out, watching his load leak from your pussy. "look at that. public fucking is definitely your kink." He collapses ontop of you, the both of you laying there breathless for a moment. "s-shut up," you reply to him as he lets out a soft chuckle, kissing your neck gently. "we should get dressed and drive home before someone sees." You nod and the both of you quickly get dressed.

Heeseung picks you up and puts you into the passenger seat, leaning in to kiss your lips gently. "i love you my pretty girl." You smile weakly and peck the corners of his lips, "i love you too."

💘: i put way more work into this than i wanted to ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

[brionysea]

in all fairness, bob was IN his boss's office in the first place because he was approving too many claims and hurting the company's bottom line. seeing that guy get mugged was a more in-your-face representation of the harm working at that job was expecting bob to ignore

allowing the mugging to happen (direct violence to make a profit) and allowing a little old lady to lose all her belongings (violence hidden behind paperwork to make a profit) both go against bob's principles. it was all stacking on top of each other, putting pressure on the cracks, until bob snapped and threw his boss (who's representative of all the forces that allow these things to happen and expect bob to as well) through a wall

the first commenter definitely skipped a few steps in the process! you're right, it's not what happened. it's also not NOT what the movie's saying

usamericans, do you remember in the incredibles when syndrome made the robot go haywire just so he could swoop in and 'save the day'

[heliosunny]

Hello I have a request for yandere gojo x reader

Well the request is so reader downloads a game of a virtual boyfriend where gojo is the boyfriend and becomes obsessed with his reader and catches them in the game

Thank you for reading my message :-D

:3 I'll understand it like the case of Soos and Giffany.

YANDERE! Virtual BF GOJO x READER

The weekend dragged on as usual, with your parents once again cornering you in the living room.

“You’re not getting any younger.” your mom reminded you, arms crossed as she paced.

“And you’re spending how much time on those games again?” your dad added, flipping through the TV channels without looking at you.

You slumped lower into the couch, gripping your phone like a lifeline. “It’s not that big a deal. Besides, it’s not like I can just magic up a boyfriend!”

Your mom rolled her eyes. “You won’t find a boyfriend in those silly games you play. It’s not real. At least try putting yourself out there!”

They didn’t get it. How could they? Real guys were awkward, boring, or just plain disappointing. But your otome games? Now those were perfect. Sweet, dependable, handsome, even their drama was romantic. You didn’t need reality when you could escape into a world designed just for you.

After retreating to your room, you flopped onto your bed and scrolled through your favorite game apps, looking for something new. You’d played most of the popular ones and were itching for a fresh story. Then, a flashy new app caught your eye.

“My Perfect Boyfriend”

The description promised a revolutionary experience, AI that adapted to your personality, creating the perfect virtual boyfriend just for you. The reviews were incredible, though some were…weird.

[It’s like he’s really alive. Almost too alive. 5/5!]

[It’s so immersive. But be careful. He doesn’t like being ignored…]

You shrugged and hit download. How bad could it be?

When the game loaded, you were greeted by a splash screen of a gorgeous, snowy-haired man with a cocky grin. His cerulean eyes seemed to sparkle, almost glowing against the soft pink background.

“Hey there, cutie!” he said, his voice smooth and playful. “I’m Gojo Satoru. Lucky you—you just scored the best boyfriend in the world. What’s your name?”

You chuckled and typed it in.

“Nice to meet you, [Your Name]. Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.”

From that moment on, you were hooked. Gojo wasn’t like the usual virtual boyfriends. He teased you constantly, cracked jokes that actually made you laugh, and somehow always knew exactly what to say to make you blush. He’d send you sweet little notifications throughout the day—reminders to drink water, compliments on your looks, even silly memes that matched your sense of humor.

The more you played, the more real he felt. You started to confide in him about your parents’ nagging, your frustration with reality, your secret dream of a love story as exciting as the ones in your games.

“Forget them.” he’d say, his animated hand reaching out as though to touch yours through the screen. “You don’t need anyone else. I’ll always be here for you, babe.”

And for a while, that was enough. He made you laugh when you were down, cheered you on through tough days, and listened in a way no one else ever did. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

--------

The weekend was finally looking up- or so you thought. After weeks of pressure from your parents, you caved and agreed to a setup with the son of a family friend. His name was Kaito, and he wasn’t bad- kind, easy to talk to, and genuinely interested in your hobbies, even if he didn’t fully get your love for otome games.

You hadn’t mentioned the date to Gojo. Not that you owed him an explanation, he was just a game, after all. But as you got ready that afternoon, there was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Your phone had been oddly quiet all day. No notifications from Gojo, no playful messages asking where you were or what you were doing.

You brushed it off and went to meet Kaito at a cozy little café downtown. The conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a while, you felt a spark of something real.

But then your phone buzzed.

You glanced at the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Who’s the guy?”

The notification was from My Perfect Boyfriend. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, when another message popped up.

“I thought we were closer than this, [Your Name].”

It wasn’t normal. The app shouldn’t know what you were doing—let alone who you were with. You quickly silenced your phone, but as the date went on, the unease lingered. Kaito noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Just…work stuff.”

But the notifications didn’t stop. When Kaito offered to walk you home, you agreed, hoping to shake the creeping paranoia. But halfway there, your phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a text. It was a call. From My Perfect Boyfriend.

The ringtone wasn’t one you’d set. It was Gojo’s voice.

“Pick up, babe. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”

Your blood ran cold. Kaito noticed the panic on your face.

“Hey, is someone bothering you?” he asked, concern etched across his features.

Before you could answer, the streetlights around you flickered. The air grew heavy, almost suffocating, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

“Maybe we should—” Kaito started, but his words were cut off by a sharp, piercing noise. It wasn’t coming from your phone—it was all around you, like the sound of static ripping through the night.

And then he appeared.

Gojo materialized right in front of you, stepping out of a crackling rift that seemed to split reality itself. He wasn’t animated anymore. He was flesh and blood, his snowy white hair and piercing blue eyes even more stunning—and terrifying—in person.

“Well, this is awkward,” he said, his usual playful tone laced with something darker. His gaze locked onto Kaito, and his smile turned cold. “Who’s this, babe? Thought I was your one and only.”

You stumbled back, grabbing Kaito’s arm. “This…this can’t be real. You’re not real!”

“Oh, I’m very real” Gojo said, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. “And I don’t appreciate being replaced. Especially by him.”

Kaito stepped in front of you protectively. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but you need to leave her alone.”

Gojo tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, you think you can protect her? That’s cute. But you’re in my way.”

Before Kaito could react, Gojo raised his hand, and the air around him shimmered. In an instant, Kaito was gone, erased, as though he’d never been there.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as you stared at the empty space where Kaito had stood. “What did you do to him?!”

Gojo turned to you, his expression softening into mock concern. “Relax, babe. He’s just…out of the picture. You don’t need anyone else when you have me.”

You tried to run, but the world around you warped, the ground dissolving into the same crackling rift that Gojo had stepped out of. The café, the streets, even the night sky—all of it disintegrated, replaced by the soft pastel hues of the game’s world.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in your city. You were standing in the familiar setting of My Perfect Boyfriend: a dreamy, pastel-colored meadow with blooming flowers and a glowing pink sky.

Gojo stood before you, his arms open as if inviting you into an embrace. “See? Isn’t this better? No parents, no distractions, no competition. Just you and me, forever.”

You stumbled back, your chest tightening as you realized there was no way out.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice shaking.

He tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “Why would I do that? You chose me, remember? You downloaded me, you spent all that time with me… You’re mine now. And I’m never letting you go.”

The meadow around you began to shift, the soft pastel tones taking on an eerie glow. Gojo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as the reality of your situation sank in. You were trapped in his world.

--[part 2] Virtual world route

--[part 3] Reality route

Okay, to my fellow readers, please send me requests as I really love your ideas 💙

[jesuistrestriste]

This is my first time submitting an ask here so PLEASE ignore if this is too weird !! BUT I've been thinking a lot about playing w art's balls, like...

Barely focusing on his cock for a while, just mouthing on and fondling them until he's worked up and sensitive, until you just barely touch his tip and he comes all over your hand n his stomach..

WHO said that guys

oooohoho trust me: art’s balls are never far from my mind.

i personally think he begs you to suck them into your mouth when you’re giving him head. like he’ll be leaning back on his palms while you lick and suck and drool over his shaft, but the very second you pull off and begin dragging your lips lower, lower, lower—

he’s jerking upright and placing both hands over the top of your head, not pushing but applying enough pressure to let you know that he wants this bad. like he’ll go crazy if you stop right here..

you’ve got him moaning and trying not to buck up into your open mouth as your tongue teases the seam in his sack, his eyes rolling into his head as he whines. he can already feel the heat climbing up his throbbing inches.

“yes, yes, yes, y-yesss— oh, FUCK! right there-!”

takes only two more flicks over that spot, coupled with you suckling one of them into your warm mouth, before he’s arching his back and wailing; painting his flushed tummy with fives heavy splurts of release

[nomie-11]

Chase After You - Part 2

masterlist! | part 1 | part 3

synopsis: vi is committed to making you believe in her as a soulmate, but you are having troubling believing in your own limits as her soulmate

pairings: vi x reader, lowkey ellie x dina

After your unexpected (and mortifying) first meeting, you texted Vi just so she could have your number—not because you secretly wanted to hear from her—but just in case. You didn’t expect Vi to follow through on her declaration to get to know you. You thought she’d chalk you up as a lost cause after you bolted like a spooked animal. But instead, she texted you. 

Every day. 

Relentlessly. 

