#what the actual fuck have they been putting into this show

[brick-van-dyke]

Literally the opposite of what actually happens but ok sure, let's assume all pro Palestinians (including Jewish Palestinians and antizionist Jews) have said what you just put in their mouth. Lets also assume that any and all Palestinians (again, including Jewish Palestinians) who hate Israeli Jews for the treatment of them are wrong while Jews who hate Germans for their cruelty are right. Let's assume we support, unconditionally, all Zionists in the past and present since apparently you see Zionism as Representing Jewish safety.

This implies we should go support the people who have historically supported the Nazi party in Germany (Zionist Federation of Germany with the The Haavara Agreement, as well as their collaboration and in killing Jews in Nazi Germany, remembering also their deal to deport Jews to Palestine), or the famously totally not antisemitic far right neo nazis (Donald Trump, Proud Boys, etc) currently supporting Israel and saying it "should" be the only place for Jews. If these groups, who have been notorious for desecrating Jewish graves and synagogues long before oct 7, spraying graffiti of swastikas, and harassing Jews, are now pro Israel (evidently again as said groups have vouched support for Israel and attacked activists for ceasefire continually over the past years, should we, as people who do not want to accept any intolerance from either anti Jewish OR anti Palestinian sentiment, just ignore all of this?

If supporting Israel means standing side by side with people raising their hand in a seig hail and saying "death to Jews" and "death to Arabs"? Yeah, no, I don't think the enemy here is a race or even the trauma from years of occupation that shows as defensiveness and hatred, but as always, the western Nazis who pit and have always pitted racial groups against each other. And I think I'd rather die both pro Palestinian and pro Jewish rather than live as a nazi. And evidently it is established Neo Nazi organisations supporting Israel and I will not stand besides those antisemitic, racists motherfuckers and no amount of "some of the nazis might be Jewish and hate Jews" will make me rethink that. There were gay Nazis, but they still killed us for being queer. Likewise, I don't stand with any other group who bootlick to their oppressors and side with those oppressors.

Like, there is just nothing that can be said to convince people to join the same side that are reusing nazi slogans, signal and symbols, I'm sorry but no. Many many Jews, queers and people who have any trauma around nazis fucking up their lives don't want that and calling them "the wrong kind of Jew" or "self hating" is just wrong. Jews can hate nazis, and if a nazi says "you should support Israel" damn right I'll question that.

I also want to add a bit extra in relation to people who try to use this movement for antisemitism, and those who do actually have trauma from Israeli occupation. The former are kicked out, ostracized and shunned. They are not part of this movement and, more often than not, hate Palestinians and Arabs as well. Using this movement is a convenient way for them to encite hatred towards both Arabs and Jews, they are racists fuckwits and we, those who want freedom and equality for both Jews and Palestinians, do not recognise these fuckers as much as they hold hatred and clash with our own groups.

The latter are those who, much like many people have been led to believe thanks to propaganda, that Jewishness and Zionism are one and the same when they're very different. Zionism, while originating from Jewish groups intertwining into the French academic community, it is a political movement built out of western socialism and feudalist nationalism. The genuine hope of return is a separate Jewish concept that, while has been misused to justify Political Zionism, is its own concept that has existed long before the influence of French militarism and western colonialist ideologies. Said people see the indiscriminate slaughter in Palestine and even towards other Jews and then blame Jews, thanks to that conflation. The defending of that lie only further endangers Jewish communities and risks the rise of antisemitism. Israel has, despite being warned of this, capitalised further on this and incited violence against Jews.

Despite all of this, all evidence, and all logic, even if we assume that all Jewish and Arab Palestinians somehow are to be blamed more than any far right Nazi standing by your side for 1939, it cannot be denied that the obsession of race being the determining factor of ones morality is a dangerous standpoint to base your stance on. If this really is an argument of "pro Arab or pro Jew" with no allowance to accept all races as equal, then there is no argument to be had; if you think anyone born as any one race or ethnicity is to blame then your own identity cannot claim innocence over the inherent racism of that stance, both towards Arabs and the racist assumption of othering Jews, even and especially as a Jew.

starting to realize that when antizionists say “israel shouldn’t be the only safe place for jews” they don’t mean “so we should make other places safe for jews,” they mean “there should be no safe place for jews”

[athetos]

A few other things I’m chewing on from severance s2e2:

Them needing Mark to do ‘Cold Harbor’, to the point that they actually re-hired the others, is pretty big. At first I figured they put Gemma near him just as a silly experiment but now I’m fully convinced it’s because he knew her so well that even as an innie he’s able to subconsciously retain a lot of that and thus is able to sort her brain better than anyone else. She might be the only braindead person they’re trying to revive right now just to prove that it works before they do the founders, so they can’t just abandon the project.

