#like what the fuck do i say when she messages me again?

[fragilefawn333]

boarding school ⟡

f!arcane characters x f!reader - girl’s boarding school AU- hall-monitor caitlyn, straight-A student mel, athletic vi, rebel jinx, teacher cassandra x fem!reader (fluff and kissing)

cw; kissing w/o explicit permission, weed, teacher/student. also i wrote this instead of sleeping in the middle of the night so! (3k words)

Caitlyn - Caught  

Smoke spills from plush-lips, curling into cold air. The stall-room’s door is scribbled and graffitied; etched with phone numbers and corny messages. You shuffle on the edge of the lid, allowing bitter tobacco to hit your throat again - exhaling the scent into the girl’s bathroom. You’re halfway through a particularly thrilling daydream when a knock at the door startles you into the world. Stubbing the cigarette on the toilet, you call out to the intruder;

“I’m pissing, leave me alone.”

An extremely annoying, posh and very familiar accent rings off the tiles;

“No you’re not, I can see the smoke. No smoking in the girl’s toilets. Come out.”

You stand up, flushing the toilet for dramatics, and unlock the stall door. Deep-blue eyes, framed by furrowed, pissed off brows, stare back at you.

“Hello, Kitty-Cait,”

She frowns at the nickname, and you shoot a sickly-sweet glance at her, sing-song voice. Before shoving past her and turning on the tap (again, dramatics - got to sell it.) She glares at you through the mirror, towering behind you as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s two misdemeanours, you know; one for smoking and two for missing class.” She clicks her tongue, face shifting into a half-smile, “And I’m pretty sure that makes your third offence of the week. Which adds up to an hours detention.”

“I told you. I was using the bathroom. Is that a crime?” You shut off the tap, turning to face her.

“Ok, where’s your toilet pass?” She persists. God, she’s so annoying. With her dark, shiny hair always in that tight-ass ponytail and her pink, glossed lips. For a minute, you catch yourself wondering how soft they are — but you shake that thought out of your head. She’s annoying, that’s it.

You rolls your eyes, and press your own lips together. “Fine. Write me up.”

“I could,” Something shifts in her tone, and she smirks — flashing gap-toothed smile, “Or, you could do me a favour. And I might - forget - about it.”

“Favour?” You scoff, “Like what?”

“Kiss me.” She says, and your eyes widen. What?!

You stutter, trying to find the right words to say — yet they all get caught in your throat. Finally, you swallow your surprise, “Fine.” And she smiles.

She saunters towards you, until you’re caught between her and the wall between the sinks. Glancing down between her impossible long, dark and perfect lashes - lips parting slightly.

Caitlyn closes the gap, albeit hesitant, and presses her lips against yours. The bitterness aftertaste of tobacco and the sweetness of her strawberry lipgloss intertwines as her tongue finds your mouth. Long fingers find your nape, pulling you closer as warmth engulfs you — contrasting the cold tiles of the walls sticking to the back of your knees.

Eventually, Caitlyn pulls back, lips swollen and panting. She smiles another toothy-dopey smile into your flushed pink cheeks, before pushing back. Straightening her uniform and tightening the ribbon at the back of her head, Caitlyn turns on her heel. You stare after her, wanting to say something — anything. But the kiss has left you half-dazed and your thoughts too much to collect and make sense of.

Caitlyn glances back at you, still pushed against the wall and dizzy.

“Don’t let me catch you again. I might not be as — lenient,” She giggles, licking your taste off her lips and skipping out of the bathroom. Leaving you unable to do anything then gape after her because, goddamn, her lips are soft.

Mel - Copy-cat

Ticking echoes through the room. The old clock nailed to the peeling wallpaper a reminder of the thirty minutes you’ve spent doing fuck-all. Shit, you really wished you had studied longer. Last night feels so long away as you mentally curse your past, sleepy self for making excuses rather than picking up the textbook. You told yourself that this was nothing but a mock-exam — not a real test, but now that you’re sitting in the exam room, it feels real.

You find yourself still making excuses, telling yourself you can’t focus because of the unrelenting clock or the constant coughing in the far end of the room. Even though it’s not true, you can’t put pen to paper because you have no clue what to write. Meaning you are going to fail, again.

A quick glance around the room and you feel even worse, as everyone else seems to be completely fine — especially your desk-neighbour. Typical, straight-A student Mel Medarda is scribbling away, already questions deep into her paper. From your position next to her, you can make out some words. In pure desperation, you find yourself leaning ever-so closer.

You check on the teacher, finding him engrossed in his book, you out of sight at the back of the classroom. Ok, you can do this — just a few answers.

Your eyes flicker to the sheet of paper again, catching a few words and writing them down. Back to the teacher, who is still distracted. And back again to her paper, lingering too long on her long, delicate fingers, tipped with manicured nails. Her wrist is adorned with golden bracelets, travelling down to her knuckles — where equally beautiful, and expensive, rings are. Her arms are bare, allowing your eyes to greedily run over her exposed skin. To where the push of her shoulder blades forces a hollow in the material of her shirt. To her hazel eyes, flecked in gold — staring right at you. Fuck.

She stares at you, eyes wandering from yours to her paper to your paper. Pieces of hair frame her face as she turns it back to you, gold clasps keeping it twisted together glowing against her dark-skin. Honeyed voice spills from plump lips as she whispers;

“What are you doing?”

