#lining them is out of question I will not

[xazse]

Idk if this is a good request but I just rarely see any Sukuna x hybrid fics 😭. rn I'm imagining Sukuna x fem puppy!hybrid, I feel like he would be very teasing, especially during the reader's heat. But he would also be very attentive and would give the most eye rolling pounding🫣

Tw: Heien Era Sukuna x fem!puppyhybrid + smut + drooling + hybrids + dumb!reader + crying + mean!Sukuna (but also lowkey sweet)

The idea of Four Armed Sukuna with a PuppyHybrid is just so darn cute, he’s like a grumpy old man with you.

You constantly want to be outside exploring, seeing new sights but no, you have to sit with him in this boring throne room as his worshippers bring him gifts. You don’t exactly know why they come everyday at a certain time, and everytime you ask what’s the deal with them he tells you not your little head about it, and just like a dumb little thing you don’t question his motives.

You listen and he commands that’s exactly how he likes it, he won’t have it any other way, you step out of line? He quickly corrects you. That doesn’t mean you exactly like when he yells at you, no of course not, there’s tears decorating your lash line while you try your hardest not to cry. When you cry it’s so awkward for him, he really doesn’t think he’s being hard on you at all, but years of nothing but destruction makes you grow a hard shell.

You just don’t understand sometimes! A dumb puppy who has a hard time comprehending things.

This trait also goes straight into the bedroom, with him having to hold you down in certain positions while he rams his fat cock into your stubborn hole, when your cushy walls finally break down and give in, he knows you feel nothing but bliss, that’s exactly how he wants it to be for you.

Your poor cunt being stretched too wide, you know it’s going to hurt for a few days, it always does.

Usually Sukuna prefers you loud and letting him know how good he’s fucking you but you take it a step further: letting his everyone who resides in his palace that you’re being eaten alive. He doesn’t like to cover your mouth but sometimes it’s necessary when you’re squirting all over him.

Or when he’s letting you suck him off, you look so cute looking up at him with the biggest starry eyes ever, you truly adore him and you don’t even know what he’s done with the same hands that are rubbing the inside of your fluffy ears or the ones that tease your tail. You suck him so messily, drooling is a habit of yours that you can’t control but it makes everything so much more hotter, your warm spit dripping down his heavy fat balls.

[kateschi]

the line we crossed

synopsis: a charged night with your bodyguard leads to emotions bubbling to the surface.

pairing: bodyguard!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the soft glow of the hotel room’s lights reflects off the polished surfaces, casting gentle shadows that make the entire place feel like a private sanctuary.

despite the quiet elegance of the setting, tension hangs thick in the air between you and bakugou.

it’s been a long night—one that’s taken an unexpected turn—and now you’re both standing in the middle of the room, the aftermath of it all settling in.

“you don’t have to be so rough, y’know,” you say, your voice wavering slightly as you pull your wrist free from his grip.

bakugou’s hand is firm around your arm, pulling you through the hallways, his frustration evident in the way he practically drags you after him.

“shut up!” bakugou snaps, his usual intensity dialed up even higher tonight.

“I told you multiple times not to go anywhere without me! and guess what? you go and almost get yourself damn kidnapped!” his voice echoes, cutting through the tension like a knife.

you feel a tight knot of frustration rise in your chest.

“why do you care so much anyway?” you shoot back, folding your arms over your chest, not entirely sure why his anger is making you feel so unsettled.

he isn’t usually this worked up, especially not about your safety—it’s his job, after all.

but there’s something about the way he’s handled the situation tonight, something that feels more personal than professional, and you can't ignore it.

“care?” his voice is thick with irritation. “are you dumb? this is my job!”

you shake your head, the sting of his words settling like a weight in your chest. “that’s not what I mean!” you fire back, your emotions rising.

bakugou is unflinching, his hands resting on his hips as if he’s expecting an explanation. and you, well, you can’t hold it back anymore.

the words spill out in a rush before you can stop yourself.

“a normal bodyguard doesn’t make sure the room is warm enough to my liking. a normal bodyguard doesn’t make sure my food is exactly how i want it every time.

a normal bodyguard doesn’t send flowers to my dressing room without me ever asking for them, and they sure as hell don’t learn every little thing about me—like my favorite songs or how I like my tea!

you’ve been doing all of that, and I don’t know why!” the words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered.

bakugou is silent for a moment, his intense gaze never leaving you.

his brow furrows slightly, and he visibly shifts his stance, almost as if what you’ve said has caught him off guard.

he glances away for a split second, then clicks his tongue, the sound cutting through the quiet room.

“that doesn’t change the fact that you’re at fault,” he mutters under his breath.

the frustration building inside you crests like a wave, and you find yourself unable to keep the tears back anymore.

your chest tightens, and you step back, not sure whether to cry or scream.

“I’m not talking about that anymore, katsuki,” you say, your voice low and shaky.

the sound of his first name leaves your lips before you can even register it, and the room falls into an unexpected stillness.

the shift is almost palpable. bakugou’s gaze snaps to yours, his entire demeanor changing in an instant.

there’s something raw in his eyes, something that hasn’t been there before, and you realize that you’ve done something—something that’s clearly unsettled him.

he opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat. you can see the conflict behind his eyes, the struggle between keeping up his tough exterior and admitting something deeper.

you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you refuse to back down now.

“do you like me?” you ask, slowly.

your pulse quickens as soon as they leave your mouth, but you don’t look away from him. you don’t have time to second-guess.

bakugou’s face flushes a deep shade of red, and for a second, he doesn’t speak, as if the question has caught him entirely off guard.

his eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth again, but his usual sharp retort doesn’t come. instead, he grunts, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“…does that matter?” he grumbles, looking away to avoid your gaze. “I’m gonna do my job perfectly anyway,” he says, his voice rough. “not weak enough to let feelings get in my way.”

you stare at him for a long moment, the truth of what he’s saying sitting between you both. he isn’t the type to mix personal feelings with his job, but you can see it now. you can see the cracks in his armor.

“I’m not worried about that,” you say, your voice quiet but with an underlying certainty.

and before you can stop yourself, you’re moving.

your hand reaches out, your fingertips brushing against his chest as you close the space between you.

you don’t know what comes over you in that moment, but the weight of everything you’ve just said—the tension, the fear, the desire to understand him—pushes you forward.

the kiss is tentative at first, as if neither of you truly knows how to navigate this moment.

but then, like a dam breaking, the kiss deepens, and you can feel the heat from bakugou’s body pressing into you, his hands roughly grabbing onto your shoulders and pulling you even closer.

his lips are demanding, heated, and there’s something undeniably possessive in the way he kisses you, as if he had all of this pent up inside.

he pulls away suddenly, his eyes blazing with something unrestrained.

“I tried holding back,” bakugou says lowly, his voice raw and his breath ragged. his chest is heaving against yours, and his hands tremble slightly as they grip your waist.

before you can react, he pushes you back against the wall, the force of it stealing your breath away.

your heart races, your body caught between fear and desire as his face looms close to yours. his eyes lock with your own, burning and intense.

“you’ve got no one to blame for this but yourself,” he mutters.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[reignpage]

how do you think jjk men are with embarrassing moments during sex? like if something embarrassing that happens to either them or their partner, do they play it off, try to inject humor, swear off sex to be a monk?

i read a similar post by an author advocating for well, not just more realistic depictions of sex in fics, but to include some of the awkwardness present in them too?? their post included geto’s hair getting stuck in butt cracks, Toji pulling a muscle, Nanami losing his boner, and Choso full on shitting himself accidentally to help with reader’s embarrassment over queefing 😭😭😭

like yes it’s funny and bonkers but cuz sex isn’t always the passionate sexy fuckfest we see in fics/movies, people don’t always cum at the same time, yes you DO need lube AND prep, foreplay DOES matter, dryness or losing an erection midway no matter how horny you are is common yano?? 😤😤

lowkey wanted to go anon lest you call me perpetually horny 😭 but ignore me if my shit’s getting old

own your shit bae, no pun intended. ur horniness could never get old. I like these questions cause they're like brain teasers. okay okay lemme have a go

Gojo:

says a cringy line

I can totally see him trying something new that he thinks would be super sexy like

"oh yeah? you like that? you're such a dirty whore, aren't you? come on, cum and show me who you're daddy is."

reader will pause and stare at him like, did you hear yourself?

gojo will have a moment of realisation and give himself the ick. even he has limits.

he collapses on top of reader and begs her to forget that, will be a blushing mess.

he'll think about it once in a while and cringe

but in the moment, he'd throw a tantrum if you can't stop laughing and making fun of him.