Cobel is going to inevitably team up with mark in the future, I think he’s going to track her down and they’ll have a heart to heart, she’ll reveal why she’s been so invested in his life and their work and team up to take Lumen down. I feel she could be swayed fairly easily into turning against them if the right things were said and she realized they’d never let her get what she wants anyway.

It didn’t occur to me that being severed fucks you over severely if you ever look for another job. Beyond the obvious “most people outside of Lumen think being severed is inhumane and would never hire someone who would agree to it,” you have no fucking job skills! You can’t tell what you did on the job, not because of an NDA, but because you genuinely don’t know. It’s like having a however many months/years long gap in your resume with nothing to show for it, but worse. No wonder Lumen must have a high retention rate for severed employees - you’ll probably come crawling back begging for a job because it’s all you have left.

I have a bad feeling something is going to happen to Devon. The one executive guy overheard them, and I have no doubt that they know she’s the one encouraging Mark to keep looking for Gemma and answers. However, she did also convince him to keep the job, so…

I need more info on outtie Irving so fucking badly. I need to know what he knows. How is he retaining information from his innie? Is it really from sleep deprivation (and Motörhead)? How did he have Burt’s name? What is going onnnn!

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

ok we (i) need ceo man gale to be absolutely RAILED in his office by his rival ceo husband (ysl what have you done to me)

This has lit up my brain like I’ve been plugged into an outlet 💡

I’m imagining that no one but their close friends knows that they’re married 😈 Everyone’s out here thinking they’re mortal enemies and they honestly encourage it.

So, maybe there’s a day Gale steals a big client out from under John and he comes storming into Gale’s building with this look on his face that has Gale’s employees scrambling because he looks pissed and they’re calling to warn Gale that he’s about to be murdered and he’s just like, “let him in 😏�� and they knew Gale was cocky and kind of crazy but they’re mentally rehearsing what they’re gonna say on the 911 call when they find his corpse.

Meanwhile, John couldn’t care less about the client (they’re actually competitive as hell and stealing clients from each other is essentially foreplay but that’s not the problem here) he’s losing his gourd because he left before Gale did that morning and didn’t get to see Gale’s OOTD so when Gale stole that client’s contract and sent John a dramatic bitchy text to gloat followed by a sassy little selfie to show off his new suit…

John is absolutely unwell and has to fuck his husband about it.

So they lock themselves in Gale’s office and there is concerning noises coming from the office that’s got the employees wigging out but Benny knows what’s actually going on and forces them to walk away and leave it. It may sound like they’re murdering each other but really their just shoving each other into stuff while shoving their tongues down each others throats, knocking shit of the walls as they try to undress each other without tripping and pushing stuff off of the desk, and eventually knocking stuff off of the desk with how hard they fuck on it. They don’t even bother trying to muffle their moans and it takes 10 years off of Benny’s life but he’s used to it and just puts headphones in.

When John comes out he doesn’t even bother to try to look ashamed, he peacocks right out of that office. He might’ve lost a client that day but that man is definitely not losing when his husband looks like that.

All of Gale’s employees are understandably confused about what just happened.

[rat6ix]

Proxy.

Ticci toby x proxy!reader

Wc: 1.8k

— 🐀

Summary: Toby finds out your secret and now you have to make sure he doesn’t run his mouth to his friends.

Warnings: smut (wow, so surprising), sub toby, reader is mean, Toby lowkey scared of reader, Tobys also a proxy, reader doesn’t want anyone in the slender mansion to know who they are under their mask, reader doesn’t live in the slender mansion, knife stuff, reader and Toby went to the same school ,full fic version of my last ticci toby post sorta not really but in the ways that count.

Recently you’ve been seeing someone in the woods by your house. You already knew who it was, an old friend from school. That was the only other person you’d ever heard of called “ticci toby”, It did the take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. You always made sure you knew when he was going to be there, learning his schedule the first few days he started showing up, after all you had your own work to do. Right now you were sitting on your couch, beetlejuice playing in the background as you stared back at Toby from the living room window, a disinterested look on your face. 12am sharp was when he headed back to what you could only guess to be the slender mansion.

You had been there a few times but not long enough for anybody but Ej and slenderman himself to see you. You and Ej were acquaintances, the only one you liked well enough to actually greet whenever you stopped by. He was quiet and didn’t ask questions, the last thing you needed was a nosy fuck in your business. Sometimes you’d bring him the kidneys of your last job if he was lucky, that wasnt very often; they were usually damaged from your attacks anyways. As soon as you were sure he was far enough away from your house you made your way to your room, throwing on a pair of jeans —flared at the bottom so you didnt need to worry about how your boots would fit.

you kept your faded band t-shirt on and threw your old bloodstained jacket from Highschool on. Reaching under your bed you found the box you were oh so familiar with, opening it to find your mask, it was cracked at the bottom and missing a piece over your right eye. You wasted no time putting it on and making your way to where you needed to be, hoping you wouldn’t bump into Toby or anyone else on the way. Slendermans command fresh in your mind as you locked the door behind you, putting your keys under the porcelain plant pot behind of your house so you wouldn’t lose them.