You just shrug, stupidly. Too entranced by her presence, her eyes on yours, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Shuffling back a bit to your seat, making it look like you’re not obviously copying off her work. Mel gapes, opening her mouth again and huffing at your lack of response.

“Are you copying me?”

Now that prompts a response. You almost jump out of your skin at her words. Failing class is one thing, but pissing off one of the richest pupils in the school will have your head on a spike. You filter through your mind; searching for something to absolve you of your crime. You falter, and your body acts on its own, lunging forwards until your lips meet hers — this will keep her quiet, surely.

She tastes like mint, her lips tender as she lets out a muffled squeak. For some reason, she doesn’t fight nor pull away. Instead, her lips turn upward and when you pull away, she’s smiling? You exhale shakily;

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Mel laughs, in a way that is so angelic you forget to breathe for a second, before slamming her hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself. She murmurs, voice low;

“I was going to ask if you needed some help.” She flashes white teeth, nibbling on the end of her pen, “I tutor, and you’re cute, so I wouldn’t mind.”

You turn crimson, nodding fervently — still embarrassed you kissed her in the middle of class. She chuckles again, quietly this time and tells you to meet her after class. The taste of mint still lingers at your lips.

Vi - Locker-room

The faint smell of sweat and Victoria Secret perfume resides in the locker-room. You sit on the edge of the bench pushed to a corner, nursing a large scrape on your knee. Diving to catch the ball was a stupid idea, especially considering you did it to impress a girl who barely looked your way.

You take the wet paper-towel and try to clean up remaining blood, stuck to skin and wound. The pain comes in sharp waves radiating from the scraped knee, and you are so absorbed in fighting the urge to cry you barely notice the door swinging open. Strong scent of spicy aftershave spills into the room, burning at already tear-struck eyes. The plastic bench dips slightly at the weight shuffling next to you. You peel your gaze away from stained towel and to your right, only to be met with grey-eyes. A hiccup escapes your lips, and you tense as a calloused finger wipes away wet cheeks.

“Vi?”

Vi grins, a hum of confirmation. She grabs a small piece of hair cascading down your face and moves it behind your ear.

“I came to see if you were okay. That looked nasty.”

She cocks her head towards your injured knee, red hair brushing over her shoulder. Before you can register her movement, she reaches out and takes the soaked paper from between your fingers. Vi wrings it out slightly, moving to place it back to your knee — inspecting the cut. She lets out a puff of air and furrows her brows. She’s so close to you, that you can feel the heat radiating off her body — it lulls you into a comforting daze. A sudden pang of embarrassment radiates in your chest, becoming increasingly aware of your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. Reluctantly, you pull away from Vi’s soothing presence.

Vi notices the shift in your attitude, raising an eyebrow and meeting your face. “Everything ok?”

You nod, rubbing the last of your sobs away with the back of your sleeve. “Just… hurts a bit, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Vi chews at her bottom lip, pink-tongue darting out to wet parted mouth. “This might seem silly, but it used to help my sister,” she leans towards you — an unspoken ask for permission. You nod.

She bows her head to meet your knee, now clean from grime and dried-blood. Pressing chapped lips against the gash. It stings a bit, and you jerk back subconsciously. Yet, the warmth of Vi’s lips and the tenderness of which she kissed your injury makes up for the small pain. She smiles up to you, eyes kind and touch soft. “Still hurt?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pondering her question. It hurts less after being cleaned, but the feeling of her lips on your skin lingers — and you want more. You nod your head. “Maybe again?”

Vi laughs at that, leaning back down to kiss the graze again. However, the break of contact is only momentary as her mouth meets your leg again, only this time slightly higher up. Your breath hitches as her fingertips follow the path of her mouth, up to rest on your cheek.

“Still hurt?” She asks again, only this time you shake your head. Looking into powder-blue eyes, you lean into her palm rubbing circles into your skin. There’s only inches of space between you, making your heart thrum as you run your tongue against blunt teeth. It takes a second, but eventually she closes the gap — capturing your lips with hers. The kiss is rough, less soft than the one to your knee. Vi pushes you against the wall of the locker-room, and you palm at her shoulders, her biceps sculpted under your hand. You pull away to breathe, inhaling deeply — the scents of the locker room filling your lungs.

The door bursts open again, and the rest of the class rushes through, ready to change and get on with the day.

Jinx - Rule-breaker

You shift in your bed, turning to face Jinx’s side of the dorm. Moonlight bleeds through open window, shining into the room and creating patterns on wooden floor. You slip out from underneath the sheets, socks padding on planks as you move to the open window.

Perched on the windowsill, Jinx rests back against the wall. Joint wrapped gently around lips, you watch as she breathes slowly, stomach growing taunt with each breath.

“Is that… weed?”

You hesitate, fingers reaching out to hold the support of the window. Jinx giggles, taking another inhale and holding the smoke in her lungs. You swallow, stomach fluttering at way she sits so relaxed. Her abdomen bare as her shirt folds above her ribs.

“That’s against the rules. If you get caught — you could get kicked out,”

Jinx rolls her eyes, slumping back to the wall. “You’re so whiny, loosen up a bit.”

She pats the sill next to her, beckoning you to sit next to her. You shuffle opposite to her, leaning back and watching as her nimble fingers take the blunt from her own mouth and holds it in-front of yours. She raises an eyebrow questioningly, cocking her head — daring you.