"it wasn't that bad! you're being mean, seriously. I just got caught up, okay? stop laughinggggg"

gets very pouty, protests, and you have to seduce him back, really compliment the hell out of him

then he'll force you on top and make you take the lead so he doesn't give himself another opportunity to be embarassing

Geto:

trying to switch positions in a tight space and then you accidentally rest your elbow on his long hair and he almost rips outs chunks

probably gets irritated because you've damaged his brilliant hair

takes a breather and then starts back up again

punishes you during sex

will crack a smile if you do

"yeah, alright, laugh it up. but if I develop a bald spot, neither of us will be laughing."

will make sure that never happens again

might even pull your hair during sex to show you how it feels (not too hard obvi)

Choso:

might get too subby lol

like "am I a good boy mommy? am I doing good? I don't want my mommy to be mad at me" and he's in tears

idk how to write mommy kinks lol

and you both have a moment of clarity where it's like, damnnn you okay? didn't know you had trauma like that

he'll get very shy and embarrassed

might even start crying, trying to run away

you'll have to reassure him it's fine and then just go slowly and gently, having more loveydovey sex

late at night, he'll ask you if you really didn't mind because he doesn't want you to be freaked out or think he's not a man

but I imagine it'd become a kink you indulge him once in a while

just gotta teach him it's okay, just don't spring it on someone mid act lol

Toji:

trying a really acrobatic fucking position, whether in the living room or in the shower, gets his footing wrong and slips, smacks his head against the wall, takes you down with him

he knocks himself out

you have to wrangle his 200 pound or something body in to a safe lying position and wait for him to come to

when he does and he remembers what happens

bro is in denial

no he didn't slip

no he didn't overestimate himself

no it didn't hurt

no he's not embarrassed stop asking him

gets very grumpy and will storm off, grumbling under his breath

comes back calmer

neither of you mention it but it hangs in the air as you both prepare dinner together

once sat across each other, you make an eye contact and you burst out laughing

he rolls his eyes but he's got a smile on his lips

"yeah yeah, what fucking ever. you try lifting your heavy ass up whilst you're balls deep"

next time tho, he gets you back by forcing you to endure vanilla sex, going very slow and shallow and overly sweet

makes you beg for him to fuck you normally

he'll consider it

Nanami:

drunk sex, becomes wayyyy too emotional

"sweetheart, you're the most beautiful thing in the entire world, I love you so much do you know that? I honestly -hiccup!- c-can't live without you, oh goodness, please don't make me live without you!"

he's still inside, he's not even thrusting anymore, he's just crying into your neck like a baby

you're brushing his hair, shushing him, orgasms forgotten

might vomit on you a little

wakes up with a killer hangover and a night full of memories he wishes he could erase

"oh god, honey. I'm so terribly sorry. I can't believe I did something so ridiculous. no I know loving you openly isn't ridiculous, but I wouldn't be wrong to say crying, leaving you unsatisfied, forcing you to care for a man child, and cherry on top, vomitting on you is just a little ridiculous."

has to go make it up to himself for being a terrible husband

will spoil you for the rest of the week

or anytime he remembers

might actually drink less because of it lol

Sukuna:

he'd kill you if he did something embarrassing

pray he never does

[rifkind-moonchild]

I was thinking something very similar. Basically people who voted for Trump were in three buckets.

1) The ignorant. People who, for one reason or another, didn't know that he did any of the above. They lived under a rock, only got information from right wing media sources, etc.

2) The haters. People who are white supremacists, anti semitic, anti LGBTIA+, misogynists, racist, etc. They are reveling in the fact that all those minorities are going to get their just desserts because pappi Trump is going to punish them for getting out of line.

Some of these people have such low esteem that they need to see the other humiliated. Some were raised this way and have pictures of Grandpa in his KKK robes.

Some really do think that women, minorities and immigrants are taking away jobs they would be in if only it weren't for "DEI" hires. Most of these are delusional. They don't have the education or experience to fill the job. The billionaire would rather get cheaper workers. They feel sorry for white men because they are white men and feel undervalued in a more equitable society.

3) The people who knew what was going to happen but figured Trump wouldn't do it to them because they voted for him. Mostly brown people who voted for Trump and had no problem with other brown people being deported because Trump wouldn't deport them "because I voted for him." Also women who voted for the rapist who ran on taking away women's healthcare.

I have no sympathy for these selfish assholes. Sniveling little cowards who would vote for the devil to get to hold a pitchfork or sit in the cooler section of Hell. Is there any question why the circle for traitors is frozen?

But in the end, they will all painted with the same tar.

[relicsongmel]

Iris, Miles, and their mutual "secret"

The Ace Attorney fandom is no stranger to discussions of homoerotic subtext in the game's script—pretty much everyone who's spent more than five seconds here will be able to tell you that. Screenshots of lines that imply romantic tension between same-gender characters are all over the place, to the point that many fans are drawn to the series purely by its reputation as "the gay lawyer game." Some scenes are more well-known than others, but one I find brought up fairly regularly is this conversation between Miles and Iris:

This is optional dialogue that can be triggered by presenting incorrect evidence on Iris' Psyche-Lock during the Investigation portion of Bridge to the Turnabout. The argument here is that the "secret" Iris is referring to is the same as her own: that being, a romantic interest in Phoenix Wright. Which is definitely hilarious when you consider that Iris has known Miles for less than a day and she's already reading him for filth (granted, she could have been clued in by the similarly infamous "indispensable friend" line, and she's also exceptionally good at reading people despite Miles thinking otherwise). As a Narumitsu shipper myself I am not immune to enjoying that interpretation; however, I feel like there's a lot of nuance in this scene that isn't often addressed by the fandom at large. Which is unfortunate because watering it down to just Iris calling out Miles for being the gayass he is (to be fair. she's not wrong) does a MASSIVE disservice to both of their characters, and I'll explain why.

My bone to pick with the usual analysis of this scene is mostly centered around the larger conversation to be had regarding the treatment of female characters in fandom spaces. All too often they tend to play second fiddle to the male characters, and a similar principle holds true for ships with their canonical male love interests: mostly ignored in favor of the the more popular M/M ship(s). At best these women are sidelined, at worse they are flattened into wingmen for the boys (as is frequently the case with many AA girls and Narumitsu, Iris included), and at the absolute worst they are demonized for their perceived "competition" with whatever gay ship is most popular and therefore the Only Valid One for the male characters involved (as exemplified by some very "passionate" fans that I generally try to avoid interacting with). Whenever this scene gets brought up, the focus is almost always exclusively on Miles and what the interaction says about his relationship with Phoenix; Iris is only relevant insofar as she's the one initiating Miles' Homosexual Moment™—you could replace her with almost any other character and there'd be a similar level of neglect for their role in the interaction. Only very rarely will you see attention given to what Iris' question about Miles' secret means when she is the one asking it, and what it can tell us about her relationship with Miles/what she thinks of him, and vice versa (absolutely wild how even Miles himself is often flanderized despite being the fandom's golden child). It's all too characteristic of the systemic misogyny that has plagued fandom since its inception, which is deeply frustrating to me as someone who adores Iris as much as I do (if that wasn't obvious by now). So that said, let's dive deeper into what I think the missing link is here: namely, the Iris-Miles dynamic as it pertains to their relation to Phoenix.

Iris and Miles is one of my favorite relationships to explore in the whole series—but as I've described above, unfortunately a lot of people get it wrong in my opinion. Discussion about the two is frequently centered around Narumitsu Love Drama—which is a conversation worth having, don't get me wrong—but the elements at play there aren't always represented the way I envision them, which again, is frustrating. Take the idea of potential jealousy, for instance: it's pretty standard love triangle fare that can be (and often is) quickly turned into demonization when it's used in a shipping context, character assassination be damned (re: Narumitsu fanfic authors that project their personal dislike of Feenris onto Miles via his jealousy of Iris and/or how they tend to portray Iris unfavorably). However, it's not inherently a bad thing to explore: personally, I do believe that there is mutual jealousy between the two of them. Miles might not have the full context of Iris' history when this conversation takes place, but he's emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on what Iris means to Phoenix, and vice versa. And him being a jealous hoe about it isn't out of the question when you consider that he's a bit of a loner by nature and doesn't have many close friends or outlets for socialization outside of his job. The crucial element that's sometimes missed, though, is that Miles not only lacks the self-awareness to realize he's a jealous hoe...he's also a self-sabotaging jealous hoe.

And the same can be said for Iris, who is similarly introverted and doesn't often leave her home at Hazakura Temple.

The whole reason Miles is peering into Iris' heart in the first place can be found in this exchange, after he breaks her Psyche-Lock:

Miles uses the Magatama in order to gain the answers he needs to bring the truth to light and get Iris acquitted, and he does so for the express purpose of reuniting her with Phoenix so they can find closure—in fact, he reiterates this to her multiple times. He obviously recognizes how Phoenix is suffering from what happened between them (I'd argue he sympathizes with Iris' plight as well) and has resolved to do what he can to help him heal, but there's no reason for him to be so insistent that she rectify things with Phoenix when it does nothing but harm his own chances with him. Unless, of course...that's the whole point.

To convince Iris to reveal her secret so he doesn't have to face his own, because he thinks himself undeserving.

And Iris, noticing this because she empathizes with that feeling of unworthiness, calls him out on it in an almost uncharacteristically forward manner when she asks him what he's hiding.

Takes one to know one, indeed.

Iris highly respects Miles for taking on her defense despite the risk to his job as a prosecutor. She's willing to trust him after hearing he's a friend of Phoenix, hearing him out and letting him reason with her. She still keeps her cards close to her chest in some regards, but she's more honest with him than she's been with anyone else in her life apart from her sister. She sees his commitment to the truth and how it starkly contrasts with how she's lived her life to this point, and thinks that this is the type of partner Phoenix deserves—not someone like her, who only knows how to survive using lies and deception. She sees so much strength in him but still recognizes the insecurity lurking beneath his tenacity, which is why when he falters in his logic, she takes a leap of faith and gives him one last chance to examine his reasons for pushing the burden of his unspoken affections onto her, as if to say: "Look in the mirror. Is this really for me? Or is it for you? Do you really seek the truth for its own sake, or do you merely hope to find one truth so you might run from another?"

Her question to Miles is a gamble—a coin flip of self-sacrifice. If she loses and he presses on, she has to face the secret within her heart she's been suppressing for five years. But if she wins and he gives in to the truth in his, she has to live the rest of her life watching it unfold and knowing she threw away her chance to finally stop living in fear of her own love.