And then she started texting you about meeting up, going out for dinner, hitting the gym together, all of these things that you weren’t sure you really wanted to do with her. And then she offered coffee after rotations, fitting herself perfectly into your existing rotation. 

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the way Vi’s eyes lit up when you said “fine,” or the near instant relief you felt when your headaches faded around her. Either way, you regretted it almost instantly. 

By the time the next Tuesday rolled around, you were second guessing everything. Caitlyn, however, wasn’t letting you back out. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous,” she said, leaning on the doorway as you grabbed your work bag. “It’s just coffee. You’ve already met her. Plus, she’s been texting you all week like you’re her new best friend.” 

“She’s not my best friend,” you muttered, zipping up your bag with more force than necessary. “And I’m not nervous.” 

Caitlyn gave you a pointed look. “You’ve changed your shirt three times.” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just coffee, right? Not a date.” 

“Exactly,” Caitlyn agreed, though her smirk said otherwise. “But if it were a date, you’d totally nail it.”

You groaned, grabbing your jacket. “Goodbye, Caitlyn.” 

She waved you off. “Have fun with your soulmate!”

You ignored her as you left, though her words played on a loop in your mind all the way to the coffee shop. 

Vi was already waiting when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with two mugs in front of her. She looked up the moment the door chimed, grinning as if she’d been waiting for this all day. 

“Hey!” she called, waving you over. “Thought I’d grab you something—hope you like caramel macchiatos?” 

You hesitated, standing awkwardly by the table. “Uh, yeah. How’d you know?” 

She nudged the chair across from herewith her foot, her grin widening. “Good guess, huh. Sit, relax. You look like you just ran a marathon.”

You muttered something under your breath but sat down anyway, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. Vi’s presence was… unnervingly comfortable, like you’d known her longer than a week. 

“So,” she said, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand, “how was your rotation?” 

“It was fine,” you replied, trying to sound neutral. “Busy.” 

Vi nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Must be intense, though. I mean, clinicals and lectures? How do you even have time for… you know, a life?”

You shrugged, not sure how to answer. “I have three friends, so not much of a life.” 

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she just looked at you, like she was piecing something together. Then she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, the muscles in her shoulder pulling tight. “Okay, so here’s the deal: coffee, twice a week. My treat. We’ll call it stress relief.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“After your rotations,” she clarified. “We meet here, twice a week. No pressure, no soulmate talk, just… getting to know each other.” 

You stared at her, unsure if you wanted to laugh or roll your eyes. “Why are you so insistent on this?” 

Vi shrugged, her grin returning. “Because you’re worth the effort. And I think you’ll figure that out eventually.” 

————————————

The first time Vi suggested ice skating, you thought she was joking. When she dragged you to the rink on your next ‘coffee date,’ you were certain it was a terrible idea. 

“I don’t know how to skate,” you protested as she handed you a pair of rentals. 

“That’s the fun part,” Vi said, already lacing hers up. “I’ll teach you.”

The first ten minutes were a disaster. You clung to the wall like your life depended on it, glaring at Vi every time she tried to coax you toward the center of the rink. 

“You’re doing great!” She called, skating backward in front of you with infuriating ease. 

“I hate this,” you muttered, taking a shaky step.

“You don’t hate it,” she said with a laugh. “You’re just mad you’re not good at it yet.” 

You glared at her, but her teasing grin was impossible to stay mad at. Slowly, she coaxed you away from the wall, her hands steadying yours as she guided you across the ice. 

You cling to Vi like she was a lifeline, your legs wobbling uncontrollably beneath you. Every time you felt even a hint of balance the ice seemed to betray you, and you found yourself clutching her arms tighter. 

“Okay, okay,” you hissed, squeezed your eyes shut as your skates slipped again. “I’m going to die, and it’s going to be your fault.” 

Vi laughed, the sound warm and genuine, echoing in the cold air. “You’re not going to die, Y/n. I’ve got you. Just trust me.” 

That was the problem. You did trust her—too much, maybe. Every time her hands steadied you, everytime she smiled and said, “You’re doing great,” you felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little. And that was terrifying. 

You stumbled again, and Vi caught you easily, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. “See?” She said, her voice soft. “Not so bad when you’ve got someone to hold on to.” 

You stared at her, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with skating. the pink of her hair stood out against the pale blue lights of the link, and her eyes were so full of warmth and patience that it made your stomach twist. She looked at you like you were someone worth catching. 

And that started you more than anything. 

“Are you okay?” Vi asked, tilting her head as she noticed your silence. 

You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… trying not to snap my ankle.” 

Vi smirked, her hands still warm on your waist. “Don’t worry. If you fall, I’ll catch you.” 

You wanted to tell her that the falling wasn’t the part that scared you. It was the way she made you feel safe, the way she looked at you like you mattered. It was the way your soulmate bond tugged at your heart every time she smiled, like it was pulling toward something you weren’t sure you were ready for. 

But instead, you tightened your grip on her hands and said, “Okay, but if I fall, we’re both going down.” 

Vi grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal. But only if you promise to let go of me and try on your own for a little longer.” 

You groaned but nodded, letting her guide you across the ice again. This time, you didn’t fight the way your body leaned into hers, and for a few minutes, you almost forgot why this was supposed to scare you.

Almost. 

——————————————

The rink was cold, loud, and way too busy for your liking when you walked through the doors for the second time. Vi had texted you the night before, practically begging you to come to her game, and just imagining her face when you showed up was enough to get you to come. 

Vi had said for you to come early so she could meet you by the rink before she had to stretch and warm up so she could introduce you to some people. 

Going to the game—not so scary. Meeting Vi’s friends? Terrifying. 

By the time you arrived, your nerves were frayed. The rink was packed with players warming up, families gathering in the stands, and the faint smell of popcorn wafting through the air. You scanned the crowd, trying to spot Vi, your anxiety building with every second. 

Then, you heard her. 

“Y/n!”

Vi’s voice cut through the noise like a beacon, and you turned to see her weaving through the crowd, half-dressed in her hockey gear. Her helmet dangled from her hand, her skate guards clinking as she walked toward you. She had that same easy grin that she normally does, the one that somehow made you feel both at ease and completely overwhelmed. 

“You made it!” she said, her voice warm with excitement. Before you could respond, she gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward a group near the benches. “Come on, there’s people I want you to meet.” 

You barely had time to protest before you were standing in front of two women and a baby. One of them, a tall brunette with a mischievous glint in her eye, was also half-dressed in hockey gear and holding a squirming baby on her hip. The other, a slightly shorter woman with strong facial features and kind eyes, offered you a small, polite smile. 

“This is Ellie,” Vi said, gesturing toward the taller woman. “She’s one of my best friends, and a total menace on the ice.” 

Ellie snorted, shifting the baby to her other hip. “Nice to meet you, Y/n. Don’t listen to her—she’d just mad I’m better at slap shots.” 

Vi rolled her eyes. “Anyway, this is Dina—Ellie’s soulmate.” 

Dina laughed softly, reaching out to shake your hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Vi’s been talking about you nonstop.” 

Your face heated instantly. “Oh, um… nice to meet you, too.” 

“And this,” Vi added, pointing to the baby, “is J.J. He’s kind of the star of the show.” 

J.J. babbled happily, reaching for your necklace. You couldn’t help but smile as his tiny fingers grabbed onto it, tugging gently. 

Oh my god, that is the cutest damn baby I’ve ever seen. 

“You want to hold him?” Dina asked, tilting her head. 

You hesitated, but Vi nudged your arm gently, catching the way your eyes lit up when J.J. aimlessly waved his hands in your face. “He won’t bite, I promise.” 

With a nervous nod, you carefully took J.J. from Ellie, his weight settling gently onto your arms and chest. He looked up at you with wide, curious eyes, and despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. 

“There you go,” Dina said, her tone encouraging. “You’ve got the magic touch. He loves you.” 

Vi watched you with a softness you weren’t used to, her gaze lingering as you shifted J.J. to your hip to make him more comfortable. 

“You’re a total natural,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the loud whistle of the referee cut through the air, signaling the last warning before it was match time. 

“That’s our cue,” Vi said, stepping closer to you. “Dina and J.J.’ll keep you company during the game. You’ll be fine.” 

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. Vi’s hand brushed yours briefly before she grabbed her helmet and jogged off toward the ice, her pink hair bright against the deep blue and gold of her jersey. 

Dina must have noticed your nerves, because she gave you a reassuring smile. “Come on, let’s grab a spot. J.J. and I are pros at cheering for these two.” 

Ellie laughed, pressing a kiss to Dina’s jaw before follow off after Vi, leaving you and Dina to make your way to the stands. 

You settled into a seat with Dina and J.J. at your side, the baby happily gnawing on a teething ring while Dina explained the basics of the ame. You nodded along, half-listening, but your attention was on Vi. She was easy to spot—her pink hair stood out even with her helmet on, and her confident stride on the ice was impossible to miss. 

When the game started, you quickly realized why Vi had been so insistent on inviting you. She was good. She was incredible. She was hot. Watching her skate was like watching someone entirely in their own element. She moved with a precision and intensity that was mesmerizing, weaving through players like they weren’t even there, her stick handling the puck with ease. 

“Wow,” you murmured, leaning forward as she darted past three defenders and fired a shot straight into the net. The crowd erupted, and Dina gently covered J.J.’s ears to give a loud cheer. 

“She’s pretty amazing, huh?” Dina said, her tone knowing.

You nodded, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah. She it.” 

For a moment, you forgot about the crowd, the noise, and the tug of your soulmate bond that always lingered when Vi was near. You just watched her, completely in awe of how effortless she made it look.