By the time you finished the job and made your way back to your house it was around 3am and you were out of breath and covered in blood, it was caked under your fingernails and no doubt stuck in your hair covering your already blood caked jacket. Your mask was quickly discarded on the coffee table and you stripped yourself of your clothing on your way to your bathroom, making a mental note to clean up before you went to bed. Making sure no more blood came off of you was your number one priority, not wanting to deal with any stains on your bedroom carpet or bed sheets.

Soon enough you were done and dressed making your way back to where you’d left your clothes and mask, putting your jeans in the washer as well as your shirt. You didnt bother with your jacket, knowing it would just get dirty again you threw it on a hanger in your closet. You returned the mask to the box under your bed before deciding to get the beetlejuice vhs tape from your living room tv so you could fall asleep to it. Making sure you grabbed a glass of water on your way back you took your pills and tucked yourself in, making sure you put the now half empty glass of water on your nightstand just in case.

The next day you were expecting Toby’s stalking to continue but a knock on the door snapped your gaze away from his usual window. You stood up, throwing your blanket off your lap and pausing saw (2004) on your tv. You opened the door, not as surprised when you realized it was toby, missing his usual goggles and muzzle as well as his jacket. Only a black turtle neck covered him, you guessed it didn’t matter what he wore he couldn’t feel the cold anyways.

“What brings you here Toby?” You asked, moving out of the door way to let him in.

“Oh i was just in the- the area and i wanted to see if you wanted to han- to hang out.” His words were cut off by the occasional tic causing him to have to restart a couple words.

You nodded with disinterest before making your way back to your spot on the couch waving for him to follow you. He was picking at his fingers the same way he used to in Highschool, seems like people don’t really change. He used to get blood all over his desk at least once a week you just hoped he didnt do the same with your couch. You pressed play on the remote, Amanda’s cry’s filling the room as she escaped from the reverse bear trap. You got about 20 more minutes into the movie before Toby spoke up.

“Do you have a bath— bathroom?” He questioned, looking over to your focused face.

You gestured down the hall not looking away from the tv, you could tell he nodded before making his way down the hall and He really was going to go to the bathroom but your bedroom door was open and he couldn’t help himself. It had been more than 10 minutes before you realized he was still gone, your face scrunching up in confusion as you paused the tv and got up. You footsteps were quiet, you’d memorized every creaky floorboard in your house for thoes nights with the splitting headaches where even a pin drop sounded like a jackhammer. When you made your way into your room you noticed Toby was hunched over something, a box, your box.

“What the fuck are you doing.” You tried to keep yourself from raising your voice, fists clenched at your sides.

He gasped and dropped the box, turning around trying to come up with something but only gibberish coming out. You started to cross the distance between the both of you, toby scrambling to get his goggles and muzzle out of his pockets. Your face dropped once you realized what was in his hand before a humorous expression crossed your face for a split second.

“What? You thought i didn’t know?” You almost laughed at the stupid expression on his face.

“It doesn’t take a fucking genius ‘ticci toby’.” You finally closed the distance grabbing him by the front of his turtleneck and pulling him up off the ground before pushing him backward onto your bed

His eyes widened as he fell back, looking up at you with slight fear now that he knew what you did,what you were capable of. You’d been a proxy longer than him, you had disappeared a year before him but he thought you might’ve just switched schools. He’d only heard whispers about your work around the mansion, Nobody knew who you were except slenderman and Ej but Ej refused to tell him anything and he only “talked” to slenderman when it came to jobs. To say he was surprised to learn who you really were was an understatement, his hands twitching as you crawled onto of him.

“So heres whats gonna happen, im gonna fuck your brains out and you’re not gonna tell any of your little proxy friends who I am, right?” You smiled —albeit unsettlingly—, your hands sliding under his sweater.

He nodded profusely, his hands moving up so you could successfully take his turtleneck off before sitting up. your hands moved down to unbutton his jeans, the metal digging into your finger. You felt his hands tug at the bottom of your shirt, asking for permission to take it off; you only nodded as confirmation before moving your own arms up. You backed off of him for a moment to pull your pants and underwear down, Toby must’ve gotten the idea as his pants and underwear around his ankles by the time you returned your attention to him and reclaimed your spot on his lap.