Either way, there's no escaping heartache for her anymore.

Miles and Iris both want what's best for Phoenix and prioritize their vision of his feelings over their own. However, they are also both deeply emotionally repressed people who find difficulty in being direct with their feelings, and are predisposed to self-sabotage due to childhood trauma. These tendencies may manifest in different ways for both of them, but the fact remains that such people would likely not compete for a person's affection in the traditional sense, which is exactly what we see with how Iris and Miles deflect their feelings for Phoenix. These selfless, lovestruck idiots toss that man around like a game of hot-potato because their mutual self-hatred for the ways they've harmed him has rendered them terrified of the reality of what he means to them, and desperate to find a way out of admitting to it. It's the most compelling explanation I can think of for why the usually unassuming Iris makes such a bold judgment about what Miles might be keeping locked away, and why Miles goes to such lengths to make sure she talks to Phoenix and tells him the truth—his agreement to defend her was conditional on that exact promise. They go through this whole song-and-dance of playing wingman to ignore their own feelings while still trying to bring Phoenix the happiness they think he deserves—and then they wonder why seeing Phoenix give the other one attention burns them up inside.

Because they’re dumb. And I love them.

TL;DR the Iris Psyche-Lock scene in BttT is so much more than just "haha Miles gay" and I wish people talked about it more. Also Iris and Miles are way more similar than they appear at first glance and if I think about it for too long it makes me physically ill thank you for coming to my TED talk

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ we should just kiss like real people do

NOT using cherry wine because the song has been through too many bastardizations already, and i'm a hozier fan before i'm anything else. to use cherry wine would be a disgrace, even if it has the 'perfect' line for a fic like this)

type: viktor x vampire reader

summary: headcanons and then a drabble of an instance where you feed

warning(s): blood, vampirism

word count: 921

a/n: been thinking about vampirism a whole lot lately as well as feeling down, so now i cope through tumblr fics. i love viktor, i wish i felt as strongly about real life people like i do for him

For a creature that's considered parasitic, the relationship you have with your eccentric scientist proved quite mutualistic

When you first stalked him on his walk home that late, late night, he had seemed like ordinary prey, easy to sink your teeth into and forget about

Something stopped you

Maybe it was that look in his eyes, flickering like a flame in the dark of that alleyway, refusing to die

They were so determined, so full of life

How could you ever drain them of that spark? It wasn't right

You could sense his fear, so palpable in the air, but he stood firm. His grip on his cane steady, his posture straight as he stared right at you with those lovely eyes, a million stories flitting through them

The eyes of someone who fought to survive since the moment he was born

You felt yourself slowing down, and then dropping to your knees completely

What were you doing? Were those tears in your eyes? You've become so jaded

Immortality had made you nothing

This mortal, so brief in the fabric of time, and his life already so weak and waning, had more... what was it? vigor to him

Lust was something you knew very well. Bloodlust. You embodied it. That urge that could never be satisified, the driving force that keeps your miserable legs moving, your body agile and agitated

His lust was one for life. For pursuit too, as you came to find out

A deal was struck that night; knowledge in exchanged for food

You allowed him to observe you and ask his questions, to witness your hunts (on animals now. less thrilling, but you digress)

In return, he became a sustainable food source. You didn't have to go out and about in the night now and get paid in stupid drunks or those rotten enforcers for your efforts

How lovely, to have something consistent for once

You could get used to this

Get used to him

divider below from @/dollywons !!!

The quiet comfort of the bedroom reminded you of your old crypt, in a way. It was dark. The sheets were soft and meticulously kept. It smelled of leather and old books and dried ink on fresh paper. The new addition was Viktor.

You'd started lounging about in his home, and his room became your favorite corner of the house. It became ritual for him to joke about having a coffin fixed there so you won't have to hog the blankets. Not his blankets. They were to be shared now, and he was fine with that. The coffin idea was still appealing though.

Tonight interrupted the quiet. You lingered before him, eyeing the pale curve of his neck. It was taking all your self control to not pounce on him immediately.

"Are you comfortable?" you asked.

He shifted around a bit, and then nodded.

"I'll try to keep accurate time. See if you're more greedy than last time," he joked.

Tsk. It wasn't that funny. (It is). You weren't as hungry as before.

Now you hovered above him, having laid him down. There was less hesitation this time, and you wonder if he'd note that down in his journal. You both did this song and dance enough by now to be comfortable with one another.

Still, the act of feeding was one of savagery. That can't change. When mixed with romance? It clashed, horribly. Your inherent nature versus what had been nurtured.

The taste of his blood filled your mouth, and you could sing to the heavens. If such a creature like yourself were allowed to. You weren't sure on the terms and conditions of that. Regardless, he was so sweet. A heady vermillion ambrosia on your tongue.

You were taking such care to be gentle with him.

You didn’t want to hurt him, but your love was violence, the draining of life, and the dark urges that lurk beneath every man, and he was already going limp.

Shit.

You pulled back immediately, the red still dripping from your teeth and down your throat. It mirrored the punctures on his. Viktor, the stubborn bastard, gripped the edge of your sleeve. He tugged insistently.

"I'm fine. I'm not as fragile as you think," he said, miffed.

“Too bad. I’m full,” you slowly pry yourself from his grip.

While he lazed back, you grabbed the first-aid kit. So used to it by now. He didn’t even flinch when you applied the antiseptic. After securing the gauze, you leaned down to brush another kiss against his lips, and he sighed at the slight feel of your fangs against the skin there.

“Was your vampire research quota met?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbow to observe him.

“Very much,” he replied. “I look forward to comparing it with next week’s results.”

As he drifted off in your arms, you felt affection swell in your heart, and a fierce protectiveness over him.

He was strong.

You knew that more than anyone. He walked such a thin line between life and death. You could hear the beat of his heart, the flowing in his veins, and fragility of his tissues and arteries and bones. He pushed on, despite it. Taking his body to limits that had you balking, and you were near invincible.

In your hold, he was so delicate. His body was already thin and frail. So easily breakable. The very thought made you uncomfortable, and you tightened your hold on his sleeping form.

He was strong. You’ll protect him anyways.

[cutiecusp]

Memories, part three.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader.

TW, Memory loss, mentions of PTSD, light fluff.

You watch him as you both enter your shared home together, the tightness in his chest obvious as he scans the room, his dark eyes flitting over all the things that made your home unique to you both before settling on a photograph.

"You look beautiful, cant believe you got me in a suit." He remarks gruffly, staring at the couple in the photograph.

You take the frame off the table, and hand it to him, your smile genuine.

"What's more unbelievable is Soap ate the cake before we even cut it."

You watch Simon throw Soap an annoyed look, the Scot held his hands up in mock surrender, before joining the others in the kitchen.

Simon heads to the mantlepiece, his fingers tracing over the frames, as if he was trying to bring back every memory by touch.

"There's no doubt we look good together." He smiles, picking up a picture of you both on holiday, the sea in the background, your face beaming as you hold a giant ice cream.

"We had to share that ice cream." You quip, standing next to Simon.

Your cheeks redden as you remember all the sugary kisses afterwards, melting into his arms as he held you close.

Simons gaze flickers over your face, taking in the blush, but not remarking on it further.

"And who's this?" He asks, pointing to a picture of himself, with a dog.

"That's Scout, and in the back is Riley." you point out, your eyes soften.

"My brother owned Scout, and Riley was ours, you brought her home-"

"I brought her home from a mission." He finishes, his gaze steady.

"I remember her."

You smile sadly. He could remember your dog, but not you?

He picks up on the mood change, and offers a hand, and without hesitation, you take it.

"Sorry love. I wish i could remember more."

You shrug it off, as if it wasn't a big deal, and while your heart was breaking, you had to remember he was home. So you put on a watery smile, and change the subject.

"Tea?" You ask.

He nods, and finding his way to the kitchen, it allows you a minute to breathe.

Your eyes take in the first photo he saw, you in a white dress, your smile brightening up the shot, your eyes shining and focused on Simon, who stood tall and broad in a black suit, mask off, his eyes burning back into yours with desire and love.

Tears threatened to fall, and at the sound of laughter from the kitchen, you let them. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you cry, your vision blurring out the real world for a minute.

After a few minutes, you feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into an embrace. You look up, to see a familiar jaw line, and honeyed eyes.

"He will be okay, petal." Kyle remarks, his voice soft.

You shake your head, how can he be, when he cannot remember the life he's created with you.

Kyle rubs soothing circles on your back. Out of the taskforce, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick felt the most like family, calm, collected, always ready for an adventure, and the one you confided in the most, he was like a brother to you, so it wasn't unusual that he was there to comfort you.

After a few minutes, you caught your breath and took the tissue Kyle offered.

"Thank you, Kyle, i should be grateful he's home, and i am, its just-"

Kyle nodded, his face solemn.

"We are going to give you guys some space, but if you need us, call us, I'm on paperwork duty tonight, so ill be awake."

You sigh, before nodding. You look up to see Price and Soap at the door, sad smiles on their faces. Over the last five years, these men had become your family, and it hit you hard that they must be grieving a friend too. You hug them both, pressing a kiss to each cheek before they head out, a clear understanding that this is the first day of a new life for both you and Simon.

The rest of the evening was consumed by dinner, Simon helping you prepare a basic dish, and asking small questions along the way. The mood felt awkward, hollow, with shallow conversations, Simon caught up with the year without him.