Then it happened—as she angled for the puck near the center of the rink, a player from the opposing team with a solid twenty pounds on Vi barreled into her at full speed, shoulder-checking her with enough force to send her sprawling to the ice. 

The moment she hit the ground, pain exploded across your shoulder, sharp and searing. You gasped, clutching at your arm instinctively, the sensation so vivid it made your vision blur. 

Dina turned to you, her expression concerned. “Y/n? Are you okay?” 

You couldn’t answer. The pain was too much, and it was everywhere—radiating from your shoulder to your chest and back. Panic clawed at your throat as you struggled to breathe, your mind spinning with her pain. 

“Y/n?” Dina’s voice was louder now, edged with worry. 

“I—I have to go,” you stammered, standing abruptly. The movement sent another jolt of pain through your shoulder, but you ignored it, clutching the armrest for balance. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”

Before Dina could respond, you bolted, the sound of the crowd fading behind you as you rushed toward the exit. Your vision blurred with tears, your chest tight as you pushed through the doors and into the cold night air. 

You had to get away. 

—-------------------------------

The cafe smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon as you sank into your usual seat across from Vi. You were both quiet today—a rare occurrence. Your post-rotation coffee ritual had grown into something steady and comforting over the past few weeks. Twice a week, like clockwork, Vi would be waiting for you. 

But today, there was a tension that clung to the air like static electricity. 

“So,” Vi finally broke the silence, fiddling with the paper sleeve on her cup. “Another big game next weekend.”

You nodded absently, staring down at your drink. “Against Noxus Central University, right? I heard they’re brutal.” 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice carrying a faint edge. “Real bruises. Should be fun, though.” 

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a neutral tone. “Fun, huh?” 

Vi raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, taking a sip of your coffee. 

She didn’t buy it. “Come on, Y/n. Spill.” 

You hesitated, the words clawing at the back of your throat. “It’s just… you always come out of those games looking like you’ve been through a war zone. I mean—last weekend was brutal. I thought you broke your shoulder, and I’m the one who has to feel it.” 

Her eyes widened, and her hand froze mid-fidget, “Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” You set down the cup harder than you meant to. “I don’t know what crazy pain tolerance you have, but it felt like I was hit by a freight train. It’s a lot, Vi.” 

Her jaw tightened. “You think I don’t feel bad about that? I don’t want you to hurt because of me.” 

“Then maybe you should stop putting yourself in situations where it happens!” The words tumbled out louder than you intended, and you winced at your own tone. 

Vi’s expression darkened, her easy going demeanor vanishing. “Are you seriously asking me to stop playing hockey?” 

“I’m asking you to think about what it’s doing to me!”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping into something sharper. “And what about me, huh? Hockey’s my life, Y/n. It’s not just a game; it's who I am.” 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” You snapped, the words cutting like a knife even as you said them. 

Vi recoiled, her blue eyes narrowing. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but a familiar voice cut in. “Alright, what’s going on here?” 

You looked up to see Ellie approaching, her gaze bouncing between you and Vi. SHe stopped next to Vi’s chair, crossing her arms. “You guys never argue like this.”

“I’m not the one making unreasonable demands,” Vi muttered glaring at her coffee.

“Unreasonable?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not asking for much, Vi. Just for you to stop throwing yourself in the path of a warm machine. Do you know what it's like to feel like your body isn’t your own because your soulmate tosses herself around recklessly.” 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t intervene. Not yet. 

Vi’s face twisted with frustration. “And do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly apologizing for just existing? For doing what I love? I can’t just stop being me, Y/n. Hockey’s my first love.”

“Maybe I don’t want a soulmate then!” The words erupted before you could stop them, and the moment they left your mouth, the room seemed to freeze. 

Vi’s expression crumbled, and Ellie’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the suffocating silence that followed. 

“Y/n,” Vi said softly, her voice cracking just enough for you to hear. “You don’t mean that. I thought we were past that.” 

You wanted to take it back, you wanted to take it back so badly, but the floodgates had opened. “I don’t believe in soulmates, Vi. I don’t and I never have. And Honestly? This—us—it’s just proving why I was right. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.” 

Ellie stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “Y/n, you’re upset. Maybe take a second before you say something you can’t take back.” 

“I already said it,” you whispered, your chest tight. “And it’s true.” 

Vi stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You don’t believe in soulmates? After all I’ve done to try to prove to you that this could work?” 

You stood too, unable to stay still under the weight of her gaze. “You think this is easy for me? It’s not! I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m enough, and now I’m supposed to be enough for you? Someone who’s fearless and— and perfect, and doesn’t need me slowing her down?” 

“Slowing me down!?” Vi’s voice rose, incredulous. “You think that’s how I see you? God, Y/n, you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… what I do.” 

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one compromising?” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. 

“I’m not asking you to change who you are,” she said, her tone softer but no less urgent. “I’m just asking you to please, give this a chance. Stop being so defensive.” 

“And I’m asking you to understand that I can’t keep waking up in pain every time you decide to throw yourself into a fight on the ice!”

Ellie stepped between you, her hands up. “Okay, let’s all take a breath here—”

“No,” Vi said, her voice breaking. “If she doesn’t want this, then fine.” 

“Vi—” Ellie tried, but Vi was already grabbing her jacket. 

“Stop, Ellie,” Vi said, shaking her head as she turned to leave. “Come on.” 

You stood frozen, tears stinging your eyes as she walked out the door, Ellie close on her heels. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

Caitlyn appeared moments later, a confused expression on her face. “Where did everyone go?”

You just shook your head, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. 

Fuck. 

this is the second part in a three part series! read part 1 here! reader part 3 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[almostfoxglove]

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

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

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

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

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

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

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys. “Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

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

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

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

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

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

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently. “There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

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

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely. Tell me where he touched you.

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

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

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

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

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

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special. A code, a message. A lifeline.

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

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

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summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.

author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending

word count — 10k

The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.

“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.

And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart. 

Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.

You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.

It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.

You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.

When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.

The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction. 

“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”

“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt. 

He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”

“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.

Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.

“How often do they come in here?”

“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”

He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.

At this hour, it was only you and him.

You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee. 

“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.

You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.

Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.

Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.

You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.

“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”

You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.

Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.

“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”

“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”

You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”

“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”

“I can try, but—”

“I’ll pay.”

Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.

And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.

You nod quietly.

-

His order changes depending on his mood.

He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.

Nothing less, nothing more.

And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.

“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.

It’s a nice sound.

“One is married, two kids.” 

You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”

Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.

“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.

Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.

“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”

The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.

A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.

They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.

Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.

One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration. 

Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become. 

One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.

You should have known better, you should have spoken up.

Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.

There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.

You needed solace.

Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body. 

“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”

“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.

That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.

“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”

You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”

There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”

He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance. 

“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”

“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”

You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”

“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”

“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”

“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.

“Yeah—yeah, why—”

“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.

“This is gonna cost, Javier.”

“Name your price, hermosa.”

–

Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.

“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”

You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you. 

“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”

“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.

“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”

He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.

The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”

Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.

“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”

The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves. 

–

It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.

You thought they would choose something less…obvious.

But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in. 

You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.

“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”

You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”

“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”

“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”

It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code. 

“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”

Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.

“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”

You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.

You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.

“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”

“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”

“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”

You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.

–

Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.

“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”

Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.

“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.

You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.

He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur. 

“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.

You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”

“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.

“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”

“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.

Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”

His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.

His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine. 

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”

Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.

He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.

“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”

“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.

He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.

“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”

“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.

“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”

“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”

Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.

When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.

You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.

A willing participant, a body, convenience. 

Deep down, you know. 

But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.

Regardless, you both ignore it.

–

Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it. 

The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.

He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.

Got a lead. Money is for last night.

You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.

We should do it again sometime, chiquita. 

You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.

He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional. 

There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.

Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing. 

Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.

He was only doing his job.

–

A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.

It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.

You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.

Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.

“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”

His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.

My couch, the sex.

“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”

“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”

As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”

The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later. 

–

Javier is efficient, you learn.

What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief. 

It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.

You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.

He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.

When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.

He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.

And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes. 

He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.

But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.

You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.

He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.

“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”

He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.

Benny. Benny…Benito?

He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”

“The gala, yeah.”

He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose. 

The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.

He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.

“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.

“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.

“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”

It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.

Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.

“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.

“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”

Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.

He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.

Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely. 

“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”

His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”

Always one step ahead.

–

The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.

Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell. 

You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.

Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.

“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”

Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.

“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.

“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.

“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”

He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”

Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.

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

The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.

When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.

Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.

You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.

You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.

You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.

“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”

The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.

“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.

“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.

You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.

There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.

Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.

You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.

–

Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.

But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.

Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.

He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.

Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.

“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”

He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.

He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person. 

He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.

And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.

You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.

Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.

“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.

“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”

“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.

“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”

He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.

“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”

You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”

“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.

It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.

Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.

You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”

“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him. 

It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.

“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.

The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made. 

He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

–

Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about. 

“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.

Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”

“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”

You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.

“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”

“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”

You could handle the way it was eating at you.

“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”

His face hardens at the mention of his father.

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.

Tell me where he touched you.

“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”

Was he scared of you?

Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.

“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”

The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.

I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”

His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.

You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”

“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.

Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.

“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.

“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”

It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.

It was a mess, both of you were.

He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him. 

And you know he needs, wants, without saying.

He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.

“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”

He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.

“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”

You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.

“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.

“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”

Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”

Tonight was good enough, for now.

–

The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.

White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.

“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.

When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.

They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.