A small smirk finding itself on your face as you stroked his cock, a whine leaving his mouth every time you reached the tip. You decide to torture him a bit, focusing on solely the tip just to tease. His thighs tensed under you and his whines got louder, obviously affected by your teasing. After a bit more teasing you decided you were too impatient, taking no time to move further up his lap to slide his cock into you. His neck twitched as well as his hands as you rode his cock a strangled noise pushing its way out of his throat. His hands found their place on your hips, Toby not realizing how hard he was squeezing you worried he was going to leave marks.

“Are you sure..I can’t at least tell—“ he tried to ask but before he could finish you’d gotten the pocket knife from under your pillow and held it to his neck.

“Toby, if you tell anyone i swear i will find you and slit your throat in front of everyone at the slender mansion.” You growled, pushing the knife close to his neck.

He swallowed and nodded babbling out useless words of understanding, neck getting nicked by the knife slightly ad he moved, a bead of blood gathering on the wound. You put the knife on your bedside table, still unsheathed just incase you might need it again. Leaning down you put your mouth to his neck, sucking the blood off his neck as he moaned. You continued fucking him, his noises of desperation and encouragement bringing a sadistic smile to your face as you thought of kicking him out and making him walk back to the mansion with a boner.

It didn’t take long for him to get close to finishing, the knife stunt from earlier clearly excited him. His moans got higher in pitch as he got closer, his nails dug into you with a new found sense of purpose. You could feel him forcing your hips up and down every time you slid yourself on his cock, you couldn’t help but dig your own nails into him —not that he minded. You could tell he was going to cum soon, if the high pitched moans werent a good enough sign his erratic twitching was. His fingers twitched against your skin making him loosen his grip on your hips only to tighten them back up as he came, bucking his hips into you. You let out a groan as you came, riding out your high before sliding off him and laying down to his left.

“Am i allowed to stay—stay here or should i leave.” Toby whispered from beside you, looking in your direction.

“I don’t care what you do.” You answered honestly, getting up to make your way to the shower, missing Tobys smile as he got up to join you.

—

Belongs to rat6ix

[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

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

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.

[starryjake]

What do you think are the top kinks for Andteam?~~~ (I'm new to your blog. I LOVE YOU FOR STUNNING ANDTEAM!~💕💕)

(a/n: this took me so long i could not think of any kinks for the life of me buttttt this is what i came up with!!)

k:

size - k is super tall and i think he would love being with someone a lot tinier than him. he likes someone he can make fun of for being short but when it comes to bed, he loves having someone that’s just easy to manhandle. he likes being able to lift you up or turn you around and just have his way with you with ease. feels a sense of pride about being so much bigger than you and likes to feel like he can protect you.

brat taming - likes to put you in your PLACE! secretly likes when you’re bratty but doesn’t show it at all, only shows how annoyed and frustrated he gets whenever you’re acting that way. he just loves to have an excuse to punish you: whether it’s edging you, overstimulating you, or if you’ve been really bad, then not letting you cum at all. he’s so cute and sweet most of the time but he can get pretty stern in bed!

begging - he’s so difficult i stg. i just know he’s gonna make you beg if you want something from him. you want him to finger you? you need to say please at least like three times. you want his cock? he basically expects you to be on your knees purely begging for him to give it to you. he just loves it so much, knowing you want him badly enough that you’re willing to beg like a pathetic little thing. and he will not hesitate to call you a pathetic little thing for needing him so bad.

more under the cut…

fuma:

breeding - like it just makes sense. he just loooooves having you in a mating press and fucking all his cum deep inside you, completely staining your insides. he’ll stay inside you for a few minutes just to ensure that his cum is doing it’s thing, and when he pulls out, he stuffs it all back inside with his fingers. he isn’t actually ready to knock you up yet, but just the idea makes him hard as a rock.

spanking - if his partner is being a brat, bro does not PLAY. he does not hold back. takes you to the nearest couch or bed and bends you ever his lap, spanking you and making you count until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. it turns him on so fucking much feeling you writhe and shake in his lap, only to look up at him with teary eyes after and apologize for being a brat. almost always ends with him fucking the absolute shit out of you.

pet play - likes to put you in cute kitten ears or bunny ears, and collars too. likes to call you kitten and puppy and see you act all sweet and cute for him. LOVES it when you suck his dick while you’re wearing your ears, like i just know that’s the quickest way to make him bust. this way, he loves telling you what to do and you know you should do it if you want to avoid punishment (insert spanking kink).

nicholas:

• size - while k’s size kink is more in relation to the difference in height or body, nicho’s is more about his big dick lol. by that i mean he loves nothing more than to see you struggle to take his dick. it’s super hot to him the first time he’s having sex with someone and they can’t take it, but especially when he has sex with them again and they still can’t take it. like no amount of practice will ever get you accumulated to his big size.

• choking (giving) - he just looks like he likes it and like REALLY likes it. like he likes doing it hard too, wrapping his hand around your neck and actually squeezing it tight. obviously he’s not gonna squeeze it tight enough to like genuinely hurt you, but just enough to turn your face red and have you gasping for a breath. likes to do it when he’s fucking you real hard, when he just can’t control himself anymore and has to see you weak underneath him.