You turn your head to stare at the flickering lights of the other dorms. And Jinx huffs, pulling the blunt away and to her own lips. You exhale sharply at the sight of her cheeks hallowing, her mouth puckering around the edge of the rolled paper.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

She sticks her tongue out mockingly, waving the blunt around. Mischievous round-eyes meet yours, and you flush — turning back again to the light dotted around the building, like man-made constellations twinkling against darkness. You feel her feet prod at your legs curled up to your chest. Her nails are chipped blues-and-pinks, another rule-broken.

She finishes the joint, flicking the butt out of the window. Blue-braids cascade down thin shoulders as she leans forward. She takes a painted nail and drags it down your sternum, feeling the way your heart thrums against the skin. “What am I going to do with you?” She whispers into rosy-cheeks.

Jinx is the definition of insolent. A risk-taker, adrenaline-junky. Doing things for the sake of it and not really caring for consequence. She raises slender fingers to your face, dragging it down lips, watching as they part at the feeling of her caresses.

“I would ask if I could kiss you, but it’s against the rules. And I know how you love to follow orders.”

You swallow your anxiety, the intimate tension creating a lump at the back of your throat. You glance down to her lips, swollen with bites and small cracks. They’re cherry-red, flushed with blood as she drags her tongue along the bottom.

“Do it.”

Jinx smiles, brushing her nose against yours. She presses herself to you, and you can taste the faint-weed on her tongue. She kisses like she’s hungry, always been hungry and it feels amazing when you let her have you. You take your hands and hold her cheeks, running your thumb in soothing circles. Your noses brush together again as she moves her head.

Teeth scrape against rough skin, and a raspy chuckle vibrates through your mouth as Jinx laughs. You pull back, staring into ocean-blue eyes — watching as they glimmer under the shine of the industrial galaxy.

Cassandra K - Teacher's pet

You place another textbook onto the pile, shuffling them onto the middle-shelf at the back of the classroom. As you continue collecting the remaining books from the desks, the light shifts as the noon continues. Fragmenting onto the floor, creating patterns at your feet filtering an orange-pink glow through the half-shut blinds.

You decided to stay behind after class, being the one elected (and volunteering) to help your teacher clean up. Ms. Cassandra Kiramman sits at her large, oak desk — pen scratching onto paper as she writes or marks something. Occasionally she looks up, watching as you glide around the classroom, throwing away abandoned paper or cluttered books. The sun catching your face, illuminating features in a soft, dewy haze. You look angelic like this, she thinks.

You’re a good help, a benefit to the class. Always willing to do whatever it takes to secure a good reputation, educated mind. There’s also the added benefit of your teacher being insanely attractive.

You peek over the stack of equipment, pretending you are preoccupied with ‘helping,’ and find that Mrs. Kiramman’s eyes are locked on you. Deep, blue drags over your figure, greedily taking in your form.

She sits, perfectly poised, with contempt superiority. Blazer tight around her arms, and her chest. The navy cotton suits her, frames cerulean eyes and soft, pale skin. It’s a shame that it’s your last year at this school, you’re definitely going to miss this. Her stare, flickering towards you in the middle of a lesson, and the way she calls your name — sweetly spilling from thin, neatly coloured lips.

You put the class-equipment away, smiling at her in a slightly flirtatious manner. “All done?” She chides from the front of the classroom, resting her head on her fist and watching you through half-lidded eyes. You nod, sheepishly making your way to her desk.

“You’re a good girl. Thank you.”

The compliment makes you blush, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. Ms. Kiramman sucks in, hollowing her cheeks, as she pensively stares at you. For a minute, the room is quiet — only the hushed wind and chiming notifications from the computer filling the room. Suddenly, she straightens and examines the window to the hallway. She looks as though she expects someone to burst through the door, but the hallway remains bare, no pupils or teachers alike in sight.

Cassandra beckons you over with her index finger; long and neatly trimmed. Pushing herself from her sitting position, she looks down to your blushing face.

“For your hard work,” she says politely, yet her voice shakes ever-so-slightly.

She leans down, pecking you on the corner of your mouth. You stifle a gasp, holding your breath as your eyes dart to meet hers.

“Uh, thank you,” you manage to squeak out between quickened breaths. “…thank you.”

You raise your hand to touch where her lips just were, heart fluttering at just the recall of light sensation. You barely even notice that she’s back behind her desk, pen in hand and brows knitted together as she continues her work. As though nothing happened.

You feel giddy anyways, turning to leave the classroom. Stepping through the parted shadows, a golden-glow kissing at your face.

[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.

[beloveds-embrace]

I'm sorry, but I'm a big angst lover and i just read the angsty spinoffs of the duchess au. Kinda combining the general Jonny-purposefully-fucks-up-the-food, and the duchess gettin sick Can i ask what would happen if the illness wasn't from the weather but from eating raw food (ex chicken). Assuming she lives, i doubt she will touch Johnny's food again - leaving price with the option of hiring duchess reader a new chef or letting her starve and hope she relents. Anyways, i just wanted to say i love your poly 141 fics, so if you don't feel like writing this ask, it's completely fine. Thank you for all your work in writing!

Thank you sm anon!! 💕🫶🏻

Dukedom masterlist

All I can think about is the abysmal shame Johnny would be feeling. Yes, he served you bad food on purpose but fuck- flat out raw? And in that time period it might as well nearly be a death sentence on its own and they all know it.

John sits at your bedside, his face carved with an unreadable expression. Guilt flickers in his eyes, barely veiled by his usual stoicism, though he says nothing at first. He’s been here for hours, watching over you, but you’ve hardly acknowledged him.