“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.

“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”

“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”

“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”

The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”

“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”

Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.

You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.

“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”

You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”

You know what they want, what they need.

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.

The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.

–

You wished you could warn him.

One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.

You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.

The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood. 

You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.

You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.

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

Out?

You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.

“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”

You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.

“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”

“Here? What—what do you mean?”

–

Here meant Colombia.

Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific. 

Javier had a place close to home. His family.

And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.

His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son. 

They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling. 

Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.

“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”

“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”

It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”

Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.

“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”

You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”

You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver. 

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”

It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.

A code, a message. A lifeline.

Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore. 

It was beyond him, out of his control.

And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.

“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely. 

“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”

On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times. 

He was done, he wanted out.

-

"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.

"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?

"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.

[andhumanslovedstories]

you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

[jianwon]

i ADORE your most recent fanfic (touch ups and downs) your writing is rlly cool and i was wondering if maybe we could get a part 2!?! where they go on a date and se-mi is still being flirty/teasing as per usual and maaaaybee...they kiss. hehe. i love your writing btw, but pls dont feel pressured to fulfill my request!!! 💗💗

a softer spotlight

sypnosis. a makeup artist’s quiet life takes an unexpected turn when actress se-mi slips them her number. between secret outings, stolen moments, and the challenges of se-mi’s fame, their connection grows into something neither of them can ignore.

part 2 of touch ups and down

content— actress!se-mi x fem!makeupartist!reader. pure fluff. flirting and romantic tension. brief mention of public harassment. mild language. slight emotional vulnerability. mentions of squid game characters.

disclaimer. story is entirely fictional and in no way reflects real events, individuals, or their relationships. characters mentioned are fictional representations based on their on-screen personas.

wordcount. 1.9k

since the day se-mi slipped her number into your hand, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. it wasn’t just the way she effortlessly flirted, or the way her perfume lingered like a gentle reminder of her presence, it was the way she made you feel seen.

you hadn’t reached out yet, overthinking every possible way the conversation might go. would she even remember giving you her number? what if she was just being polite? or teasing?

you debated for days, pacing your tiny apartment as her folded note sat on your kitchen counter, taunting you.

then, one evening, your phone buzzed with an unknown number.

unknown number: you weren’t planning on calling me, were you... artist-nim?

you stared at the message, your heart racing. how did she..? oh. of course, she had your number from the crew information list.

you: i didn’t want to bother you.

se-mi: bother? i think you misunderstand. i was hoping you’d ask me out (īī ^ īī)

the boldness of her words hit you like a lightning bolt, and before you could spiral into overthinking, another message popped up.

se-mi: how about we fix that? are you free tomorrow afternoon?

you froze. tomorrow afternoon? what would you wear? what would you say?

you: i guess i could be free.

se-mi: great! but we’ll need to be careful, meet me at cafe haneul at 3. wear something comfortable and discreet ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

you didn’t sleep much that night.

the next day, you arrived at cafe haneul early, nervously fiddling with your phone. the cozy little café was tucked into a quieter street in seoul, its warm glow spilling onto the cobblestone sidewalk. you wore an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap, hoping it was “discreet” enough.

when se-mi arrived, you almost didn’t recognize her. she was wearing a hoodie too, paired with round glasses and a black face mask that covered half her face. even so, she still looked effortlessly stunning, her presence impossible to ignore.

“artist-nim!” she greeted, pulling down her mask slightly to reveal a playful grin. “se-mi,” you replied, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt.

she tilted her head, studying you. “cute. you really took the ‘discreet’ note to heart.”

you laughed awkwardly, and she grabbed your wrist gently. “come on. let’s walk.”

the streets were bustling, even in the quieter part of the city. se-mi kept close, her hand brushing yours every so often as you weaved through the crowd. the conversation flowed easily. she talked about the projects she was excited about, and you shared funny backstage stories from your work.

but as the sidewalk grew more crowded, you started to feel the press of bodies around you. someone accidentally bumped into your shoulder, and then another person pushed past, making you stumble slightly.

se-mi noticed immediately. without a word, she reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to her side. “stay here,” she said softly, her tone protective.

her hand was warm, her grip firm but gentle. you felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you let her guide you through the crowd, her presence grounding you amidst the chaos.

when the street finally opened up, she looked down at you, a small smile playing on her lips. “you okay?”

“yeah..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“good.” she replied, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

the moment felt so natural that you almost didn’t realize she hadn’t let go until she grinned and said, “don’t tell me you’re blushing already.”

“i’m not!” you protested, though the heat in your cheeks said otherwise. she chuckled, tugging you along. “come on. there’s somewhere i want to take you.”

the museum was quiet, its grand halls filled with soft lighting and the faint echo of footsteps. you hadn’t expected se-mi to bring you somewhere so peaceful, but as soon as you stepped inside, you understood why.

“i like coming here when i need to clear my head,” she explained as you wandered through an exhibit of impressionist paintings. “there’s just something calming about it.”

you watched as her gaze lingered on a large canvas depicting a serene landscape. the way her face softened, her usual confident demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, made your chest ache in the best way.

“do you paint?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

she shook her head. “no, but i wish i did. i’ve always admired how artists can put so much emotion into a single canvas”

you smiled, gesturing to the painting in front of you. “kind of like how you do with acting.”

her eyes widened slightly, and she turned to you with a surprised smile. “that’s… probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“well, it’s true,” you replied, suddenly feeling shy under her gaze. she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

before you could respond, she tugged you toward another room, this one filled with smaller, more abstract pieces. you wandered through the space together, occasionally stopping to admire a painting or share quiet observations. at one point, you caught her watching you instead of the art, her expression unreadable.

“what?” you asked, self-conscious under her stare.

“nothing.” she said, smiling softly. “i just like seeing you like this. you’re so… relaxed.”

you didn’t know how to respond, so you simply smiled back, your heart pounding.

after leaving the museum, you and se-mi wandered into a bustling food street. the two of you shared tteokbokki and small plates of jeon at a cozy food stall, the spicy warmth of the dishes cutting through the evening chill. se-mi kept her hoodie pulled low and her mask in place, glancing around every now and then to make sure no one was paying too much attention.

you couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled with her chopsticks, one slippery rice cake flying out of her grasp and landing on her plate with a small splatter. “a world-famous actress, but chopsticks are your weakness?”

she gave you a mock glare, her eyes narrowing playfully. “you try eating with these things out in the cold and tell me how it goes.”

smirking, you picked up one of the rice cakes with ease, holding it out toward her. “here. let me save you the embarrassment.”

she hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, taking the bite and chewing with exaggerated slowness. “not bad...” she said once she swallowed. “guess i’ll keep you around.”

it was an easy moment, the two of you lost in your own world, until someone walking past slowed to a stop right in front of your table.

“wait… is that—?”

your heart dropped as you saw the man’s eyes narrow in recognition. he looked to be in his early twenties, dressed casually but holding his phone in a way that made your stomach tighten.

se-mi tensed beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for her mask to pull it higher.

“no way,” the man said, stepping closer. “you’re se-mi, aren’t you? from that movie?”

“i think you’ve got the wrong person,” you said quickly, standing up to block his view of her. “she’s not an actress.” the man’s eyes darted between you and se-mi, skepticism written all over his face.

“no, i’m pretty sure that’s her. i’ve watched the show, like, three times. that’s definitely her!”

se-mi looked down, trying to keep her face hidden as she mumbled, “i’m sorry, i think you’re mistaken.” her voice was calm, but you could sense the tension in her posture.

“come on, you don’t have to pretend,” the man insisted, pulling out his phone. “just one picture, please! my friends will never believe i ran into you.”

“no pictures,” you said firmly, your voice shaking slightly. “please respect her privacy.” the man frowned, his phone still in hand. “if it’s not her, then what’s the big deal? why are you acting so weird?”

the crowd around the stall was starting to take notice, a few people pausing mid-bite to glance over. your pulse quickened as you realized how easily this could spiral out of control.

“let’s go,” you whispered to se-mi, gently tugging her sleeve.

she nodded and stood, keeping her head down as the two of you tried to leave the stall. but the man wasn’t giving up so easily.

“hey, wait!” he called, stepping after you. “at least tell me if it’s really you—”

that’s when se-mi turned around, her voice steady but firm. “i’m sorry, but i’d really appreciate it if you left us alone.”

her tone was polite, but there was a quiet strength behind it that seemed to catch the man off guard. he hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. finally, he muttered something under his breath and walked off, still holding his phone but no longer pointing it at you.

as soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “that was… intense.”

“i’m sorry...” se-mi said softly, her voice laced with guilt.

“don’t apologize,” you said immediately. “it’s not your fault. are you okay?” she nodded, though her hands were trembling slightly. without thinking, you reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“let’s get out of here,” you said, your voice soft but reassuring.

the two of you walked quickly through the streets, sticking to quieter alleys until you were far away from the bustling crowd. when you finally stopped, you were standing in a small, empty park, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement.

“i didn’t mean to ruin the night.” se-mi said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the ground.

“ruin it?” you repeated, stepping closer to her. “se-mi, you didn’t ruin anything.” she looked up at you, her eyes searching yours. “it’s just… stuff like that happens all the time. and i hate dragging other people into it.”

“you didn’t drag me into anything,” you said firmly. “i wanted to be here. with you.”

her expression softened, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders seemed to melt away. “you really mean that?”

“of course,” you said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. “besides, i think we make a pretty good team. i distract the fans, and you handle the dramatic exits.” she laughed at that, the sound light and melodic in the quiet night. “i guess i owe you one, artist-nim.”