• marking (giving) - i just know he loves seeing you covered in hickeys. he’s careful when it comes to your neck, knowing it’s too obvious and too many people would be able to see it, which is why he opts for more private places that only he can see, like your thighs and hips and chest. you just look too perfect covered in purple bruises, each a little reminder of the sensual moment you had together.

ej:

• dirty talk - this may come as a surprise and i understand, but HEAR ME OUT! i just oddly see him as someone, when he gets in the right mood, just loves to tease you and get pretty nasty with you. just likes being a little mean to you during sex, always with a teasing grin on his face. teases you about how loud you’re moaning, about how you’re such a needy whore, how pathetic you are. i know this is a hot take but i know he has it in him!

marking (receiving) - likes marking you but LOVES when you mark him. nothing pleases him more than taking off his shirt, looking in the mirror, and seeing himself covered in purple hickeys all from you. he loves seeing the contrast of the old fading ones with the fresh ones, all scattered around his collar bones and chest. he likes when you bite him and scratch him too, anything that’s sure to leave a mark.

cum eating - he won’t force you, but he REALLY loves when you swallow his cum. if you’re sucking him off and he warns you that he’s about to finish and you keep your mouth on him, he gets SO EXCITED bc he knows you’re gonna let him cum down your throat. he has a habit of holding your head to his cock when he cums, ensuring that you get all his cum. then he’ll make you stick your tongue out once he’s done to make sure you swallowed every last drop!

yuma:

• quickies - i see him constantly having random spurts of energy that have him needing ways to get it out. as a result, he starts fucking you. these rounds only go for about five minutes but they’re just enough for him to release some of his pent up energy as well as make both you and him feel good. he also likes the slight risk factor in it because you never know when and where he’s gonna get the urge to fuck you.

• throat fucking - lives to see and hear you choke on his cock. when you give him the okay to fuck your throat, he goes for it and he goes hard. grabs you by the hair on the back of your head and just starts pounding your mouth. you’re gagging and drooling around him and practically crying, and he just loves it. especially loves it if you let him cum in your mouth and swallow it.

edging - he can lowkey be so mean during sex sometimes, and what i mean by that is he simply will not let you cum, at least not right away. he’ll get you so close, to the brink of your orgasm, and then rip it right away from you. he just loves to see how frustrated you get, sometimes to the point of tears, and how you beg with all your might to cum. normally, he eventually caves and lets you cum, but he likes to have his fun first.

jo:

• choking (receiving) - listen. he’s just so pretty and i can imagine my hand around his neck and him liking it. like the noises he would let out while you’re squeezing his pretty neck, soft little sighs and a deep moan here and there. i can see him shyly grabbing your hand and bringing it up to your neck to get you started.

• getting bossed around - idk what the actual kink name for this would be but hear me out! he just likes to let you do literally whatever you want with him and especially likes it when you’re a little mean about it. obviously don’t be TOO mean but you know…assert your dominance. likes when you declare what position you wanna be in and he just goes with it, letting you take the reigns.

• eye contact - i think at first when you initiated eye contact during sex, it made him super nervous and embarrassed, but he found that he kinda liked the way that being nervous and embarrassed felt. it just excited him more, and so whenever you grab him by the face and get him to look into your eyes, he just feels a certain way. he feels so shy and nervous, yet so close and connected to you at the same time.

[notsofrozt]

Bingliushen fic recs in no particular order (buckle up this is going to be long):

Shen Qingqiu Gets Mad: The Fic by poison_dart_frog (T)

After the destruction of their third house, Shen Qingqiu leaves Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge alone until they get their shit together. Without Shen Qingqiu there, Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge are forced to spend time together, rebuild a house, and (hopefully) win back their husband. Easier said than done when it’s an emotionally constipated war god and crybaby demon lord that is having to get along. (It's more towards the BingLiu side, but a 10/10 regardless)

⚔️

something you don't give much attention by brosnyaa (E)

The one where Liu Qingge actually wins a fight and Luo Binghe ends up getting a little hot for Shishu.

⚔️

Universal Simps by chaoticgoodlawyer (M)

Luo Binghe had been trying to tell his husband something for some time, but Shen Qingqiu just wasn't getting it. The System helps the Protagonist out by forcing Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe, and Liu Qingge into his husband's original world. Hijinks ensue. Moshang are just along for the ride. (In which Shen Qingqiu stops being so oblivious, and Bingqiu gain a boyfriend.)