You hide in the bathroom, emotionally strung out. Essentially Simon was a stranger to you now, and while your heart yearned to break down the door and wrap your arms around him, he didn't feel like yours anymore.

You hear him shuffling around in your bedroom, so you go to investigate.

"Jus' looking for some shorts for bed," He calls out, seeing your shape in the doorway.

"I'll take the guest bed tonight, Simon." You say softly, looking everywhere but him.

"You don't have to do that, i will." Came the gruff reply. You look up to find Simon staring at you.

"I know, deep down you are my wife, and you are someone special to me, and i also know that this is a sore situation for you, so I'll take the other room."

You nod, returning to the bathroom, unable to argue with him. All you want is your husband back in your arms.

As you wash your face, and apply your skincare, you notice Simon watching you over your shoulder.

"You still use the vanilla cream?" He asks nonchalantly

You pause. How would he..

"Your dressing gown smells of vanilla in the bedroom. Made me think of cake. I thought the smell could trigger something" He admits sheepishly.

You nod, it had been a favourite of yours, and he routinely brought you more, even on deployment.

"Thank you." Simon says quietly.

You turn around, a questioning look on your face.

"For not giving up on me. For always believing I'd come home."

Your eyes soften, and you nod, unable to speak.

He throws you a smile and heads into the guest room, leaving you to finish rubbing lotion into your skin.

** A FEW HOURS LATER.**

You wake up with a start, a loud noise coming from the guest bedroom, throwing the covers back, you race into the next room.

Simon is drenched in sweat, his eyes unfocused as he tosses and turns in his sleep.

You know better than to wake him physically, so you call to him from the edge on the bed.

"Simon, its me, love. You are home, in the guest bed. You are home. " You chant your mantra a few times, before he groggily opens his eyes, before they settle on you.

"I'm home?" he asks, his voice deep with sleep and fear.

You nod, slowly approaching him.

"Yes, Simon. You are home, its me, you are safe."

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching Simons chest heave, his foggy gaze drinking you in like a cold glass of water on a hot day.

"Love?" He calls, his voice strained, his arms open.

You settle between his arms, your hand stroking his cheek, soothing him.

"I'm here." You assure him.

His breathing evens out, and you hold him closer, your heartbeat settling him.

"I remember the ice cream." he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow.

"The ice cream?"

"From the photo, i remember it took you forever to eat it, it was when i came home from Paris, and we took a holiday. I remember kissing you after, your laugh as you put some on my nose."

You smile, Your thoughts going back to that day.

"I did, and do you remember the cat we saw, getting all the old ladies to feed it croissants?" You chuckle.

Simon pulls away, his eyes locked on yours, your bodies still close. Your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

"I remember the dress you wore for me that night, love." He remarks, watching you blush.

"I remember it not lasting long on your body." He continues.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.

" I remember a lot, now love. But will you stay until i remember it all, and we can build our lives back together?" He asks, his voice full of vulnerability.

"I promise." You whisper, before his lips press gently against yours.

"I promise you forever."

......................................................................................................................

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @mims900 @skeletonsucker @vmaxis

[silverwing013]

It's a need to match mouth flaps, which when there is more spoken in original language to the direct translation...you need to either add in some fluff words to that direct translation or get creative in adding to the source. I so love the savage snark and them being such little shits. It adds to it. And they're teenagers. It's a localized dub that really works well.

I do enjoy that this seems to be some math done on what Hiei is stated to have for height from start of story to the end of story. Four-foot-ten is in the middle of the heights he was given.

Going with my memory (it's been a while since I've looked this up and had it fresh), I believe Justin Cook watched and went through the entire show beforehand. It was like, first bigger thing after Dragon Ball and getting newer voice actors into the company and such if I remember right.

There are signs someone working on this did that and took care of the show. Like Jorge having same voice actor as the narrator for a joke that happens in show practically all the way at the end of it. Another sign to me is Hiei having the snarky insult to Kuwabara during Saint Beasts on his sword skills. 'He's just swinging his sword with the grace of a flyswatter.' It's a line that kills me. Because Kuwabara adjusts his energy for his last fight in the Dark Tournament to use it as a flyswatter to squash Elder Toguro. (How is that villain the longest running villain of the show? It feels like it shouldn't be him, but it is.)

Anyway. Back to point. Proof there was some care on handling the show rather than, translate and make it fit and toss out episode by episode. So I wouldn't be surprised if perhaps Hiei's offical listed heights were looked up to make that joke and fit to the mouth flaps.

(Okay, I went off a bit and rambled and my brain probably only remembers so well, but hell, I knew way too much stuff about this show YEARS ago back when I ran a YYH specific game show panel at a few cons. And an info filled fan panel for it with discussion questions that somehow won me the voted in best fan panel of the con weekend. But hey. Love for the show HIT at running into this post and I went rambling off. ^_^)

the YYH dub is so unbelievably disrespectful lmao. i went back and checked what this was in the japanese and all she said was something like "next up is hiei!" man wtf

[unknownati]

xiii. tap tap tap

a/n: im. Cooking. I swear

idk whether to finish my reqs first or my wips 😭 but lowkey i've been busy asf sorry 😞 i am slooowly chipping away at them

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features, gn!reader, sub!ekko, crop top, living my truth, orgasm denial, handjob, short bleghhh, unproofread THIS ENDING 😒

_______________________________________________

a small groan rumbles in ekko's chest as he leans over his workbench, papers scattered across the wood surface in a chaotic organization.

"ugh," ekko's head shook, nose scrunching in frustration. nothing was adding up—none of the math circled back to the main problem.

his z-drive got messed up in a fight, and the whole thing was completely off now. not being able to figure this stupid thing out had his forehead heating up, his fingers flicking his pencil between his fingers, a constant rapping against the table reminiscent to a clock ticking.

a whole room over, the sound made your ears twitch at the familiarity, your mind's attention shifting from the book you were reading to that consistent noise.

you've asked ekko many times to try to not make that noise—it's a distraction, gritting to your ears. each word you read gets replaced with a 'tap tap.'

you know the context behind that noise too—so why not help him fix it?

you peek into ekko's room, the tapping filling your ears more clearly. your presence is thick, even with your lack of noise, ekko realizes you're there. he gives you a small grunt of acknowledgment, no time to think about anything more.

your chin rests on his shoulder, palms running up and down his forearms. your eyes pass over the work he has, not a clue in the world what any of this means. what your eyes dart to instead was that pencil. still tapping. you hum. "what's wrong, baby?"

his nose scrunches and he sighs, shaking his head. "i just can't figure this out."

you let the sentence linger in the air, squeezing his shoulders, fingers slipping to kneed his biceps. "hmm...well, what are you tryna do?"

his lips form a line and then he opens his mouth, explaining the entire plan out to you with reasoning, showing you pictures, showing you evidence, everything. you weren't listening to a word.

"but the thing is, i tried both, and doing the first one leads me down a complete different road. and i'm wondering if it's because—"

"mhm," you hum as he continues speaking, your eyes trailing up his gesticulating arms, then down. his shirt was cropped, his midriff peeking out from the angle you were at. casually, both of your hands begin snaking down. they both stop at his waist. he doesn't notice—it's a regular occurrence. you're always touching the visible skin when he's wearing a crop top.

you couldn't lie, the sight was tantalizing. every time he reached up for something, the shirt would raise and give you a larger view of his abs. something about the crop top was so much better than seeing him shirtless.

it wasn't until your hand started creeping up his shirt that he fumbled over his words. "what are you doing?"

"nothing, sorry. keep talking."

he cleared his throat, stuttering for a moment but then getting back on track to his sentences. he asks something, some question related to the papers in front of him.

"hmm, well i dunno baby. talk me through it, what do you think?" you throw the ball right back into his court. good thing ekko likes talking, because he immediately had an answer for you, his mouth running once again.

you give half-hearted noises of acknowledgment between pauses in speech, meanwhile, the hand that wasn't up his shirt was slooowly making it's way down his pants. once you breached the band of his boxers, he stuttered again.

"what are you doing?" he re-asks, more emphasis on his words. you shake your head.

"focus on what you have to figure out, not on me."

he doesn't respond, zoning out as your fist closes around his dick. it's slowly growing in your hand, twitching at your touch. the hand up his shirt taps. "focus." you repeat.

"um," he groans, picking up the next sheet of paper. "i just think that—"

his sentence was cut short by a gasp, since you gave him no time to prepare himself, immediately starting to stroke him. he thinks he knows what game you're playing.

"think that...maybe i should try thinking about it the other...way around...i–f-fuck..." his sentence trails off, shaky breaths filling the air and ghosting around him. the tapping grows weak until it finally stops, wood clattering and rolling against the desk.

"you...?" you pick the sentence off where it ended, your wrist flicking rapidly. his knees feel weak— he leans his weight onto his palms, which rest against the edge of the table.

"god, i–i don't know. i can't focus with you doing that..."

you allow him a few more moments of bliss, and you can tell he's close. you're leading him right into your trap, moving faster,

"ah,"

faster,

"baby, please, i'm-"

faster,

"oh fuck,"

...then it's all gone. the tight coil in his tummy simply...crumbled rather than unraveling. he almost collapses, arms wobbling to hold himself up on the desk.

"that's how i feel when you tap that pencil."

before he can even process his confusion, you're out the room, door shutting behind you.

maybe an unconventional approach—but you never heard that tapping again.

[47lake]

need me

synopsis: you’re on a road trip when you run into eva at a gas station, it’s getting late and she invites you to her place. things quickly grow hot and heavy as the magnetic stranger lures you in further.