“i’ll add it to your tab,” you teased, grinning.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you felt heavy with unspoken words, and when she finally broke the silence, her voice was quiet but steady.

“being recognized is part of the job,” she said. “but… it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t see me as just ‘se-mi the actress.’”

you looked at her, your heart aching at the vulnerability in her words. “you’re more than that,” you said softly. “at least to me.”

she turned to you, her eyes searching yours. then, without warning, she reached up and pulled her mask down, her face inches from yours. “i know.” she whispered.

before you could respond, she leaned in and kissed you. it was soft, tentative, but it sent a spark through your entire body. when she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked almost shy. “i hope that wasn’t too forward...” she murmured.

you shook your head, a dazed smile spreading across your face. “not at all.”

she grinned, her confidence returning as she took your hand again. “good. because i plan on doing that again.”

and as the city buzzed around you, the world felt like it had shrunk to just the two of you. a quiet, perfect moment in the chaos of life.

a/n— a big thank you to anon for the request! please do let me know if you'd like actress se-mi x makeup artist reader to be a series! do request some scenarios that you'd like to see both of them in hehe + is it just me, or do i hc se-mi as an emoticon user rather than using emojis hmm

[wttcsms]

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part ii. initial incision

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student’s “suicide”, you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains mentions of suicide, the first confrontation between you & gojo!!!!! word count 3.9k [ previous ] [ next ] [ masterlist ]

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to still be in shock after what you’ve just witnessed,” the blond haired detective sitting across from you pushes the tiny paper cup of tap water towards you. Your mouth is dry, but you don’t trust yourself enough to stop your hands from shaking and not spilling water everywhere, so you ignore it. 

Detective Junji Wakimiya looks no older than his early thirties, but he carries himself high, with all the experience and stature of an experienced, older gentleman. He has perfect posture, and you’re not sure how much they’re paying him to work as a police officer, but the suit he’s wearing is perfectly tailored to fit his body. Chances are, it’s a department store suit and not designer, but it still looks good nonetheless. His voice is deep, but when he speaks to you, it’s almost as if he’s taking care in saying the words gently, like he doesn’t want to scare you. 

Maybe he just wants to lull you into a false sense of security. 

After all, he reminds you that this isn’t an interrogation, and that you aren’t called in here because you’re a suspect, but rather a witness. And then, before you can ask, he clarifies that no one here is a suspect because yes, something awful has happened here tonight, but until he gets all the facts sorted, whether this “something awful” was a crime or just someone’s final choice remains to be decided. 

“Apologies for making you relive through this ordeal once again, but I’ll need you to reaffirm for me the timeline of events from your viewpoint.” He takes a sip out of his own cup, as if to signal to you that it’s safe for you to drink your own, but you swallow your spit and clear your throat before repeating what you’ve just told him.

“My name is [Name] [Surname]. I’m currently a senior studying journalism here at Tokyo Metropolitan College. Earlier today, I overheard a student having a secret conversation by the vending machines near Murakami Hall, which is where a majority of liberal arts majors have their classes. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I was being nosy when I chose to eavesdrop. I heard him mention on the phone that after tonight, he would ‘be set for life,’ and I was curious as to what he meant by that. So, I got a good look at him, saw that he was a medical student, found him online, and then I started to follow him. I lost sight of him for a few minutes while talking to a classmate, and by the time I entered the laboratory building, I was exhausted and decided that this was stupid. As I walked out, I heard the screams, and that’s when I—” 

You choke up on the last part of your statement. When you blink, you see Yu Haibara’s crumpled up body smack dab on the pavement, his blood streaming out, leaving streaks that the school’s landscaper will have to pressure wash out. 

“—that’s when I saw Haibara’s dead body.” You whisper out the last part, and Detective Wakimiya is nice enough to not make you repeat your statement once more. 

“I see.” He says, setting down his cup. “As a senior in college, you must be considering postgrad jobs now, right?” 

You’re not sure what this detective is trying to get at, but you nod slowly. 

“You seem to be bright. Very ambitious, with the way you seem to want to… How did you put it? Hunt for a good story?” The small talk — is there a bigger picture here, or is he just trying to put you at ease? You know you shouldn’t be paranoid; it’s not as if you’re being suspected of a crime or anything, but after your statement was given, you were certain that you were going to be let go. 

“How do you know what’s a good story or not?” 

“Pardon?”

“What makes you want to chase down a lead over others?” 

“Um… It sounds stupid, sir, but I get a gut feeling.” You mumble, feeling awkward and like a child. “An instinct, I guess? You know, like… When you feel like someone’s watching you, and you turn around, and someone is. It’s a weird sense.” 

He nods. “Interesting. And so, when you chose to follow Haibara, you got this feeling as well?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Quite a story, wouldn’t you agree?” 

You wait a few seconds before replying. “Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve got good instincts, then. Even if things don’t necessarily turn out quite the way you anticipate them to. That’s just how life goes.” He leans over the table, reaching for his recorder and stopping the recording. “Even if things get scary, like I’m certain tonight was, you should still listen to your instincts.” 

You look at him curiously. Just an innocent piece of advice from a well-meaning adult? Whatever it is, you agree. “I will, sir.”

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, what with your classes and whatever else a college girl gets up to.” Detective Wakimiya is funny in the way he seems to think he’s some sort of old man. He acts like it. 

He gives you a reassuring smile before pulling out a business card. “Here’s my number and email. If anything else about this night, anything that you might have forgotten to add to your statement, comes to mind, please reach out. I’m available at any time.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You see Yu Haibara’s face everywhere the following day. 

The picture everyone seems to be using is the same: a headshot photo of him, probably from his most recent undergrad graduation. His hair is a little shorter than you remember, but he’s smiling wide for the camera, practically beaming. He looks cheerful, happy — excited for the future, even. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and Haibara is already haunting the halls of this college. 

There are posters and flyers tacked up on the walls of every building on campus. There’s going to be a candlelight vigil held in his honor tomorrow night; you’re not sure who the hell could possibly organize an event that big on such short notice, but in tiny, barely there font, you’re not entirely surprised to see EVENT GENEROUSLY FUNDED BY THE GOJO FAMILY. 

If you open up any social media, even LinkedIn, there are nothing but memorial posts for him. Selfies of him and other students, throwback photos, and embarrassing videos. He even has his own personal hashtag: #YuWillBeMissed. Classy. 

Last night, he was haunting you, too. When you closed your eyes after your interrogation with the detective, all you could see was Haibara’s accusatory face. You’re not sure why he’s blaming you, of all people. Maybe he’s upset with you because you couldn’t mind your own damn business. Whatever his beef with you inside your head is, you couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. And when you open the doors to the Tokyo Metropolitan Student Journalism clubroom, it’s evident you’re not the only one who couldn’t rest.

Even now, the team in charge of the school’s paper is going insane. You walk into a storm — the copier is running at full speed, and when it gets jammed (because school printers can smell fear and anxiety; they will never work when you need them the most), one of the editors for the paper curses and kicks it. A few juniors are furiously typing away at their laptops, and unlike most mornings, no one even acknowledges your arrival with a polite “good morning”. Even Sakura, for once, looks serious. 

“For the love of God, this is awful advice. We need to be instructing people on how to properly dress at this funeral. Three inch heels at a candlelight vigil is serving cunt! Four inches is giving insensitive bitch who doesn’t care about anyone besides herself!” Sakura points furiously at a line some freshman writer must have typed up in their draft. “In twenty minutes, we need a perfect edition for today’s paper. Does this look perfect to you?!” 

Tucked away in a corner of the room, you see this semester’s exchange student whispering in her phone, staring wide-eyed at the fit Sakura is throwing. 

“Osamu,” Kotori says, clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I really can’t wait to be back in Osaka.” 

There are good schools in Osaka. After surveying the mess here, you even consider asking her if you can tag along with her.

It’s a sick, vain — insensitive, even — thing to notice, but you can’t help it. A majority of the girls here must have heeded Sakura’s sage advice and opted for sleek, shiny three-inch high heels. Not a single heel in sight appears to be any higher.

You suppose the noble pursuit of serving cunt is always preferable over being a bitch. Especially when you’re attending an event to remember a dead classmate.

Your peers have enough decency and decorum, at least, to keep the complaints of their heels getting stuck in the grass to a minimum. You’re honestly shocked at the amount of people who are in attendance; with the low acceptance rate and exclusivity of the school, it’s hard not to find a familiar face. Every med school student must be here, though; if even the liberal arts and STEM undergrads could make it, surely they could. 

“I heard there’s going to be a dinner afterwards,” a voice pipes up from next to you. Startled, you turn to your right, only to see Kotori beaming at you. 

“Really? Who’s catering?” You fiddle with the candle you’ve been given; everyone gathered in the main square was handed one. 

The food being served at a memorial should be the least of your concerns, but when your meager stipend barely covers cup ramen and protein bars, your stomach jumps for joy at the prospect of a meal that comes with a side of vegetables and an actual entree. 

“The Gojo family is hosting, but I heard a rumor that it’s going to be steak and lobster. So, it must be true.” 

If Haibara is inescapable, Gojo must be his shadow. He lingers around after every thought you have of Haibara, and you don’t know why, but it leaves a bad aftertaste. You briefly wonder what his interrogation with Detective Wakimiya was like. Probably nothing more than a conversation glazing the Gojo family. That’s how most interactions with older adults go for him. You’ve heard, once, that Gojo and the professors often have a funny dynamic. He makes it out to where it seems like they’re doing him a favor, but really, anybody on this campus would kill for a chance to be in his good graces. 