⚔️

something 'bout tonight feels meant to be by lavenderandrue (T)

one time at a party i kissed someone's girlfriendboyfriend and to make sure he wasn't mad about it i just kissed him too... i blacked out and woke up to a text in a groupchat with both of them that said "did u make it home safe baby? <3"

⚔️

I Dream You’re Still Breathing (don’t wake me up) by PeerlessCourgette (marimorimo), scholomancefan (E)

When he’d awoken in the Sun and Moon Dew Mushroom body, Shen Qingqiu had intended to get as far away as possible from everyone in his past; especially Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge. Instead he found himself a helpless bystander to the fight between them. But when Liu Qingge is hurt–seriously hurt–Shen Qingqiu knows leaving is no longer an option.

⚔️

to light the hearth by lemonlight (E)

Liu Qingge said something he's always intended to keep private. Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu show him - thoroughly - that his feelings are not as unreciprocated as he thinks.

⚔️

Putting the 'Hit' in 'Hit On' by Prudabaga (E)

In which Luo Binghe unknowingly engages in demonic flirtation with Liu Qingge via punches, and everyone knows about it and is cool with it. Luo Binghe just wishes someone had told him.

⚔️

Today, and every day after by summerdays_winternights (E)

“Junshang, the human that has been courting you for the past seven years with the duels? And by bringing Consort Shen his conquests? He is the one that brought the deer to you, correct?” Luo Binghe nods, still in a daze. “Yes, that’s Liu Shishu.” “Mn,” Mobei-jun nods. “Will you be accepting his courting soon? Qinghua says there are many demons who wish to court him if you two do not accept.” What the fuck? What the fuck? Like hell he’s going to let some trash court Liu Qingge. Wait. Oh.

⚔️

Ship Wars: A New Hope (RPF Edition) by PeerlessCourgette (marimorimo), scholomancefan (E)

A fresh infusion of smut to rival Regret of Chunshan has flooded the jianghu—and for once, it’s not Shen Qingqiu x Luo Binghe! Shen Qingqiu breathes a sigh of relief. But his reprieve is short-lived. What the fuck is “Bingliushen”?!

⚔️

Two PIDW Cosplayers Broke Into My Apartment And Saved My Life but They Hate Each Other and Keep Breaking My Things by Kamaete-(E)

Shen Yuan wakes up, in his apartment, to two impossibly beautiful cosplayers (their special effects look too good to be cosplayers though) fighting (over him? He hopes not. They keep calling him Shen Qingqiu and he's not sure he likes the comparison).

⚔️

A Flaw in the System by CheckersXIV (M)

Shen Yuan has been working in the 99th Precinct for a grand total of three months. He’s pretty certain he deserves an award for being able to adjust to the absolute bullshit that happens here. (A Brooklyn 99 AU, pretty cool)

⚔️

best of both worlds by ChezPillow (PillowLord) (M)

Everyone knows that the singer Zheng Yang uses an alias. Only a select few knows the man behind the music idol. Luo Binghe prefers it that way.

⚔️

In the Pit by ShanBlackRX (E)

When Shen Yuan perked his head up to the raw punk song flooding Liu Qingge’s living room, taking interest in the insane bass line that was playing then, Liu Qingge didn’t expect him to slowly but surely obsess over this band within the subsequent weeks, asking to borrow his albums so he could tear apart their musical skills and start to actively engage in conversations about them with his friend.

Requested by @axxa-the-allikatt, @anonimgato1507, @thischickiswack

[protect-namine]

yingdu episode 5 spoilers

ohhh my god this is everything I want from cheng xiaoshi. yes. perfect. sorry, but I'm a cheng xiaoshi whump liker and link click always brings out the best of them in episode 5 of each season.

there's just something cathartic about how when cheng xiaoshi becomes an emotional mess, it's also when he's most disconnected with the people he knows (physically, as he's diving in a photo and his only link to his home timeframe is a disembodied lu guang in his head) but it's also when he's most connected with strangers (when their own personal trauma lines up with his). to me, it's a showcase of empathy and a strange manifestation of his own agency. something about how the disconnect gives him the space to blow up, and the connection heightens it and grants him permission, almost, to express his anger more freely for his own sake and for another person's behalf.

like. listen, okay, I'm gonna ramble now because cheng xiaoshi is my favorite character in this entire show, but listen. sometimes some fans will conflate adjectives to his character that are usually associated with his character archetype, but they aren't necessarily true about him as a character. and I don't mean it in a, "he's not like that because he grows out of those traits" kind of way. I mean it in a, "he was never like that" kind of way.

one of those adjectives, for me, is when people call him immature. he isn't! to me! imo! he's got big emotions, yes, but I personally don't think the presence of big emotions indicates anything about maturity. because you know what? as long as his primary trauma (feelings of abandonment) isn't touched, he is very good at handling interpersonal conflicts, and that's what's interesting to me.

qiao ling hides relevant information from him? he removes himself from the situation to give himself space and sort out his feelings. he tells her he's fine and that he'll be back.