‼️: dom!eva, sub!reader, manipulation, coaxing, smut, cursing, oral, fingering, controlling, praise, idk they’re fucking w/c: 2.4k

you scanned the gas station shelves, carefully eyeing over the small selection of snacks. you were stuck between some m&ms and some takis, a pros and cons list forming in your mind of each option. the question of ‘which would be easier to eat for another 63 miles?’ danced through your head.

you were deep in thought as the smell of warm vanilla ran through your nose. you turned around, scanning the store for the culprit.

that’s when you spotted her, her gaze already even with your own, like she had carefully handpicked you out of everyone in the small, crowded room.

her eyes held yours just above the shelves, her bright blue stare and blonde locks the only thing visible overtop the bright bottles.

you felt your feet leading you across the aisles, it was like she was luring you in.

once you got to her chosen aisle you stoped, now face to face with the captivating girl.

“hi.”

she turned away from the array of drinks in front of her.

“hey, what’s your name?”

her voice oozed with invitation, it was like she was pulling your darkest secrets out of your throat without the need to even ask. everything about her seemed so sweet, so warm.

your name left your lips before you could realize you had opened your mouth, your hand flew to cover it, like you could put it back somehow.

“what a beautiful name, you can call me eva.”

you smiled, scanning her over in an attempt to figure out why you felt so drawn to her.

she turned her back to you and made her way to the register, to no surprise you followed right on her heels.

“so, what brings you into town? i can see you aren’t from here.”

your eyes danced around the store as you took in her newly formed perception, looking for an answer that would pique her interest while also making yourself appear relaxed.

“just passing through, i’m on a road trip of sorts.”

she nodded along as she stepped up to the register, motioning for you to put your m&ms down next to her items.

“oh, you don’t have to..”

your sentence trailed off as she pulled them gently from your hand.

“i insist.”

her hand lingered on yours as you listened to the barcode scan.

“that’ll be 11.78”

her touch left just as quickly as it appeared, somehow you already missed her warm and soft skin.

you looked around the register, eyeing the extensive collection of magnets that came from all over, several countries and states with beautiful designs. each magnet unique in its own way.

“well, are you coming?”

you snapped away from the suddenly unimportant magnets and saw her waiting in the doorway, the bell over the door ringing out as it swayed back and forth. you told the cashier thank you and hurried out behind her.

“it’s getting a little late and there’s not any hotels near by, you should come stay at my place.”

you stopped in your tracks and met her gaze again, thinking it over, or you were trying to. it was hard to focus with her gaze seeping into your skin.

“that’d be great! ..unless you’re like gonna kill me or something..?”

she smiled and laughed as she fished your m&ms out of the plastic bag in her hand.

“i promise i won’t ‘like kill you or something’.”

she pointed down a winding road with dark trees lining each side, a street light flickered in the distance, she turned to be sure you saw her.

“i’m right down this road, just follow me.”

she walked over to her car as you got back into your own, gripping the steering wheel as you started it up.

were you really about to go spend the night with a stranger?

well, at least she’s a pretty stranger.

you watched across the small parking lot as she began to drive off, you followed closely behind her, per usual.

after a short drive you arrived a rather large house, far too big for just one person. you shrugged it off and parked, turning the car off and hopping out.

“this is all for you?”

she smiled and admired the grand structure.

“oh, no. i live with a few friends but they’re all away on a retreat right now, they won’t be home for a few more days.”

you nodded and gathered your belongings out of your trunk, locking your car as eva led you inside.

as your foot passed the threshold of the doorway you were greeted by a smell you couldn’t quite place, something sweet and nostalgic yet earthy almost.

you took in the spacious interior as your eyes danced around the open floor plan.

“follow me.”

two simple words, somehow silky smooth yet firm, in a way that you obliged without a second thought.

at this point she could practically put you on a leash the way you followed her around like a moth to a flame.

she gave you a simple tour of the place, the bathroom, the room where you’d stay, the kitchen, the whole nine yards.

you ended the tour at the end of a lined hallway, a dark oak door pulled shut, warm light peering just under the edge.

“this is my room, just in case you need something in the night.”

the pushes the door open and you slowly step inside, taking in the warm ambient lighting coating the off-white walls, the space somehow simple yet intricate. wood accents flowed throughout, perfectly contrasting the pale paint. greenery bloomed in corners, housed in beautiful pots and vases.

various art pieces were scattered around, each piece unique yet somehow on the same plane as the others. one wall covered completely by a dark bookshelf, housing dozens of novels and stories as well as vinyl for miles. an antique record player sat in the corner, it was something you could tell was personal to her.

“like what you see?”

you smile and turn to her, not realizing how enamored you had become with the space.

“sorry, i just love what you’ve done in here.”

she nodded and ran her hand over your shoulders, goosebumps now adorning your skin.

“i appreciate that, look as long as you like.”

her hand drops and your heart rate follows close behind, returning to a normal and steady pace.

you walk over to the grand bookshelf, eyes dancing around the colorful spines as you look over her vast collection.

“you can borrow one if you like.”

you shake your head, yet smiling at her offer.

“thank you, but i’m not a big reader, i envy people like you that are.”

that’s when you make your way over to her vinyl, this array somehow seemed larger than the previous one.

you could tell she took good care of her music, artists ranging from the beetles to tyler, the creator.

“this must’ve taken years to collect.”

your fingers run along the shelves as you take guesses as to just how many albums there were in front of you.

“oh yes, i’ve been collecting since i was a young teen.”

you nod along and start to head towards the door.

“i’m sorry for encroaching on your space, i-“

she places a soft hand on yours, cutting off your sentence, her other hand grasping your now rosy cheek.

“don’t apologize, you’re welcome any time, love.”

your eyes meet for a second, she only pulls her focus away to study your features, like she was putting a puzzle together in her mind.

“so gorgeous..”

the words as quiet as a whisper, just under her breath but loud enough for you to hear. her thumb gliding gently over the soft skin of your cheek. your face went hot as you fully understood what she had said.

“oh, shit. sorry, i didn’t mean to say that.”

her hand dared to pull away from your face at her realization, you brought your hand up quickly and placed it over hers, ensuring it stay in place.

“no, it’s okay.”

your eyes locked again, those blue eyes washing over you like warm waves in the evening sun. her light freckles painted her nose and her ever so slightly pink cheeks in perfect constellations.

that’s when your lips met, you hadn’t even realized you were leaning in until you felt her plump lips on your own. it felt as though you were unwrapping a present on christmas eve, timid at first, careful and cautious. quickly it became all you could focus on, filling your senses entirely. you wanted to peel back the layers and find out what hid inside.

your arms wrapped around her neck as hers found home on your hips, she quickly took control of the the kiss, you happily let her, of course.

the feeling of her touch, the way she smelled, the desperation between the two of you, it was consuming you entirely. you were drowning in her and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

her grasp on your hips became firm as she walked you backwards towards the bed, your knees quickly hit the edge and you fell back against it. your lips disconnected as you hit the comforter, she was now standing over you, a sly, proud smile painted all over her face.

“i’ve been wanting to do this since i first saw you.”

her lips melded to the sensitive parts of your neck, you tucked your lip between your teeth to keep your composure.

“you just seemed so sweet, so easy, like a lost fawn.”

her stamps of adoration traveled to your collarbone as she spoke, low and gravelly.

“i know you want this, that sweet face tells on you.”

your hands ran through her hair as she teased you. grasping for handfuls when she hit a sensitive spot.

her lips left your poor skin with a pop, she was now inches away from your face, eyeing you over like prey.

“tell me how badly you want me.”

her hand ran gently between your legs, eliciting a small gasp from your lips as she applied pressure.

“so bad, i want you so bad.”

she pulled your loose hoodie up over your head, revealing your bare chest. her foxy grin returning as she runs her fingertips gently across the exposed skin.

“so pretty like this, all for me, isn’t that right?”

you nod and squeeze the fabric beneath you as she rolls your nipples between her index and thumbs. shocks course through your veins like electricity, she was making you feel good and she knew it.

“poor thing, you would’ve been so lost without me, so lucky that i found you.”

wet kisses cascade across your chest, close enough to make you gasp yet far enough to make you whine.

you can feel her smiling into your skin, pleased with the mess she was making of you. slowly but surely she makes her way down, running her tongue just above the waistline of your sweats.

you push your hips up, eager for the relief only she could bring.

“patience sweetheart, you can take it.”

her warm fingers creep under the elastic and she pulls them down torturously slow, kissing your hips tenderly all the while.

once they were fully off a teasing, cocky smirk tugged at her lips. your impatience clearly collecting in your navy underwear.

“you’re doing so well, i know how badly you need me.”

her thumb pressed firmly against the puddle and into your core, your back arches off the bed at the contact, already aching for more. her fingers work slow circles against your sensitive bud through the fabric.

a loud gasp erupts from your throat at the sensation, the fabric giving you much needed friction. your hips rolling against her touch already, she can’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

she meets your gaze finally as she lowers her head down, biting the edge of the fabric and pulling it off with her teeth, her eyes never leaving yours.

“prettier than i could’ve ever imagined.”

she ran her tongue through the coating of need, pulling it away quickly, she was such a tease. she hummed in approval.

“so sweet, perfect for such a sweet girl.”

you huffed and angled your hips closer to her face, desperate for more. you whined and whimpered as she watched, her hands remained firm around your thighs, squeezing them tightly.

her tongue slowly broke you open, sinking deeper inside of you as you moaned out. her eyes remained locked on you as you squirmed beneath her, relishing in the pleasure she was giving you.

she pulled you closer as her tongue darted in and out, eager to see you unravel further. her nose hitting your clit with each stroke never failing to make you gasp.

she traveled up to your clit, running circles around it and taking it between her lips, basking in the loud moans as she coaxed them out of you.

she slipped one finger in, your slick desire letting her in with ease. you tightened around her as she moaned against you, slipping another finger in simultaneously.