A tray of food rests untouched on the small table near the bed. You haven’t looked at it, haven’t even turned your head in its direction even when it was brought in steaming, and the silence stretches thin and sharp between you.

“Duchess,” John finally says, his voice a low sigh. “You’ve got to eat. You won’t recover if you don’t.”

You shift your gaze to him, dull and tired. For a long moment, you just stare, your chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing. When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse, almost as numb as you feel.

“I’m not eating anything from Johnny.”

The bluntness of your words lands like a physical blow. John straightens slightly, brows furrowing.

“You don’t mean that,” he starts, his tone more defensive than he intends. “He-“

You interrupt him, your voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“He served me raw food, John. And none of you noticed. None of you cared.” Your tone is flat, devoid of anger or venom, but it’s the emptiness behind it that makes his chest tighten. “I got sick because of him, and not one of you thought to check on me until I couldn’t get out of bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, to defend, but the words die before they reach his tongue. Because you’re right, of course.

“I won’t eat anything from him, not anymore,” you repeat, your gaze falling away from him and back to the ceiling. “Or from the chefs in this manor. I don’t trust any of you to care enough to make sure I’m not poisoned again.”

“Poisoned- ?” John recoils slightly, faltering.

You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound scraping against your raw throat painfully. “What else would you call it? Carelessness? Neglect?”

The silence that follows is suffocating, just as you’d hoped it’d be. John leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw, guilt now a tangible weight pressing down on him. He knows you’re justified- knows that your trust, fragile as it was, has been shattered by their collective apathy.

“I’ll… I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he mutters eventually, the words heavy with shame. “I’ll handle your meals myself if that’s what it takes.”

You don’t respond beyond a derisive huff, don’t even spare him a glance. You’re too tired. His promises feel like empty air now, incapable of undoing the hurt and mistrust that has settled deep in your bones and now landed you sick in this cold bed.

All you can do is close your eyes, shutting him out, and hope he gets the message.

Johnny stands just outside the cracked door, his back pressed against the wall as your words seep into the hallway like a cold wind. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop- at least, that’s what he tells himself- but when he heard John’s voice through the door, something made him pause.

And now he wishes he hadn’t.

Every word cuts deeper than he thought possible. The way you said his name- not with anger, but with the hollow finality of someone who has already given up- makes his stomach churn. You don’t trust him.

He can’t even blame you. He made- a terrible mistake. An unforgivable one. His parents would likely never forgive him if they ever heard of what he’d done.

His hands tremble at his sides, fingers curling into fists. He wants to step in, to apologize, to defend himself, to say it was a mistake- a terrible mistake he regrets more than anything. But what could he possibly say to undo the damage? Nothing.

The knot of guilt in his chest tightens as he hears John try to reassure you, his own voice betraying his shame. Johnny doesn’t wait to hear more. He turns and walks away, each step feeling heavier than the last, his heart pounding with the weight of what he’s done.

How is he meant to ever find pride again in what he does best?

[little-diable]

This distance between us - Dean Winchester (smut)

I think we’d all give a lot for a chance to text with Dean like (y/n) does in this, just saying. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx

Summary: The reader lives in Europe while Dean is in the US, but that doesn’t stop the two from sharing their longings and needs over text.

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation, sexting

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.7k words)

She had her eyes focused on her phone, lower lip pulled between her teeth. It had been a few days since she’d last heard from him, leaving her to wonder if he was thinking of her at all. Perhaps she’d give it a few more days to see if he’d reach out first, but just the thought of him made (y/n) lose all strength and focus.

There was an ocean resting between them, and yet she craved his closeness as if he had last touched her hours ago. (Y/n) had to clench her thighs together at the mere thought of him, feeling her walls clench around nothing - all while her mind began to paint yet another vivid picture.

God, she needed him as if he was the only thing keeping her sane. She’d do everything for him, no matter what Dean asked of her. It had only been this very morning when she had last touched herself to the thought of him, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle while his name had clawed itself out of her.

With a sound that was torn between a sigh and a whine, (y/n) began to type out her message, hoping that he’d answer. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” - it was a simple message and yet it was enough to get him to reply within a handful of minutes. A grin began to tug on her lips as she read his reply, unable to stop her laugh from leaving her.

“Well, lucky me. What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” For a moment, (y/n) debated turning this into a different direction, not wanting to distract Dean while he was most likely out with Sam. But the anticipation and need thumping through her veins didn’t allow her to steer away from what she was craving.

“Those hands of yours.” God, she loved his hands, just the thought of them pushed her into soaring waves of arousal. Whenever she touched herself to the thought of him, (y/n) imagined his hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the mattress while he fucked her all through the night.

“Mhm, where would you want my hands to touch you?” The message was followed by a picture, forcing her breath to hitch in her chest while she stared at it. Dean was laying on a bed, shirtless with only a pair of sweats on, and his veiny hand was resting on his still covered cock.

(Y/n) shuffled around on her bed, flopping onto her stomach to take a picture. She was wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a shirt, allowing her to snap a picture of her ass before sending it to him with a simple, “Maybe here?”

With an excited giggle, she rolled onto her back, watching the three dots appear as Dean typed out his reply. She tried to ignore the pulsing between her thighs and the feeling of her arousal soaking her panties, wanting to drag this out because she knew that it would most likely take days until they’d text again.