post-earthquake arc? I'll just copy paste what I already said in a previous ask:

what initially got me was when I was first watching S1, I thought the earthquake arc would have devastating effects on [shiguang's] relationship. listen, I didn’t know what I was getting into with link click, but I thought that was expected. it’s ripe for drama! but how do they handle the fight? they put their side business on hold but they still keep being roommates. they still do their day job. they still talk. they’re still upset but they give each other space but not to the point where they can’t stand existing in each other’s spaces. that’s when I realized that oh, they really trust each other. they have a very solid foundation for their relationship that not even the earthquake arc can break. they’re pretty level-headed about this, actually, all things considered? all the doomed yaoi stuff came later, but that’s just the cherry on top. it’s the way they handled conflict and disappointment in S1 that got me.

okay, protect-namine, why go through that whole tangent? BECAUSE! circling back to yingdu episode 5, we finally, finally get to see cheng xiaoshi let out some of his anger. and it's precisely because his primary trauma point was on the table. he can forgive a friend lying, and he can forgive being told not to change the past. because at the end of the day, qiao ling and lu guang stayed. they never left him.

but he cannot handle abandonment. he cannot understand why people leave. he cannot understand why he's been clinging on to false hope this entire time. and more importantly, he cannot understand how someone can be such a hypocrite about it. "a man who'd rather be kind to strangers than face his own son" like fuck man. cheng weimin you fucked up so bad.

it's the disconnect/connect thing again too. thematically, it makes sense. when does cheng xiaoshi blow up? when he's alone, far away from the people that ground him. alone, the feeling he hates the most. he's not even in his own body. he blows up when he's inhabiting a stranger's. he doesn't even get to be angry as cheng xiaoshi.

how fucked up is that. man. I love him so much.

also I'm going crazyyyy over the family themes going on in link click. much to say about the show itself across all seasons (the twins, qiao ling and cheng xiaoshi, even the liu siblings), but for this episode... god. okay this is slight speculation territory now and I'll try to keep this very short, because this is only tangential to the post. but. imagine xia fei getting the good parent figure in cheng weimin that cheng xiaoshi never had. and he doesn't know!! he's bitter inside about his dad and he's having hotpot with xia fei and he doesn't know he was in that school!! fuck that's so good. that's so juicy.

okay, sorry, I have a lot of feelings about cheng xiaoshi. he's my link click blorbo of all time, and I love when he experiences The Horrors™ because it's also when other sides of him gets to shine.

on a brighter note:

VEIN AND CHENG XIAOSHI MEETING AGAIN!!! their greeting was so cute. also omg does xia fei know? that his boss is maybe possibly a cannibal? actually, wait, I don't think I'd be surprised if he does know.

ah and finally. finally:

I've been having many thoughts on how yingdu approaches "friendships" and their transactional nature (mostly with regards to liu xiao) but I mostly thought they're headcanon stuff. but now. I'm so so happy that episode 5 is bringing out more of the quid pro quo theme. liu xiao with the gift giving. wang qing's "friends" (bullies) demanding her to cheat on the exam for them. and now, vein and cheng xiaoshi having a friendly greeting but also exchanging favors. so good. so good. it goes along with how there's so much handshakes and handholding this season (not just with lu guang and cheng xiaoshi, but with cheng xiaoshi and the the antagonist trio too, who have all met him by "helping" him in some way). something something trust and favors. probably something that deserves its own post though, but I wanted to point this out because I am soooo here for that. it's goes hand in hand (ha!) with the whole fraud/lies vs innocence/honesty theme this season, and deals/contracts being an equalizer to the two. very good. very tasty.

edit: ooh they also point to this in the YE6 trailer too. nice, nice. if you knew someone's true colors, would you still be their friend?

man, I love episode 5. it just hits all the stuff I personally wanted to see. the only flaw is that we still haven't seen the older version of wang qing, but yeah I kinda expected that they'll hide her until episode 6. they're giving her the liu xiao treatment from season 2. sigh. really wish she'd keep showing up in S3, we need more female characters in this show 🙏

[mayapapaya33]

Well at least you're disagreeing with what I DID say and not what I DIDN'T say! That's fine then, I much prefer that. Yeah, sure, agree to disagree that's fine.

As for the misogyny bit you're going for... um no. It's a bit ungenerous that you defaulted to that interpretation but ok. No, like Yeza, I am supportive of Veth's career as a strong independent adventurer lol. In your mind is there no happy medium between what happened in canon and what you just proposed? Her cowering in a basement in Felderwin forever? Do you REALLY think that's what I meant? Yeza loves her enough to not live in Felderwin in the latter part of the campaign, do you really think he wouldn't leave Felderwin for her if she had somehow managed to explain the situation to him earlier, or if finding a way to get a new body took longer than it did in canon? What if they never found an answer? What if she was stuck in the body of a goblin forever? Would she have been justified in never telling her family and never seeing them again?