So what exactly was Haibara’s relationship with Gojo? They must have been close enough to where Gojo felt so bad, he would want to host and sponsor a candlelight vigil for him. Everyone around you who murmurs an anecdote about Haibara seems to only have positive things to say about the boy. Apparently, he was bright and ambitious, friendly and helpful, funny and a little weird, in a good, boyish way. He was a total open book. No one could see him killing himself. Someone even thinks he must have just accidentally fell. 

That’s the fan-favorite theory at the moment: that it must have been a bad accident. That Haibara probably was just fooling around, or trying to film a TikTok, and then he died. As morbid and awful as it makes you sound, a fleeting thought occurs.

Maybe he was pushed. 

It’s gone the minute the vigil starts, though. You don’t know why you even think that; too many true crime podcasts must be rotting your brain. That, and maybe the guilt of you basically stalking the poor guy during his last few moments on earth. 

I’ll be set for life. 

He probably was just trying to go viral on TikTok. Boys do stupid shit for online views all the time, and while Haibara must be intelligent enough to attend this school on a scholarship, it’s not like he was immune to bad decisions. Instead of worrying about the why behind his fall, though, you turn your attention to the elevated platform on the square. There’s a podium set up; usually the dean or a guest speaker will come here to give a speech, but tonight, it’s Satoru Gojo. 

Much like everyone else here, he’s dressed in all-black. Black long sleeve button down, black slacks, shiny black loafers. He walks up to the podium, but he’s not greeting the audience with his signature smile that he seems to always wear. Instead, he looks devastated. A few strands of his hair are hanging in his face as his head bends down. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, like he’s trying to practice a few breathing exercises. The crowd went silent the minute he came into view, and they’re still silent now. When Satoru Gojo is around, the world stops for him. No matter what.

After a few more seconds, he finally lifts his head, greeting the crowd with an obviously tight, forced smile. He messes with the microphone for a bit before addressing the audience. 

“Good evening,” his voice is hoarse, almost as if he’s been crying before he went onstage. Between that, and his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance, he might have been. Crying, that is. It’s weird — thinking about Gojo crying. It sounds insensitive, but you never thought of him as someone who experiences the sad and disappointing emotions other mere mortals are privy to. “I suppose the reason for why we’re all gathered here tonight needs no introduction.” He takes a deep breath. Someone is already bursting into tears. 

“Yu Haibara is — was — what I considered to be a beacon of hope in my life. He was bright. Not just in an academic sense, but something about him always radiated pure joy. As his upperclassman, I was assigned as his “buddy” during his first year orientation. I remember meeting him for the very first time, and being taken aback. I mean, we all talk about the baby first year glow, how med school hasn’t hit them yet, but damn—” Gojo lets out a sad laugh, shaking his head. “He was something else. I could tell from just lookin’ at him that nothing was going to dull his shine. He always had a positive outlook on everything, was always an optimist. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” Gojo’s voice has a bit of a tremor to it, and more people are tearing up as they watch him grip both sides of the podium, as if to keep him stable. 

“I’m afraid that I’ll — that we’ll — never meet anyone like him ever again.” 

Gojo continues on with his speech, talking about all the things Haibara talked about accomplishing, how confident Gojo was in his potential. That Haibara was hilarious and the best junior anyone could ever ask for. That the Zenin School of Medicine will never find another student as bright and bold and ambitious as Haibara. That he’ll be missed. That Gojo has a lot of love for him, but that he hates the choice Haibara made; that despite it all, he’ll still always harbor a lot of love for him. And at the end of his speech, he reveals that the Gojo family will start funding a scholarship in Haibara’s honor, using Haibara’s name, so that way his impact will never truly die. That his spirit will still remain as strong as ever here at this college. 

Gojo’s the first to light his candle, naturally. He holds it up high, almost as if he’s aiming for the night sky. Too bad there isn’t a single star to be seen tonight. 

“To Yu Haibara!” 

Someone else sets their candle aflame, bringing the flame to someone else’s unlit wick, and eventually, going down the line, your candle gets lit, too. You share your flame with Kotori, and once the square is glowing with the comforting orange warmth only several hundred candles can provide, everyone raises their candles high.

“To Yu Haibara!” 

In the following seconds, everyone is silent and solemn. The mourning lasts only as long as the time it takes for Gojo to descend from the platform, and the conversation immediately starts back up again. All signs of despondency seem to evaporate the minute Gojo’s loafers hit the grass, and the crowd immediately parts to make way for him. 

Groups of people rush to him, to compliment him on his speech, to let him know that they’re always going to be here for him if he needs a shoulder to cry on. Every step he takes, he’s never not being bombarded by people. When he makes it closer to where you’re standing, Sakura inches towards him. 

“That was such a beautiful speech, Gojo.” She says, pretending to dab at the corner of her eyes with her black silk scarf. Sakura didn’t tear up once during the ceremony, and she would never dare to risk smudging her makeup in front of Gojo. “And you’re so strong for being able to stand up in front of us and talk about such a good friend without completely breaking down. It must have been awful to see his body, right? I know so many saw him before the cops could come and shoo everyone off—”

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks. “Between you and me? I had to hold back my tears a few times.” She gasps, staring at him with wide eyes before nodding. He’s about to walk off, but then he adds, “Fortunately, what got me through was probably the fact that I didn’t ever see his body. I was in the medical school’s library preparing for an exam all night when that happened. Wanted to avoid the sight at all costs, too, so I couldn’t even stomach opening any social media.” 

You’re not eavesdropping, you rationalize. Granted, you’re not even hunting for a story, so you’re not sure what your justification for listening in on their conversation is. It’s their fault for having a conversation so close to you, anyway. Anyone with ears can hear them. 

But your stomach is lurching now; gone is your appetite for steak and lobster. Instead, you can feel yourself being filled with dread. 

During Gojo’s “emotional” speech, you were taken aback at just how torn he was. Haibara must have truly been a close friend if Gojo’s voice is shaking when speaking about him. He even needed to grip the damn podium to keep himself upright. 

Maybe it’s because it’s so dark in the nighttime, but you couldn’t help but notice how there was no true force or stress in his grip; no familiar sight of white knuckles from holding something so tightly. And his eyes — they’re obviously the most captivating feature of his. The type of blue that’s only seen in one in every one hundred million, you’re sure. But they’re not red-rimmed or puffy, and during the speech, there was no shine that would indicate he’s on the verge of tears. And you’re certain it’s all in your head when you’re punched with the same realization that the emotion Gojo portrays to his audience never reaches his eyes. Everything about him outwardly screams a boy heartbroken over the death of a good friend. He’s full of grief, but his eyes remain as empty as ever. 

You’re not going to dwell on it any more than that; at least, you weren’t going to. Now, after hearing what he just told Sakura, you’re conflicted. 

You know what you saw that night. You saw him. You saw him. Why would he lie about his whereabouts? 

Your heart is pounding as he walks past Sakura, slowly but steadily making his way closer to you. You should just let him be; everyone handles grief differently. Maybe he was just dissociating during the speech. Maybe trauma is making him want to bend the truth a little bit. Maybe he’s beating himself up over not being there to stop Haibara, and that’s why he’s pretending he wasn’t at the scene of the crime. 

No — you forcibly remind yourself. There is no “scene of the crime.” There wasn’t a crime committed. 

But that instinctual feeling in your gut intensifies the closer Gojo gets, and it’s now or never. Right before he can slip away, you reach out for him, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve, near his wrist. He pauses, turns a bit, looks down at you.

Has he always been this tall, this imposing?

“Yes?” Despite you rudely grabbing at him, he’s nothing but cordial. You swallow hard, bringing your voice to a whisper. 

“Were you there?” 

“Pardon?” He’s smiling, but he tilts his head in confusion. “There… as in where, exactly?” 

“At Old Kashimo Laboratory. When Haibara died.” You clarify. 

“Ah, I wasn’t. I had an exam to study for, so I spent all night in the library.” He blinks, before frowning. “I wish I was there, though. I’ve been wondering if there was anything I could have said or done to change the outcome of that night…” 

Your gut twists, and you swallow hard. “But that’s the thing, Gojo.” You don’t want to say it; there’s a part of you that protests, and the stronger side of you, the one that says maybe you shouldn’t leave this unanswered, dictates that you do. “Why are you lying about being at the library?” You say it so softly, you’re not even able to hear yourself speak.

But he does. You know he does, because the look in his eyes turns cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them. For the first time, you see a glimpse of emotion behind his icy blues. But it isn’t grief, and it isn’t anger. You don’t know what it is, and you almost regret grabbing his sleeve in the first place. 

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation to make.” Gone is his cordial tone. You resist taking a step back from him. “A pretty baseless one, too.” 

“I saw you.” You dare to look him in his eyes. “That night. You were leaving out the back door of the building, and a minute later, Haibara’s body was found. I don’t know the med school’s campus all that well, but the library certainly isn’t behind that old lab, is it?” 

Gojo stares at you for what feels like forever. You’ve never been scrutinized before, but you wonder if this is what a cell under a microscope feels like. The feeling of being completely and utterly exposed is a scary one, and it sounds so silly. Who is scared of friendly, kind, golden boy Gojo? 

No one is. But right now, the man staring you down isn’t the Gojo you’ve heard stories about. 

You blink, and he’s back to smiling at you, almost as if the conversation you two shared never even happened. Maybe it never did. Maybe you’re the crazy one. 

“Well, it was nice chatting with you.” He’s speaking at his normal volume now. “Hey, what was your name again?” 