“Fuck. My handprint would look good on that beautiful ass of yours.” (Y/n)’s thumbs hovered over the screen, sinking further into the mattress while she pondered over her reply. She put the phone down next to her as she pulled her shirt over her head to snap a picture of her chest. She covered most parts of her breasts with her arms, set on teasing Dean for a bit longer before he’d see more of her.

“I want to feel your hands on them as well.” Was he already touching himself? Was he fisting his cock while he typed out his reply? (Y/n) couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking of, craving to hear those thoughts she prayed she was a part of.

“God damn, sweetheart. What other things would you want me to do?” Another picture found its way to her, Dean was no longer wearing his sweats, only his underwear was now covering his hardening cock, perfectly showing off his outline.

“Tell me first what you would want to do to me.” She had to hold back a giggle, loving to toy with Dean while she could almost hear the frustrated groan leaving him.

“I’d bring you to your knees and fill every inch of your throat. Let you choke on me until your eyes water.” (Y/n) felt heat crawl all the way up to her cheeks at his text. She had lost count on the amount of times where she had imagined this happening, wanting to kneel for him while she sucked him off, all to hear those raspy sounds of his.

Before she could find the right words to reply with, he had texted her again, “Touch yourself, sweetheart. I want to hear those pretty moans you always make for me.”

Her fingers found their way to her heat, feeling her arousal sticking to her inner thighs as she pulled her damp panties down her legs. With trembling digits she began to rub her pulsing bundle while she pressed down on the screen to record a voice message.

“Dean, fuck,” a whimper left her, followed by a breathy moan. “I wish you were here with me, I need to feel you.”

Dean instantly listened to the voice message, making her stare at the screen in anticipation. Her fingers kept moving, not daring to use too much pressure just yet.

“I don’t think you’re ready for the things I’d do to you. But you’d look so pretty riding me, while I get my hands all over your perfect tits and watch the look on your face when you feel how deep I go.” The words were followed by a raspy moan, telling (y/n) that he was also touching himself. She felt empty, needing to be stuffed by his cock while taking every inch, slowly adjusting to him as her glassy eyes would stare up at his handsome face.

Thousands of miles away, Dean struggled with similar thoughts. He’d give a lot to have (y/n) close, wanting to spend every second with her while fucking her whenever she was aching for him. He fucked his hand to the thoughts of what he’d do to her almost daily, chasing one orgasm after another with his mind set on her.

Dean kept stroking his cock, using just enough pressure to let his head roll back for a second, eyes fluttering close. (Y/n) made him want to do unspeakable things to her, things that made him hard at the mere thought of them. She was perfect, everything he needed in his life if it weren’t for the distance currently resting between them.

“I bet your fingers would feel so much better than mine, Dean. Fuck, I need you inside of me, please.” The breathy “please” she spoke almost tipped him over the edge, high on the way (y/n) begged for his touch. He knew that he’d stretch her all too well, forcing whines and gasps out of her as she took every inch of him.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, knowing that she was all about the raspiness of his voice, “you’d feel so perfect wrapped around me, taking my cock like you were made for me.”

Another throaty moan left Dean as his hand moved faster, picturing her on top of him with those perfect tits he needed to bury his head in before fucking them. Dean knew that (y/n) would allow him to use her in any way he was craving, a toy to use for those moments where his arousal would swap through him like high waves of the icy ocean set on drowning every doubt lingering inside his mind. She was his risk, a risk he was all too willing to take if it meant he’d eventually have her by his side.

A video was sent as her reply, making his mouth grow dry. He opened it, hearing her whimpers and the wet sounds her touch made as she fucked herself with her fingers. The video didn’t show much, but the movement of her fingers was enough for Dean to imagine them to be his own. He’d take his time, drag out every moment to make her forget her own name.

Without thinking twice, Dean recorded a few seconds of him stroking his cock, showing off the veins she’d trace with her tongue, the inches she’d struggle to take with her lips wrapped around him. His cock twitched, knowing that he was close to painting his hand white with his cum while her name would roll off of his tongue.

(Y/n) was just as close, whining his name with her eyes focused on the video she kept playing again and again. His veiny hand looked perfect wrapped around that pretty cock of his, guided by those sounds that made her lose her focus. Her walls fluttered around her fingers, clenching them as her orgasm began to clash through her.

She sent one last voice message, repeating his name over and over again before a high pitched moan left her. Her orgasm was violent, shaking through her body as if it was set on getting her to pass out. Dean replied with a similar voice message, letting go of a few raspy fucks before he came with a groan, dragging out his orgasm while his hand kept pumping his cock.

Both were heavily panting, imagining the other resting on the mattress next to them to take care of one another. (Y/n) gave it a few moments before she began to type another message with shaking fingers, “I hope we’ll get to do this in person soon. I hate the distance between us.”

“We will, sweetheart. You know I’d move heaven and hell for you.”

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

This takes place after the Cancun fic :3 MDNI, explicit mentions of sex.

—

“Then my manager said I’m not allowed to do any more song writing for the album because I already have 14 tracks and that’s ‘a lot’ for an album apparently…”

“He’s acting like he couldn’t just make deluxe albums.”

“Thank you!”

You let out a huff as you brought up your water to your lips, watching your hairstylist pull away from your hair for a second to let you sip on the drink.

“He’s always telling you something, I think it’s because you’re his youngest client. He probably sees you like a daughter.” Jessica spoke, making you hum as you closed your bottle and put it back on the counter.

“Probably.” You shrugged as she went to turn the chair slightly as she resumed her work.