“tell me how good i make you feel, i want to hear you say it.”

her fingers sped up as she waited for a reply, making sure your words would come out in between choked moans.

“feels, good.. you feel.. so good..”

you could hardy speak with the way she was pulling loud moans from you like it was nothing. you couldn’t think with how focused you were on the satisfaction she was so generously giving you.

“no one makes you feel this good, isn’t that right?”

her lips returned to your clit as she moaned against you, urging a response from you.

a long string of rushed ‘mhm’s came as you bit your lip, trying to keep your ever approaching release at bay. she pulled away again and instead brought her other hand to your clit, tracing quick circles against you as she applied pressure.

“very good.”

her pace suddenly became inhumane, the room became hazy and the world grew quiet as she fucked into you. she knew you were getting close and you could hardly hold back anymore.

“ev- i’m!-“

you heard her cocky laugh and then she spoke.

“i know, so precious, let it all out for me. you can do that can’t you?”

you let go and your orgasm rolled over you like a tidal wave, engulfing you entirely. you shook in her grasp as you slowly came down from your high. falling against the bed as you heaved, catching your breath.

“so .. good..”

she smiled as she laid next to you, pleased with your relaxed state.

“yeah? what do you think you should say then?”

“thank you, eva.”

hope you guys enjoy this !! 🖤

i think i’ve FINALLY escaped writers block thank GOD.

thank you for the req! send any requests to my inbox ! 📥

(i’ve been kind of slow with them but i promise they’re coming soon!!)

💋: @vharperr @brat-at-the-disco-deactivated20 @thechipbetweenyourcarseat @dollyvuu @greenbttrflyy @eilishslut @karaeilishh @moralesluvr @anna-geeeezzzz @certifiedwomenlover @asterisk-eyes @mseilishmwah @eeuni @ohdoyoustillcry @bilsdillldough @amara-eilish @chrissv4mp @vijaxx @drunkinyourbenz @adinda-eilish @bxllxebxtch @mybluebossanova masterlist taglist

[capitanoidyll]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 13 | What Belongs to Him

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

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You originally thought that sleep would be hard to come by, however, you were proven wrong when you woke up the next morning. Your body feeling better than yesterday thanks to the medicine that Luocha gave you. Sitting up in bed, you looked around your room, and then to your bedroom door. Your room, as far as you knew was your only safe haven and a place you could hopefully let your guard down. Though, you still worried… what if someone was in here right now hiding? You closed your eyes and tried to listen carefully, but you couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Moze has definitely left an impression on you…

Shaking your head after a few moments, you finally got out of bed. There was a dull ache in your legs and back, but it was bearable thankfully.

Now, Jing Yuan said my maids will help me today, but… ever since coming here no maid has ever made such an effort. Maybe once or twice, but that was about it. Probably because they don’t like me all that much.

You sighed at your thoughts and went for your wardrobe. Opening the closest doors, your eyes roamed over your dresses. Wait… are there more in here than before? You decided not to question it as you went for a dress that just so happened to be your favorite color. If Jing Yuan asks about it, then you could just say that he had said that it was your favorite color and that you could understand why you liked it so much now that you see it in person. Now, putting the dress on proved to be a hassle but you managed… somehow.

“Ok… so now what?”

You looked to your bedroom door again. Do you even risk it? Then again, it definitely beats staying in here all day.

So, gathering nay courage that you had, you went to your door.

“Ok, so I’m a princess with amnesia, and I’m to be married to the Emperor. In other words, I should act like I own the place, right?”

Steeling yourself, you opened the door and stepped out of your bedroom. Looking left and then right, you decided to head right. (You knew that the kitchen and dining room were that way, but you would just tell anyone that asks that you took a guess on which way to go.)

Walking down the halls, you noticed how some of the maids avoided you, not that you minded. You didn’t particularly want to talk to them either. It wasn’t until you passed by the stairs that you fell down that you stopped.

Thinking about it now, this means you fell down these stairs twice, right?

I hope I don’t make it three…

“y/n.”

You jumped a little and spun on your heel to look at who had spoken to you, but the voice was distinct. You already knew who it was.

“Yuan?”

The Emperor was smiling at you, “I’m surprised that you’re already out of bed,” he said as he came to stand next to you his eyes shifting from you to the stair case.

“Well, I know you said my maids will assist me, but no one ever came to check up on me, and…,” you shifted from foot to foot, “since I’m to marry you…. I thought I was allowed to walk around. Did I- did I mess up?”

Jing Yuan chuckled softly as he held out his arm for you. Taking a moment to realize what he was doing, you hesitantly wrapped your hands around his arm. One hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm. Once you gotten a hold on him, he started to go towards the stairs and with a shaky step from you, you both began to descend the stairs.

“You’re allowed to go anywhere your heart desires within my domain. Though, I do ask that you be escorted.”

You wondered if he could feel your fingers tremble against his arm. His arm, to which you noticed was lined with taught muscle. Focus, y/n, focus!

“I- I’m sorry, no one was by my door either…”

“I know, Blade, your bodyguard, was taking care of some business for me. He’ll be by your side again after breakfast.”

“Then is that why you were coming down the hall? To come get me?”

You saw a glint in his eyes as he smiled at you.

Once down the stairs, you went to let go of his arm, but he raised his other hand to keep your hands where they were. You looked back at the steps.

“Was this the staircase I fell down?”

Jing Yuan looked to where your eyes were watching, “yes, it was. Do you remember anything?”

You shook your head, “I just.. have a feeling is all,” you looked back up at Jing Yuan as he turned his gaze back to your face, “how about the one who pushed me… I heard it was.. a maid?”

“Yes,” you could hear the sigh in his voice, “a maid, but I wouldn’t worry about her. She has been properly dealt with.”

You couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. While you were sleeping in bed… some maid was getting killed.

“But why not give her a punishment instead?”

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully as he dropped his arm causing you to let go of his bicep and forearm.

And all too quickly he was in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs pressed right under your jaw and tilting your head up. You could feel the way your breath hitched and how your heart seemed to skip every other beat.

“Because little sparrow, I truly despise when someone damages what belongs to me.”

He let one hand fall from your cheek to rest against your throat. His fingers encircled your throat with careful precision as he leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips that contrasted with the way he held you in place. And all too soon his hands didn’t feel to domineering or suffocating as he moved them to slide down your arms and to your hips. His lips slowly detach from you as you silently caught your breath.

“Now, princess, let’s go eat breakfast. I was sure to tell the chefs to cook your favorites.”

He was going to kill you again; you were sure of it.

Taglist pt 1

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

[genderqueerdykes]

how do endogenic systems work i genuinely can't wrap my head around how that is

i can try to help!

plurality is just a thing that can happen. human brains are capable of doing a lot. if our brains are capable of producing one "personality", (which, it's very nebulous to define the line between having one and multiple personalities), it can create more with ease. it doesn't have to come from trauma! trauma is not the only reason someone's mind might start creating multiple people, it may just happen because that's how their brain is wired!

saying that plurality ONLY comes from DID or OSDD is unnecessarily medicalizing and pathologizing plurality. these are NOT experiences that need to be considered inherently disordered. many people are plural and do not have mental health issues or trauma or medical conditions because of it. also keep in mind that the medical complex is fueled completely by money, and there is already so little research into DID and OSDD that we're not even coming close to scratching the surface on plurality. it's so SO poorly researched that I'd argue that the bulk of statistics on DID and OSDD are very, very unreliable.

saying that plurality can only happen if it's due to DID or OSDD is an appeal to authority. when one does this, they are appealing to the medical complex, a cold industry that is only there to make money and not care about the well being of its patients. it's not improving DID and OSDD systems' quality of life by telling people there's only 1 way to be plural. we actually don't even know that for sure! there's NOWHERE near enough emperical evidence done on plurality for me to accept that dissociative plurality is the only "real" plural experience. the reason there's such little information on it is because the research just isn't being done, and that doesn't discredit the people who are experiencing it.

also, in some cultures, it is actually very common to experience a form of plurality. in some cultures, people believe that they are able to channel deceased family members and other individuals through their own mind and body. some of these people end up believing that those folks are with them with life, occupying their mind and body with them. this should not be discredited just because that person is not having a mental health issue! there is also a lot of documented phenomena of people being able to construct thoughtforms if they are able to put their minds to it for long enough and/or as a meditative practice. there are cultural and religious applications of this. many writers end up accidentally creating thoughtforms out of their own characters, which can think independently of them, and even talk to them. this too can be considered a form of plurality

hope that helps somewhat! feel free to ask any more questions you may have :D

thanks for the addition!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: First Person Point of View

In writing, the first person point of view - uses the pronouns “I,” “me,” “we,” and “us,” in order to tell a story from the narrator’s perspective.

The storyteller in a first-person narrative is either the protagonist relaying their experiences or a peripheral character telling the protagonist’s story.

Tips For Writing in First Person

Once you’ve decided to write your story in the first person, use these tips to guide your narrative voice.

Write an opening like Melville. Let the reader know you’re using a first-person perspective right away as Melville did in the opening line of Moby Dick with “Call me Ishmael.” Introduce the character and narrative voice within the first two paragraphs to create a bond with your readers from the start.