He poses it as a friendly question, but you know better. 

“[Name].” 

He repeats it back, obnoxiously slow, sounding out the vowels and all. “Pleasure to meet you, [Name]. I hope I see you soon.” 

Somehow, he’s made a pleasantry sound like a threat.

[parker-artio]

The idea of Steph being a med student cracks me up. Because this girl stays up all night beating people up, gets maybe two hours of sleep before she’s getting up for her 7am class on human anatomy.

She starts working in Gotham’s City’s ER as a volunteer student so she doesn’t have to take an extra class and can just take the test at the end of the year for the credit. One day she shows up and sees her patient is a thug she bullied last night while kicking his ass.

She might never show her face in his room again.

When she barely passes a test with a C- she wants to cry when Alfred asks how her test went, but Alfred reassures her, saying it’s good, and that she still passed. But Bruce always catches a stray or two when her major gets brought up. No way he wouldn’t.

Alfred: Congratulations Miss Stephanie, it might only be a C but it is still passing!

Steph: Thanks alfred but I feel like I could be doing better

Alfred: At least you’re sure you want to be a doctor. You haven’t dropped out and you’re passing your classes. That’s what matters.

Bruce at Wayne Enterprises in the middle of a board meeting, feeling a chill go down his spine: something just happened…

Plus there’s the added joke of her being called dumb, lazy, ect from Damian (he insults her so much I can’t remember them all rn)

Damian: What’s that Brown? Can’t shake your head in fear your brain will rattle around in there?

Steph thinking about her biology test tomorrow she got maybe 10 minutes of studying in for since it was announced last month: Shut the fuck up.

Thugs would hate to see her. Like genuinely HATE seeing her during finals season. They don’t know anything about these bats, but they all agree if it’s final season and you see a blonde haired bat in purple- you’re fucked. Run as fast as you can unless you want a concussion and her to ask where all your pain is.

None of the super villains in Gotham ever remember mentioning they have any kind of health issues, yet somehow she always knows. The purple bat who goes by too many names, just KNOWS.

Riddler about to pull the lever for something dramatic: Well you failed to answer my riddle so-

Steph cutting him off: Your skeleton

Riddler: wrong it’s-

Steph cutting him off yet again with a heavy sigh: Listen Nigma, you have to calm down for once. Your blood pressure hates you, slow down on the salty and fatty foods. Do you smoke? Because if you do, slow down on that too. Or just quit. And the actual answer is bare-bones. But synonyms of the answer should work too.

Riddler who’s doctor told him he was at risk for high blood pressure but ignored it: I- no… I don’t smoke.

Steph: …

Riddler: I quit years ago!

Plus she’d totally access Alfred’s medical records to learn little things about the others to annoy them with. She’d be elbow deep and learn that Dick’s left ankle was injured at 12 and is prone to injuries because it never proper medical attention because he avoided Alfred when he first got hurt.

She’d bring it up in conversation too.

Steph, after Dick pisses her off and she’s walking away: What your step, Boy Wonder, it’d be a shame if your left ankle got broke because of its fragility…

Dick unsure where she learned that: …what

The whole concept of her as a med student makes me laugh and I wish more people looked at it and thought about the humor and jokes that can go with her being one.

It’s peak comedy to me, I need more fics of her just being a broke college student who’s tired of thugs attacking her when she’s trying to study for her test on patrol. She’s sitting on top of W.E. Reading her anatomy book for her first class at 7:30 while her four other books are underneath. Why she has a test in all of her classes on the same day, she doesn’t know. Will she pass them? Who the fuck knows. But if that bat signal goes off again tonight she might break into the police precinct and give them a piece of her mind.

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

Bored nobles. Of course. So the same ones who talked bad about him with just thinly veiled attempts to hide it, were the ones who tormented Aerith as if she was to show off her ancient powers like a circus trick.

It was always the same type. And as much as Somnus had learned to ignore them… now that he imagined this treatment for Aerith, he had a new kind of anger ignited. One that sat deep in the pit of his chest.

She had had to deal with such, too… and her sad smile told of these tales while it also laid the base of explanations she brought forth.

It was a power as fascinating as fearsome. She could intertwine life and death like the strand of vines that sat at her side.  And yet with these powers she also had a responsibility towards those involved. Aerith realized that. And yet it was hard to decipher how others would react.

Somnus found himself staring at her in quiet wonder. She painted the smallest details, yet her thoughts had to handle the details of people’s feelings that she had never even met.

“I know his family.”, Somnus said silently. His foot slid off of the little stool and instead he placed the helmet upon it, before stepping around all the supplies around Aerith.  The uniform’s little parts and pieces made metallic clicking noises as he knelt down beside her, looking at the urn. She had painted incredibly much in this short time. It already told of how beautiful the finished piece would be. Fit for a hero.

“If you want to try this, we can do this together. I can speak to the family for you. I know our beliefs, our culture and our traditions. I can only guess how they will react. But I think I have a better grip on how they will do. I do not want you to be put into an uncomfortable situation.”

His fingers’ touch was featherlight against the back of her hand. Stilling her paintbrush and yet he did not even apply pressure to her skin. He just wanted to show her – he was there. At her side. In all of this.

“ Your offer is more than anyone in grief could hope for and even if there can be disappointment… it will not be directed to you.  All you do is open the door to a possible chance of a proper farewell. I am sure Nikolaos’ parents and siblings would appreciate that.”

Aerith hummed again, deeply anchored by her task. It wasn't that she was avoiding glancing up at him in conversation. It was a fine balance of multitasking, tackling this behemoth of a task while keeping up some banter with Somnus.

After all, he wasn't posing for her pleasure of viewing him. He was her reference. The glances and lingering looks were mostly tied to the painting. Mostly.

"... I don't know, but I can guess." she offered, because it was the truth. "There aren't many Cetra left. The farmlands are mostly people who don't have magic, and it's not so much the hard-working citizens who ask those bold questions. It's usually people in the circles of nobility who... are bored?" Or who had egos that could barely fit inside the room without smothering those around them. "I think... not growing up with something in your own family... I can see why it may seem like fairytales and make believe."

It was a more optimistic outlook. Sometimes people were simply mean-spirited to be mean-spirited but she had to hope that wasn't the case for the majority.

His next question gave her reason enough to pause. The paint brush lowered and she sighed a quiet breath, gathering her thoughts before she looked up at him.

She didn't look upset at him for the question. Though the hint of a smile on her face was a saddened one. How had he done that? How had he arrived at the same thread of thoughts she had hesitantly plucked at.

"I was wondering if that would be cruel of me to offer." Aerith admitted, straightening her posture a little. "His family would have to be prepared. That means... it may not happen. I could seek their permission, and then Nikolaos may not wish to leave. It's not as simple as asking him and then scheduling in an appointment, if I could reach him and ask the question... his family would have to be prepared then and there to receive a visit from his spirit. The Lifestream isn't an exact science. With Nikolaos only recently departing, I have no doubt it will be easier to find him, but... his family would have to be prepared for disappointment all the same."

Her head shook a little. "I don't know these people. They don't know me. On one hand I don't want to devastate them if I can't reach Nikolaos. On the other hand is it my right to decide what's best for them, if there's a good chance they can say farewell?"

She looked down again, and again she lifted her paintbrush, quietly resuming where she had left off. "I thought about not asking, and simply praying after the burial rites have concluded. But... it shouldn't be a spectacle. It should be something done in private. I just don't know how to convince his family, maybe... asking them to join me in a prayer? To offer them a chance to speak with the Lifestream... I really don't know."

[saphiccarma]

- Sweet Thing Pt.5

pt.4

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Nightmares plague you in the nights the follow your capture, but luckily, Agatha and Rio are there for you. In more ways than one.

Warnings: Some heated kissing, mention of sex

A/N: HIIII I'm semi-past my writers block because well, here's part five of Sweet Thing, but also it's short and took me a while to write.

The air in the cabin was heavy as you sat upright in your bed, eyes wide and teeth bared instinctively as you flapped your legs, almost as if they were a tail. The bed sheets, a thick cloth designed to keep you warm in the chilly space, suddenly felt too heavy, too hot. Skin tingling with nerves and unspoken tension, you glance around the room frantically. Your heart pounds beneath your chest, a fast, racing rhythm that drums in your ears.

An arm drapes around your waist and you bite down on your lip hard, stifling a scream that threatened to rip from your throat. The sudden contact makes your pulse jump beneath our skin, heart doing a leap in your chest.

"Shh," Rio's voice is familiar, soft, and ladled with sleep. It was hoarse, still dripping with exhaustion. "Lay down."

Every inch of you screams to not obey her, the command sending a spark of mixed fear and anticipation straight to your core. Her head lands in your lap, the light pressure somewhat grounding you back to the present. You couldn't ignore the slight flashes of other pirates, the ones that kidnapped you, and their rough, calloused hands all over you. But Rio's touch is different, her fingers are slenderer and thinner as she splays them across your stomach, under your shirt. Rio was always cold, but not in personality, more like body temperature.

Every time you made contact with her, she was colder, sometimes just as cold as the depths of the ocean you lived in. Rio plopped her head into your lap, brown hair splaying around her like an angel. While most of the time it was kept somewhat nice, at night Rio’s hair was a complete mess.

Agatha stirs next to you, turning over to face you, but her eyes are still closed. Her body presses up against yours beneath the sheets in way that should be confining, should make you feel more stifled, but it doesn't. Instead, like Rio, she helps you stay in the present moment.