“Oh how was your vacation?” The question from the hairdresser had made Miguel tense up in his seat on the other side of the private salon room. Eyes immediately start to stare at the back of your head through his sunglasses as if trying to mind read your answer before you said it.

The Cancun trip.

You both haven’t discussed it, not to Miguel’s lack of trying. He wasn’t expecting you to be so dead set on the whole ‘we never speak about this again’ thing. He didn’t say a word during the rest of the trip. But the second you were back in your penthouse, he attempted to bring it up when helping you unpack, but the second you understood where the conversation was going, you’d simply walk out of the room.

You continued to do so each time he tried to bring up the heavy conversation, you simply walked out of the room each time. After the 4th or 5th time he finally got the message, that you were serious about never bringing it up again. So he dropped it.

“It was good.” You said curtly, making Jess roll her eyes at the vague answer.

“Just ‘good’? What are the details! You’re always telling me all the deets after a vacation, what no hot guys catch your eyes at the clubs?” She pushed the subject, making you let out a playful huff of air.

“Well…” Miguel forced his eyes on his phone again, but his ears stayed focused on your voice. “There was someone… I didn’t catch his name.” You half lied, eyes wandering to the ceiling as Jess began to sweep up the clipped hair from the floor. “We hooked up after the club.”

“Was he good?” You could heard the smirk in her voice as she asked the question.

Good? I think he ruined me for all other men.

“It was okay.”

Okay!? Miguel couldn’t help but scowl as you said those three words. Just okay? You were losing your goddamn mind on my-

“He was big though.” You added. Making Jess snort, not noticing the way you made eye contact with Miguel in the mirror.

Despite the nonchalant look on your face, something in your eyes was telling him you were downplaying it for the sake of it. You weren’t going to rave about the man like he wasn’t 10 feet away from him. Still part of him wanted you too.

Fuck yeah I am.

—

Taglist: @ladysimp @juneonhoth @Tatatida @auro-a @Avis15 (join taglist)

[funnier-as-a-system]

Hey, um... This ain't exactly.. An easy thing to say but, uh..

.._I SCARED OFF MY HEADMATES._

I JUST REFERRED TO THEM AS "THE VOICES" BECAUSE. WELL. I DIDN'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THIS STUFF THEN!! AND ALWAYS DISREGARDED THEM WHENEVER THEY SPOKE [THEY ARGUES A WHOLE LOT. LITERALLY COULDN'T DO ANY WORK FROM THE SOUNDS OF 0NI, D AND COMPLEXITY ARGUING ALL THE TIME-]

Ok.. Calm calm.....

So. I never ever listened to them and sometimes also arguing with them tried my best to ignore them.. Yelling "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" repeatedly usually got them to... Well, _shut up._

But just. We had another argument together. After _STARSCREAM_[don't even ask me how she got in here I don't fucking know] decided to act all mighty and shit another yelling match started that I just.. Couldn't take it anymore.. I had some.. Uhm, "quite the words" to say the least. They silenced for the day after that..

And then the next morning they just.. Weren't there when I woke up. At first I was, well, glad! It was finally quite for once! I could do things that normal people did! But uh.. After the second day it was far too quiet for my liking.. And.. It's been a month now. It's still too quiet.. Starscream[why HIM instead of others I have no idea] came back for 20 minutes a week ago.. I was glad to have at least SOMEONE back but she went away again..

I learned about this whole "system" stuff thanks to a follower saying "oh this is such a funny post as a system!" on a reblog I've done. --Which led me here. I've been... _Learning_ the past few days.. And. Well. Things really do fit me well and.. I'm not sure if I hate that or not...

I.. The reason for this _ask_ is because.. I wanted to know if others had this.. Well, "_experience_" too? Like.. I.. I miss them, alright? It suddenly went from 7 to 1 in here and it's far too quiete!!! I just.. I wanted to know if there was possibly a way to bring them back..?

I understand if this isn't the way to go for this typa stuff but... I.. I really don't know _where else_ there is.

Welp. Thanks for.. Having this account and all I suppose. Were a real help in things and, the posts are quite funny as well..! [Sigh..]

- @blog-bites-eats-u-violently

Hey, there. It sounds like you've been having a rough time lately. You have my sympathies for that. I won't give too much advice on this situation you're in – I don't feel equipped to do that – but you're not alone in this experience, anon. We went through a very similar situation a few years back, actually.

At the time, we'd just recently made our then-host (as in, the headmate who was our host at the time) aware that they had others in their head, that they were part of a system. We had... a rough few months after that, filled with fear and doubt. And at one point, our then-host became overwhelmed, and ended up driving away the headmates who were talking to them.

The silence lasted for about two days before another headmate of ours stepped up to talk to our then-host, helping them work through their issues and reconnect with those they'd run off. From what they can remember of the event, it was mostly a matter of mentally "reaching out" – consciously trying to connect to the ones they'd driven off so they could apologize. None of us are sure how it worked – best we've got is that we've always visualized our communication difficulties as walls that we have to get our internal communication/messages past – but it did, and we're all chill now on that front.

So, yes, others have had this experience before, and your headmates will likely come back to talk to you again. I can't promise anything, but if my-our story is anything to go off of, even situations like this can be recoverable. It just may take a while for all the hurt to be worked out.

[poopybaby3th]

Can I call you tonight?