Be descriptive. In the first person, avoid phrases that keep the reader in the narrator’s brain—for example, “I thought,” or “I felt.” While one of the advantages of first person is to know what the narrator is thinking, don’t get stuck in their head. We also want to see through their eyes so use visual language to show the reader around their world.

Stay in character. When using the pronoun “I,” it’s easy to slip out of your character’s voice and into your own as the author. When you’re writing, stay true to your narrator’s perspective.

Mix it up. Starting every line with “I” can become repetitive; vary your sentences by illustrating thoughts or feelings. Instead of writing “I felt tired walking through the deep snow”, try “the mountain was buried in snow, making every step feel like a mile.”

Create a strong narrator. Make your first-person narrator an interesting character to make the story really work. Give them a solid backstory that influences their perspective.

Reasons to Write in First Person Point of View

When you’re writing a story, you have several narrative voices to choose from. Giving the protagonist or someone close to them the narrative reins has its advantages. A first-person narrator gives the reader a front row seat to the story. It also:

Gives a story credibility. First-person point of view builds a rapport with readers by sharing a personal story directly with them. Bringing the reader in close like this makes a story—and storyteller—credible. From the opening line of Herman Melville’s epic sea tale, Moby Dick, the reader is on a first-name basis with the narrator: “Call me Ishmael.” This familiarity creates a relationship with the narrator, leading the readers to believe that what they are about to hear is a true story. When a writer breaks that narrative trust by leading readers astray—either through a narrator who deliberately lies or a characteristic of the narrator that compromises their credibility—the narrator becomes unreliable.

Expresses an opinion. A narrator tells a story through a lens filtered by their opinions. In the first person point of view, the use of the pronoun “I” establishes a sense of familiarity between reader and narrator, allowing the writer to subtly influence the reader by telling a story with a bias. Scout is the six-year-old narrator in To Kill A Mockingbird and the story is told with the innocence and naiveté of a child’s world view. The author, Harper Lee, had several characters to choose from, but telling this story about race in the American South through this young character’s eyes forces the reader to examine and question the inequalities of race in the same way that Scout does.

Builds intrigue. First person perspective limits a reader’s access to information. They only know and experience what the narrator does. This is an effective tool for creating suspense and building intrigue in stories, particularly in thrillers or mysteries. For example, John Watson is the narrator In almost all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes mysteries. Keeping Holmes, the protagonist, at arm’s length makes him more interesting, but it also allows the reader to be just as surprised as Watson when Holmes finally cracks a case. Readers tend to identify with characters who are learning like they are.

The role the narrator plays in a story determines the type of first-person point of view. The elements of a story—like genre—can help determine who is best suited to serve as narrator and which first-person voice to use.

First-person central. In first-person central, the narrator is also the protagonist at the heart of the plot. Margaret Atwood’s novel Alias Grace employs first-person central point of view. The story is based on a historical event: a double murder that occurred in 1843 in which a manservant was tried and hanged for the murder of his employer. Grace Marks, a maid, was tried and imprisoned as his accessory. The novel is told in through Grace’s point of view as she speaks to the doctor hired to exonerate her.

First-person peripheral. In first-person peripheral, the narrator is a witness to the story but she or he is not the main character. In The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald created the character of Nick, a friend of the protagonist, Jay Gatsby. Nick tells the story of Gatsby trying to win the love of Nick’s cousin, Daisy. Telling the story this way keeps the focus on the protagonist but also creates some distance, so the reader is not privy to their thoughts or feelings. This deliberately keeps Gatsby as a mysterious character and enables Nick to tell the story with a slant, drawing on his experience with Gatsby and his opinion of him to color the narration.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[batboysanonymous]

A Taste of Silence

Pt. I

Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

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The sun was setting behind the mountains of Velaris, casting a warm, golden glow over the City of Starlight. Y/N dismounted her horse with a wince, her muscles sore from the journey home. The mission Rhysand had sent her on had been grueling, stretching over several days, but she’d completed it with the determination and precision he’d come to rely on. She’d long since earned her place among the Inner Circle, proving time and again that she was more than just Rhys's mate—she was an integral part of his court.

Yet tonight, as she climbed the steps to the townhouse, exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her bond with Rhys hummed faintly, a soft reminder of his presence as she opened the door. Laughter and the faint clink of glasses drifted from the sitting room, mingling with the scent of wine and smoke. She paused, her hand tightening on the doorknob.

The Inner Circle had gathered. Normally, the thought of reuniting with them after days apart would lift her spirits, but something about the atmosphere tonight felt… off.

She stepped inside, her movements quiet, and stopped just outside the doorway to the sitting room.

“—and she just doesn’t get it sometimes,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, slurred and slightly louder than usual. The unmistakable tone of drunkenness coiled in his words.

“She tries,” Mor said defensively, but Y/N could hear the restraint in her tone. “And she succeeds, Rhys. Far more than you give her credit for.”

“She makes everything harder,” Rhys countered, his laugh bitter. “Always asking questions, always needing to insert herself into things she doesn’t understand. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after her?”

Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs. She leaned against the wall for support, her vision blurring as his words sank in.

“That’s not true,” Feyre said sharply. “Y/N has done nothing but prove herself over and over. You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” Rhys pressed. “She doesn’t belong in this court, not like the rest of you. She’s… reckless. And it’s exhausting.”

“She’s your mate, Rhys,” Amren snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s part of this family. And you’re making a fool of yourself right now.”

Y/N’s chest ached, each word from Rhys like a dagger to the heart. The bond between them flared painfully, as if sensing her anguish. She wanted to storm in, to defend herself, to demand he explain how he could say such things after everything she’d sacrificed for him, for this court. But her body felt frozen, pinned by the weight of his betrayal.

Her hands trembled as she stepped back into the hallway, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t do this. Not tonight. She needed space, time to think, to process the heartbreak that threatened to consume her.

She turned toward the front door, intent on leaving, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Azriel emerged, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His expression tightened as he took in her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and careful.

She shook her head, a silent plea for him to let her go. Azriel hesitated, his shadows curling around him like a shield, but he stepped aside. Without another word, Y/N slipped out the door and into the cool night air.

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When the laughter in the sitting room died down, and the conversation shifted, Rhysand finally noticed the absence of a presence he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all night. He frowned, his drunken haze thinning just enough for the bond to nudge at his consciousness. It was too quiet.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing around the room.

Silence greeted him.

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She came home. She was standing in the hallway while you were… talking.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as realization sank in. “She heard me?”

Azriel’s dark gaze bore into him, his voice a quiet blade. “She heard everything.”

Rhysand shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for the bond, but all he felt was a wall of pain and silence.

“Where is she?” he demanded, panic sharpening his tone.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Gone. She didn’t say where. She looked like she wanted to run as far from you as possible.”

Rhysand staggered back, his mind racing. The wine turned to bile in his stomach, his shame and regret coiling tighter with each passing second. He had to find her. Had to fix this.

But as he winnowed into the night, desperation clawing at him, one thought echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t sure if she’d ever let him fix it.

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Rhysand searched the city in a frenzy, the bond stretched taut with Y/N’s pain and his own spiraling guilt. He winnowed to every corner of Velaris, the glow of the stars above mocking his desperation. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her end was firmly shut—a silence louder than any scream.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he hissed under his breath as he scanned the Rainbow District. The cool night air did nothing to temper the heat of panic coursing through him.

Where would she go?

His mind raced, and finally, he stopped fighting the bond. Though she’d shut him out emotionally, he could still trace her faint physical presence, the residual pull that tied them together. When he caught the direction, his heart sank.

The forest.

The place where they’d once picnicked under the stars, where she’d whispered her dreams to him like secrets she trusted him to hold forever. The place she’d deemed her safe haven.

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Winnowing to the clearing, Rhysand stumbled upon her sitting beneath the massive oak at its center. Moonlight danced across her tear-streaked face as she cradled her knees to her chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and it made his heart ache.

“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.

She stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Go away, Rhys.”

Her voice, usually so vibrant, sounded hollow.

“I can’t,” he said, dropping to his knees a few feet from her. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression hard. “Not like the mess you made, Rhysand? Or not like the words you spewed about me to the people I consider family?”

He flinched at the venom in her voice. “I was drunk, Y/N. I—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Don’t use that as an excuse. Drunk or not, you said what you meant.”

He reached out as if to touch her, but she leaned away, her walls firmly in place. The bond between them hummed weakly, a pale reflection of what it once was.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I said those things. But I didn’t mean them—not the way they came out. I was an idiot, and I—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said I make everything harder. That I don’t belong. So, I’ll make it easy for you.”

His heart dropped. “Y/N, please don’t—”

“No,” she said firmly, standing up. She towered over him, her presence fierce despite the anguish etched into her face. “You wanted me to stay out of things I don’t understand? Fine. I won’t ask questions anymore. I won’t ‘insert myself’ into your precious plans. I’ll do exactly what you want, Rhys. I’ll disappear into the background, a perfect little shadow in your court.”

His chest tightened painfully as her words sank in. “That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising. “Because it’s exactly what you said, Rhysand. And for once, I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”

She turned on her heel and began walking away, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.

Rhys scrambled to his feet, following her. “You’re twisting this! I don’t want you to disappear, Y/N. I need you. I was a fool to say those things, but you—”

“But nothing,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t get to need me only when it’s convenient, Rhys. You don’t get to humiliate me and then expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my love, my trust. And you threw it in my face.”

The weight of her words was crushing, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. She was right.