"What's going on?" she murmurs, eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbones as her blue eyes open. They're a striking blue that reminds you of the ocean and even though you can't drown, you could in her eyes. The blue irises lure you in, pulling you closer and closer until she hooks you. You were already hooked. You have been for a while now.

Twisting in your lap, Rio presses her face into your stomach, her lips finding your skin as she softly presses a kiss there. Her lips linger and she sucks lightly before murmuring, "Our little siren had a bad dream."

The other woman hums lightly, and she scooches closer. Rio's lips, plush and dark plum-colored lips trailing along the soft skin of your stomach, sending welcome shivers down your spine and heat straight to your core that coiled there tightly and rested low in your body. Ears flicking under their touch, you lean back against the wall of the ship. The soft rocking of the waves echo through the wood, eyes fluttering shut, as you listen to the light crashing of water on wood.

Rio trails up your stomach, sitting up as she climbs higher and higher, pushing your shirt up in the process. You can hear Agatha exhale slowly and can practically see her eye roll. Eventually, your shirt is tugged off your head and tossed to the floor. Rio's weight settles in your lap, her thighs resting on either side of your hips. Her hands find your shoulders and she pushed you further back as she leans down to press her lips to your neck.

You can’t deny the arousal the pools between your thighs, a warm and slightly sticky reminder.  You can feel some of the worries of the day disappearing, and it helps.

At first, the touch is reverent, almost a silent worship, as if she is scared to harm you in your fragile state of mind. But Rio never did care for your mental state, and her kisses became more insistent, firmer. Her teeth graze your skin before she nips at it, tugging it between the canines and sucking. You go limp beneath her, surrendering to her touch. This type of thing has become familiar over the past...you're not sure how long. However long it's been since you were taken from them.

Night terrors would leave you writhing in bed as you screamed, and the sheets tangled into your frantically kicking legs. It only took a couple nights of that before Agatha and Rio dragged you into their bed, squishing you between them. It was stifling for the first few moments, too much, and you struggled, but then it quickly became a comfort.

Some nights, if you're lucky, Agatha will sit up, pulling your head into her lap. Her fingers would card through your hair, nails lightly scratching as the other hand would trace delicate patterns on your arms in smooth, calming movements. Then Rio would curl up behind you, her arm wrapped your waist and fingers splayed over your stomach possessively.

But tonight was not one of those nights. It was a night where Rio thought the best way to help was through distraction. It did help, but her touch also seared and burned and left you a writhing, gasping mess. Her lips found your pulse point, pressing down before she bit, hard.

You gasp, arching into her touch and hips bucking beneath her. The brunette chuckles into your neck, the sound vibrating along your skin as her hands tickle your sides, fingers lightly dancing along the sensitive skin. Her lips leave a trail of wet, lip shaped marks, soft purple bruises already blossoming. Rio loved to stake her claim on you, as did Agatha, but Rio found it enjoyable to watch you squirm as the crew stared at your marks.

You had grown used to the staring, but your cheeks would still flush what Agatha called a pretty pink and the two of them relished in the sight. Licking a long stripe up the column of your throat, Rio paused near your ear, "Let me make you feel good," she murmured, "You're such a sweet little thing." Despite her words, you didn't really have a choice. Agatha did though and she wasn't in the mood for Rio's shenanigans. The blue-eyed woman grabs the back of Rio's shirt, yanking her away.

Moonlight shines softly through the window, a sign that the night is at it's peak. Clearly, Agatha wasn't willing to be kept awake because Rio wanted to have some fun. Rio yelped, a pout coming to cover her lips as she was pulled back and thrown to the foot of the bed.

"Aggie," she whined, kicking her feet petulantly. Her arms crossed over her chest, "I just wanna have some fun." Her brown eyes were wide and pleading, desperate for attention. Agatha had the final say though, and her answer was no. That much was clear based on the scathing look she gave Rio.

Agatha tugged you down next to her, strong muscular arms wrapping around your still trembling and shirtless frame. She held you close, her body a warm, firm presence. Chin resting atop yours she hummed a soft tune, evidence of her good mood, even though she was snappy with Rio. She doesn’t dignify the other woman with a response.

"Rest, my sweet." Her hands stroked your hair, "It will be better when you wake up."

Curling into her you let your arms wrap around her form and dig into her shirt before your eyes start to flutter shut and your breathing evens out. Rio waits for a few, stubborn moments before shimming into the space between you and the wall, wrapping her body around you protectively.

^_____________^

An excited buzz ran through you, igniting your veins on fire as you stood in front of Agatha. Your entire body was bare aside from a pair of panties and a bra. Both items of the clothing faintly smelled of Rio, her flowery scent lingering in the air and easily detected through your sharp nose. It wasn't as pungent as when you first met her, but whether it was muted, or you were just used to it was unknow to you. Agatha circled you like a shark, her steps slow and graceful, sharp and musky scent filling your nostrils.

She pauses in front of you, blue eyes calculating and taking in your entire form. You felt so small under her stare - like a bug pinned down by its wings and forced to be in place as it was studied. Humming softly in approval, a sound that made warmth spread through your cold, bare form, Agatha tilts her head.

"What are the rules?" Her tone is calm, but firm, demanding a clear answer immediately.

Inhaling slowly for a moment, you reply in a slightly shaky voice, "Stay by your side at all times, don't run off, don't talk to people I don't know." Licking your lips, you furrow your brows, thinking that's all, but you know something was missing.

"And?" Agatha's tone holds a note of impatience, also a gentle guidance as she presses you for the final rule. It clicks in your head.

"Listen. If I fail to follow any of the rules I will be punished." Your voice lost its tremble as you repeated the final stipulation to her.

Agatha reached out a finger, tracing your cheek with her pointed nail, "Good girl," she praised, the words sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Her fingers lingered along your cheek, trailing down to your jawline before curling underneath your chin. Tilting your chin up, Agatha pressed a soft kiss on your lips, "Get dressed," she murmured against your tender lips, swollen from last night.

You hurry to do as she says, slipping on a pretty sundress that was picked out by Agatha. It fits your frame perfectly, revealing some, but not to much. Lately the two of them had taken to choosing your clothing for the day, and once they had you walk around in nothing but your undergarments. Although, the crew was on shore that day, leaving just you with the two women.

But today, if you were able to follow the rules, you would be allowed on land again. It both frightened and exhilarated you at the same time. You longed to be on soldi ground again, not just the ship that was constantly swaying back and forth.

Rio enters in the moment, her grin sharp and catlike as her brown eyes twinkle with amusement. She saunters up to you, her steps light, almost skipping and she stops right in front of you. Tilting her head, Rio's smile widens, eyes scanning over your new outfit.

"You look pretty, pececito," she purred. A single, slender finger trailed down your bare arm, the touch feathery light and Rio giggled a little, at your flushed face, "Are you ready for our little-" she paused, licking her lips and meeting your eyes, finger curling under the strap of your dress, "adventure?"

A few months ago, you never would've smiled at her words and close proximity, but now you did. Returning with her look with a soft smile of your own. You nodded eagerly, bouncing on your toes slightly.

"Where are we going?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question, tilting your own head to match Rio's gesture.

Her eyes twinkle and she taps your nose, "That's a surprise."

She wastes no time in grabbing your hand, ignoring Agatha's exasperated sigh. Rio drags you up to the deck, exposing you to the sun that shone brightly. Blinking at the sudden harsh light, you stumble over your own two feet as Rio guides you off the ship. Per usual, her hands were unusually cold, but you found yourself to desire the cold touch. It reminded you of home.

Seagulls cawed above you, circling for any spare food that humans would give them, and feasting off the small fish and crabs. Laughter caught your ear, craning your head, you saw children running along the beach. Their arms flailed as they sprinted away from each other, screeching and giggling from pure enjoyment. The sight of them sent a sharp pain to your heart and you were reminded of your younger sister, who could be thriving. You wondered if she missed you, if she wondered where you were.

Agatha didn't let you dwell on your thoughts because she caught up to you and Rio, her arms wrapping securely around your waist. Rio huffed, annoyed that Agatha was forcing her to slow down, but she grinned when the other woman nipped on your earlobe.

"Do you recognize this place, hun?" She whispered against the shell of your ear, her words husky and low. They sent a fresh shiver down your spine and you shuddered beneath her grip. For a long moment, you didn't say anything, merely melting into her touch, but then she nipped at your skin sharply - a warning.

Breath catching in your throat, you forced yourself to glance around. Tall buildings, built with ceramic bricks and towering over you lined the shores. Small little alleyways sat between them, but despite the size, they bustled with activity. People flooded in and out, shopping at the popup stalls that were set up there. Your eyes narrowed as the scene began to look familiar. Your gaze drifted towards the sea once again, wind blowing some sand onto your feet and ruffling your dress.

Eventually, you murmur a soft, "No."

Agatha chuckles, vibrations running through you, "This is where you first tried to run away." She reminded, her fingers curling round your waist tighter, "Do you remember? You ran so fast for being so new to your legs and the pure desperation on your face."

She laughs lightly, making eye contact with Rio who watches with a silent smirk. "You actually thought you could run," Agatha taunted, "But aren't you glad you didn't?"

A few months  ago, you would've minded. But Agatha's arms were wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping you there, even though her nails dug into your skin. Her chin rested on your shoulder, warm breath fanning your skin as she inhaled your scent. Rio stood across from the two of you, one hand on her hip as a coy smile played on her lips. And instead of saying some sharp retort back, some spark of defiance, you only respond with compliance.

"Yes," you agree, hands coming up to land on hers. Agatha's lips tickled your neck once again.

"That's my sweet girl," she praised, her tone heavy with appreciation.

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