I’m lying in bed, restless, not getting a wink of sleep because I’m thinking of my partner. Well, she’s not really my partner yet, is she? She’s just a work partner—and my best friend at that. I glance over at my alarm to check the time: 3:27 a.m. I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to wake her up. I toss and turn, sighing and groaning until I look at the clock again. 3:32 a.m.

Fuck.

I stumble over the thought of texting her to see if she’s awake. I know she has trouble sleeping sometimes too. Finally, I pick up my phone and send a message to Arden.

"Hey, you awake?" Message sent.

The last time she was online was four hours ago. I set my phone back on the nightstand and start fidgeting with my ring—the one Arden gave me. She has the same one. She gave it to me so I’d stop bouncing my leg all the time, and it worked. Now, whenever we’re sitting in the car together, waiting on a bounty, we both end up fidgeting with our rings. She calls us "ADHD besties."

My expression darkens for a moment when I think about that label. Is that all we are? Best friends? Nothing more, right?

While my thoughts wander back to Arden, my phone vibrates. My heart skips a beat when I see her reply:

"Yeah, what’s up? Can’t sleep?"

Instead of texting her back, I hit the call button.

“Hey, dork,” she says, her voice warm and teasing.

I huff, amused. “Hey, Arden.”

I hear her shifting in bed. “So, what’s up?”

I lean back, setting the phone beside me on speaker. “I could ask you the same thing,” I reply slyly.

“True. How about this: I’ll tell you what’s keeping me awake if you tell me what’s keeping you awake,” she offers.

I yawn. “Sounds like a deal.”

She yawns back. “Alright, you first.”

I scoff. “Why do I have to go first? I’m the one gracing you with my presence—you should go first.”

Arden makes a disapproving noise. “I asked you first, so you should go first.”

I glare at the ceiling, stubbornly refusing to give in. After a moment, I sigh. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

My heart pounds as I try to muster up the courage. “I’m thinking about you.”

Arden hums. “Okay, and?”

“You’re keeping me awake.”

“Yeah, because we’re calling.”

“No, Arden. I was thinking about you even before we were on the phone. You’re the reason I’m awake.”

“Huh…” She goes quiet. I think I broke her.

Finally, she speaks again. “Why?” she asks, her tone confused.

“I like thinking about you,” I admit, trying to sound nonchalant.

I hear her mumbling, as if she’s trying to form a coherent sentence.

“I don’t think I understand how you mean that,” she says finally, her voice wavering.

“I mean that I like to think about you… romantically.”

Uncomfortable silence stretches between us, and I decide to break it.

“Arden?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m still here. Just… processing.”

“Do you want me to hang up?”

“No, no, no! Don’t hang up. I’m done processing.” She lets out a sigh—I can’t tell if it’s one of relief or disappointment. “I… I like you too.”

My heart skips several beats. “You like me too?” I ask, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Yeah,” she says softly. I can hear the smile in her voice.

I sit there, grinning like an idiot, before making a decision.

“Okay, screw this—I’m coming over,” I announce.

“COMING OVER?! AT THIS TIME?! WITH YOUR BIKE?! NO WAY. If anyone’s coming over, it’s me,” she protests.

“Nope, I’ll be ready faster. I’ll be fine on my bike.”

“Uh-uh. You are not getting on your bike. I’ll drive to your place.”

I throw on a jacket, slip into my shoes, and grab my keys. “Too late—I’m already dressed. I’m on my way.”

I hear her sigh, amused but resigned. “Okay, but be careful.”

“I always am,” I reply, grinning as I get on my bike. “I’ll keep you on the line so you don’t have to worry.”

The ride to Arden’s place is uneventful, as expected at 3 a.m. The streets are quiet. When I arrive, I raise my hand to knock, but before I can, the door swings open, and Arden practically throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

I wrap my arms around her in return, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

We stay like that for a while before heading inside. Instead of going to the living room, we make our way to her bedroom. It’s late, and we both know we’ll probably fall asleep while talking.

I sit on one side of the bed while she sits on the other, facing me.

“So…” we both start at the same time, then laugh.

“Are we… together now?” I ask, wanting to clarify things.

“I mean, I want us to be together,” she says, nervously. “But if you’re not ready, we can—”

“I love that. Hey, girlfriend,” I interrupt, grinning. “God, I love calling you that.”

I take her face in my hands, looking at her with pure adoration.

“I like when you call me that too,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

We’re both grinning like idiots when I notice her gaze flicker to my lips. I pull her closer.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper, my voice breathless.

Instead of answering, she leans in and presses her lips to mine. The kiss starts out rough and eager but quickly softens into something gentle. Our lips move together, our tongues exploring with curiosity.

After what feels like forever—but also not long enough—we pull apart, breathless.

I yawn, and Arden follows suit.

“We should sleep,” she says, glancing at the clock.

I glance too. 4:24 a.m.

“Yeah, we should,” I agree.

We lie down and pull the blanket over us. I wrap myself around her, letting her use my arm as a pillow.

“Good night, partner,” Arden murmurs sleepily.

“Good night,” I whisper back.

Before I know it, I’m fast asleep, wrapped around the person I feel most comfortable with.