“I’ll come home,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because Velaris is my home, and the Inner Circle is my family. But you…” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Instead, she steadied herself. “You are no longer my priority, Rhysand. If you want my forgiveness, you’re going to have to earn it. Every. Single. Day.”

With that, she winnowed away, leaving him standing in the empty clearing, the bond between them a cold echo of what it used to be.

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Back at the townhouse, Y/N strode in with her head held high, her expression blank. The Inner Circle, still gathered in the sitting room, fell silent as she entered.

“Y/N,” Feyre started, but Y/N held up a hand.

“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I just need some rest.”

They watched her ascend the stairs, none of them daring to stop her.

Moments later, Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his steps heavy as he entered the room.

“She didn’t forgive you, did she?” Mor said quietly, her arms crossed.

He shook his head, his throat tightening. “No.”

“And she shouldn’t,” Amren said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Not until you prove you deserve it.”

Rhysand said nothing, the truth of her words settling like a stone in his gut.

As he made his way upstairs, he stopped outside their bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t go in. He could feel her inside, her grief and anger rippling through their bond.

For the first time in centuries, the High Lord of the Night Court felt powerless.

And he deserved every second of it.

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The days following that fateful night were a study in contrasts for the Night Court. Y/N returned to her duties, carrying herself with a grace and efficiency that made it impossible to find fault in her actions. She was polished, precise, and perfect—exactly what Rhysand had drunkenly claimed she wasn’t.

Rhys felt the weight of her words in everything she did, a pointed reminder of how deeply he had wronged her.

“You wanted me to disappear into the background,” she had said. And she did.

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Y/N began arriving precisely on time to every meeting, her notes already prepared, her insights delivered in a calm, detached manner. She offered no questions, no debates, just the bare necessities required of her position.

“Any thoughts, Y/N?” Rhys asked one afternoon during a strategy meeting with the Inner Circle.

She met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her expression unreadable. “None, my lord. I’ll carry out the plan as outlined.”

The title, usually reserved for formal settings, felt like a slap to his face. Rhys clenched his jaw, watching her retreat into herself. The warmth she used to bring into the room, the way her laughter used to lighten even the heaviest of conversations, was absent.

“I think this plan could use some fine-tuning,” Cassian interjected, attempting to draw Y/N out.

“I trust the High Lord’s judgment,” she replied coolly, gathering her papers. “If that’s all, I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

She left the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“She’s killing you,” Mor said after a moment, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.

“She’s killing herself,” Amren corrected, her silver eyes narrowing. “But only because he killed her first.”

Rhys lowered his head, guilt an anchor in his chest. “I deserve this,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“And then some,” Feyre added softly, though her voice carried an edge of sympathy.

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At home, Y/N’s silence was even more deafening. She no longer sat beside him on the couch, opting for the farthest seat in the room. She no longer joined him for late-night talks, instead retreating to her private quarters with a book or a report.

Even when they shared the same bed, she was miles away. She would slip under the covers after he’d pretended to fall asleep, her body curled tightly on the far edge of the mattress. The bond between them, once a vibrant tether of love and warmth, was now a fragile thread, stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.

Rhys tried everything he could think of. He filled her favorite garden with fresh blooms, sent her favorite meals to her office, even wrote her letters apologizing for his thoughtless words.

Each attempt was met with polite acknowledgment but no real response.

“I don’t need gifts, Rhysand,” she said one evening when he’d tried to present her with a rare necklace from one of his travels. Her voice was calm but firm. “I need respect. I need trust. And I need time.”

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Weeks passed like this, each day a slow torture. The bond hummed faintly with her sadness, but it was muffled, guarded, as though she was shielding herself from him entirely.

One night, Rhys found her in the library, poring over mission reports. She looked so tired, her usually radiant features shadowed with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Rhys?”

“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need to know how to fix this.”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he wished she hadn’t. The emptiness in her gaze was a knife to his heart.

“You want to fix this?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Then prove to me that I’m more than just a burden to you. Show me that I’m not some inconvenient addition to your perfect court.”

“I never thought you were—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time in weeks. She stood, the papers in her hands trembling. “You did, Rhysand. You said it yourself. And I believed you. I believed every word.”

Her admission was like a punch to the gut, and Rhys took a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I swear on the Mother, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “And that’s the part I can’t forget.”

She brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the library, her tears the only sound echoing in the empty space.

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The next morning, Y/N was back to her unshakable, distant self. She attended meetings, completed her missions with flawless precision, and maintained an icy professionalism that left no room for personal connection.

But Rhys noticed the way she avoided his gaze, the way her laughter no longer filled the halls, the way she barely touched the bond between them.

She was giving him exactly what he’d drunkenly demanded: distance, detachment, and silence.

And it was killing him.

One evening, Feyre found him sitting alone in the dining room, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.

“She’ll come back to you,” Feyre said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not unless I can prove to her that I’m worth coming back to.”

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It wasn’t until a particularly grueling mission left Y/N injured that the walls finally cracked.

She stumbled into the townhouse late at night, her arm bleeding and her face pale. Rhys was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as he helped her to the couch.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” he demanded, his hands glowing with healing light as he tended to her wounds.

“I didn’t think you’d want to clean up another one of my messes,” she said flatly, her words cutting deeper than any injury.

Rhys froze, his hands trembling. “Y/N, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snapped, her exhaustion finally breaking through her calm exterior. “Don’t remind you of the words you threw at me like knives? Don’t make you feel guilty for the way you shattered me?”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Rhys felt his own tears slipping free. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he whispered. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if you’ll let me.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head, her voice soft but firm.

“I need more than words, Rhysand. I need actions. I need time. And I need to believe that you truly see me as your equal, not as someone you have to clean up after.”

He nodded, his heart aching. “You have my word, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you.”

She said nothing more, retreating to her room and leaving Rhys alone once again.

But this time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

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[drag-ula]

SO IT GOES

rockstar!matt x fem!reader

content warnings : smut (p in v), fingering, oral (fem!recieving), strong language,

being in a relationship with one of the most popular musicians was exhausting. the actual relationship was amazing but the package that comes with it? literal torture.

she could cope with the fans begging for photos and autographs, in fact she was happy that they did that because of how much it meant to her boyfriend.

the worst of it was the parties. matt was always invited to these big events where he talks with other stars and guests. she was used to her boyfriend being busy throughout the night but when she has to watch another woman try and flirt with him…she’d never felt to jealous.

this has happened lots of times before and of course it would, he’s in a band but those little giggles coming from her mouth and the smile on his face were enough to make her blood boil.

she didn’t want to cause a scene, especially in front of all these big names. it was hard not to go over there and confront them, so to distract her mind, she went off to get another drink.

after a couple more drinks, matt walked up behind her, giving her a kiss on the neck as she ever so slightly pulled away. he gave her a confused look, knowing something was wrong instantly.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, lightly grabbing ahold of her chin so she’d look at him.

she gave him a harsh glare, “i don’t know, maybe ask your new friend.” her words came out with a hint of poison as she tried to avoid his gaze.

again, he was having none of it. “could you just tell me what i did wrong?” he practically begged, watching her start to walk away.

he took a step forward and pulled her back to him. matt held onto her hand as he took her through the crowd and into a quiet, empty room.

“who was the girl?” she questioned, crossing her arms, making matt let out a small laugh.

he shook his head unbelievably, “that’s what this is about?” matt continued to smile. “wow, i didn’t think of you as the jealous type.” he began to tease her.

she blushed at his words, embarrassed to admit that it was the truth but he saw right through her.

“c’mon, you got nothing to worry about. you’re it for me, okay?” matt stepped closer, making her back touch the wall.

his hands began to move from her waist, down to the end of her dress. she let out a gasp at the sudden movement, feeling her face heat up.

“but there’s people outside.” she said, gesturing to the party still happening.

“then we’ll just have to be quiet.” he shrugged his shoulders, his fingers reaching the bottom of her underwear and slowly going up until he felt her wetness.

she let out a gasp as his fingers pumped in and out of her. “fuck.” she moaned, her eyes already rolling back from pleasure.

“you like that?” matt leaned closer to her ear, feeling himself hardening in his jeans at the sight of her.

“i’m gonna-“ she began to say, only for him to pull away from her.

he began kissing down her neck, not caring about leaving marks. “not yet, baby.”

matt crouched down onto the floor and lifted her dress again. he pulled down her underwear and immediately buried his face into her wetness.

she moaned loudly as his tongue moved up and down repeatedly. “yes, right there.” her hands went into his hair, pulling at it.

her hips slowly grinded into his face, feeling even more pleasure than before. “yes.” her moans grew louder as she went into her orgasm.

matt looked up at her and smiled, her cum dripping down his chin. he pulled off his jeans and underwear, revealing his cock dripping with pre cum.

“go sit down.” he insisted, pointing at the couch in front of them. she did as he said and watched as he sat down next to her.

she took his cock in her hand and started to pump him. he leaned his head back against the couch and groaned under his breath. “fuck, you’re so good at this.” he panted, watching as her hand moved.

matt grabbed her hips and placed her on top of him. she lined her entrance up with his cock and sunk herself onto him. she started to ride him at a fast pace, moans and groans coming from both of them.

“baby, i’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” matt told her, his hands going up her dress and squeezing her breasts.

she rode him faster, watching as he came undone. “fuck, yes.” he whimpered, guiding her hips as she started to get tired.

her eyes rolled back, “god, you feel so good.” she almost yelled, feeling herself orgasm.

they both panted, trying to catch their breath. matt pulled out and kissed her on the lips. “you did so well, baby.”

[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.