[afyrian]

line seven - cold shoulder m.list

    atsumu sits in the station's break room, legs crossed on another chair as he sips on an espresso. the spike of caffeine is the only thing keeping him awake as he waits patiently for sakusa to get there. ever since his discussion with you, he's wondered what happened to the spark that sakusa seemed to carry. the way he joked with you, talked as if he knew your coffee order and how you made the bed. 

  sakusa sat across from him at the dinner, rather than beside him. he sat next to you, knees touching, hands brushing. and atsumu found himself watching the two of you around work the next day, both acting like you didn't know each other. so, all atsumu can do is wait patiently for sakusa to come and give him the answers he desperately needs and desires.

  he's tried messaging him relentlessly about the situation. 'why was she upset?' 'why didn't you make her happier?' 'what did you do?' atsumu always knew that sakusa wasn't good with getting close to someone. he pulls back and isolates himself so that he can't be hurt. but in the end, atsumu can always tell, he's hurt nonetheless.

  "what are you still doing here?" atsumu is pulled from his thoughts when he looks up to see sakusa standing in the doorway, hand holding a decorated mug.

  he gets up from the chair, tossing his empty cup into the nearby trash can. walking over to sakusa, he peeks out the door and immediately gets to talking, "waiting for you! what happened with y/n? you haven't been answering any of my messages."

  "i haven't been because it's none of your business-"

  "you're my best friend of course it's my business. you two looked like you were having fun, like actual fun! something you never seem to indulge in. and then all of a sudden you're icing her out?" atsumu watches as sakusa sets a pod into the coffee machine, setting his mug below the spout.

  sakusa's jaw tightens and he keeps his eyes on the machine, unable to look at his friend. "we did have fun, but it's nothing more. i'm telling you now, nothing happened. we just had fun for one night and now we're coworkers again," he finally looks over at atsumu, noticing the way he immediately laughs, unbelieving. 

  "you're a fucking liar, sakusa. a fucking liar. 'nothing happened' you do know i know you by now? that i know when you've pulled away?" atsumu meets his gaze, making sure the two of them are on the same level, that they both know how unbelievably scared he is. 

  "what do you want me to say atsumu?"

  "that you'll talk to her, give it a chance. you’ve closed yourself off for far too long and it’s time to actually indulge in your feelings… which i know you have,” he grabs one of the bags of chips off of the counter, popping it open.

  sakusa looks back down at his mug as the coffee finishes flowing. there’s a part of him that knows that atsumu is right. that that night with you made him feel so free to be himself. to talk about things that he normally wouldn’t discuss with just a coworker. and yet he can’t help that bewildering feeling that forces him to back away before it gets too serious. 

  “i’ll try.. if you promise not to say anything else. you speak a word of this to y/n and i’m never going to onigiri miya with you again. and i’ll convince osamu to stop giving you free meals,” sakusa grabs a hold of his mug, listening to atsumu dig into the chips.

  atsumu narrows his eyes and nods, “okay, but if you pull away again, then i’m gonna hound you again. i’ll even shout it to the whole office.”

  rolling his eyes, sakusa gives atsumu a short wave and heads back to your booth. he walks down the same hallway he always walks but there’s an energy to him that he doesn’t normally have. he can feel his legs carrying longer strides, eager to get back to his seat. sakusa’s hands feel jittery, like he’s already had the full cup of coffee. however, he knows it’s because he’s still scared.

  he’s still scared to get to know you, to break down his walls and finally let someone in. it’s terrifying. yet he knows how freeing it could be to finally have someone to love. his hand grabs the door’s handle, a static charge shocking his finger, not helping with how fast his heart was already beating. 

  entering the booth, he looks over to where you typically sit. and there you are, some notes sprawled across the desk as you scroll through your computer’s list of songs. there’s a way you look so intriguing when you’re focused. fingers holding up your head from your temple to your cheek, biting your lip incessantly.

  sakusa almost thought he got out unscathed from looking at you for far too long, however, you quickly look up and meet his gaze. “good morning,” he nods, pursing his lips before heading off into his sound room.

  you let out a short sigh, eyes narrow as you look back at him, “good morning…”

  he wants to pretend like your cold demeanor isn’t his fault. however, sakusa tends to get a moment of clarity after his closures, realizing just how cold he can be towards others. and now, he’s just receiving the same treatment. doesn’t mean that he doesn’t look up at you every few seconds. from the moment you start the show to when you take your first break, sakusa is sure that you can feel his gaze boring into your face.

  much to his dismay, it seems your response to leave the room as quickly as you can, avoiding him at any and all costs. “i have some making up to do…”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@jadeoru @yessimo @lale-txt @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sugacor3

@quikhs @todorokiskitten @mollyrolls @honeyfewr @pookiebearcave

@phoenix-eclipses @madiexuberant @kameyyy @cr4yolaas @asrichin

@bakugouswh0r3 @bakingcuriosity @zazathezaer @diorzs @urslytherin

@ghostreader0307

[jareaulover]

I hate that I can't always tell when people are joking, especially with social media. Like rn one of my husband's family members keeps posting and she seems angry and sad that Taylor Swift was seen with Travis Kelce and she keeps posting complaining about it and she even messaged me upset but I can't tell if she's seriously upset because her point is that if they're together then she can't be with him but like... what were the chances of that before? So I feel like she isn't actually serious but I just can't tell and it's stressing me out.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[girlcrushau]

[knaveofmogadore]

You ever have a customer with a legitimate problem but they're such an asshole that they extinguish the embers of empathy within you with their insolence?

[honeysunchild]

It really hurts when it feels like a friend you considered family gives up on you and the relationship

Like, we could have talked about it, we could have found a solution together, we were each others family remember?! But instead you chose to just give up and cut me out

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[phagodyke]

ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.

[ventingbit]

.