Goblins are not reviled everywhere in the world, there are places they could live together in peace. And let's be real, how old is Luc anyway? Who knows? Certainly not Veth! Does he remember the terror of the goblin camp properly in his teeny tiny toddler brain? Even if he does remember, Goblins are a race of people not actually creatures so they should probably confront that at some point so that he isn't scared and prejudiced against an entire race for the rest of his life due to childhood trauma. Idk just putting that out there.

For instance, in this alternate universe where finding a spell for a new body took longer, maybe they could have set up a home base somewhere less anti-goblin for Yeza and Luc to live, much like the set up in Nicodranas during the latter half of C2 with Veth popping in and out visiting them between adventures. My point about finding a new body taking longer is that at a certain point, it does become a conscious choice to stay away from her family on Veth's part. Yes, the goblins are 100% responsible for their initial separation, but at some point, it is Veth's choice that keeps them apart. So how long does it take for it to stop being an acceptable decision? 1 year, 5 years? 10 years?

The Mighty Nein could hold off the entire city of Felderwin if they tried to start shit with Veth, so eventually it's not about her bodily safety anymore. It's about her fear of rejection. (I'm fairly certain Caleb could take the whole town by himself with a well-placed AOE lmfao). And I know they are allergic to it, but subtlety is also an option. Seriously, what if they never found an answer to get her a new body? Would she have never seen her family again? Sometimes there is no answer to life's gross unfairness, and you just have to bear terrible things and live your life anyway. That's my point. I'm thrilled for Veth that she got her wizard treatment plan and has a new body. That's fantastic! I'm saying sometimes life doesn't work out like that, and how long is it ok for her, or Anyone, Male, Female, Non-Binary, what-fucking-ever, to stay away from their family and not reconnect with them?

I hold everyone to the same standards of parenting I'm holding Veth to btw. Shitty double standards are shitty. I think Veth tries hard and does her best. But sometimes your best isn't good enough. To be blunt, she's an alcoholic who can't remember how old her kid is. Yes, the meta reason for that is because Sam Riegel can't resist making a joke and child ages are hard and he didn't think about it before the show. But Yeza knows how old Luc is and Veth doesn't. She straight up said she was drunk for most of his childhood. (1:04:26) The Mighty Nein Reunion: Echos of the Solstice.

Now, this is NOT to shame people for having a substance abuse issue, it's a serious problem and people deserve compassion and help. But it's still a serious issue that causes a lot of problems for the people around them. Again, in the entire context of the show, the scenes themselves are all very funny, but the in-universe facts of the matter are actually quite sad. Think about it, she was drunk for MOST of his childhood. Think about the implications of that.

To take the spotlight off of Veth for a moment, let's speak of probably my favorite mom in critical role, Marion. Perhaps this will clarify my stance on things, and maybe you'll still disagree, but that's ok. I love her dearly and she is a wonderful person. She is kind and caring and she love's Jester with all of her heart, but she is also not the best at parenting on the planet. She did the best she could, but her agoraphobia caused her to unintentionally neglect Jester. It's not her fault that she's mentally ill, but it was her responsibility to take care of Jester, and in that respect she failed. Life is hard and no one is perfect. Sometimes that's just the way it is. But child neglect is still child neglect, even when it's unintentional and you have good reasons. Now, I happen to like Marion as a person more than I like Veth, but I'm holding her to the same standards. Are you taking care of your kid, yes or no?

You said that Veth is indulgent because she feels guilty, yes that is 100% what it is. Which is totally understandable but doesn't exactly lead to the best parenting decisions or the best partnering decisions either. Honestly poor Yeza got volunteered into owning a dog and having their kid do combat training without even a private conversation, you'd think that would warrant a discussion between them. (I'd be annoyed if a male character unilaterally decided something like that without consulting a female character, why not extend the same consideration to Yeza?)

Here's an example, Scene starts at C2 E71 (1:43:43): She unloads the crossbow of arrows, puts the "safety" on (lol) and stresses the importance of a balanced education, so that's great! Well done parenting right there! But she does immediately follow it up by getting the crossbow back from Luc by trading him a Grappling Hook for it lmfao. Not super safe for a 5ish year old to be playing with, those things are sharp! If she gave him extra candy or toys that would be one thing, even the dog is pretty forgivable and within acceptable levels of spontaneous indulgence given everything they've been through. I feel like THIS level of indulgence crosses some pretty firm parenting lines of Hey, maybe don't hand a 5ish year old something they could accidentally kill/maim themselves with! Maybe that's just me though?

Scene starts at C2 E71 (1:43:43) but she trades him a grappling hook at (1:48:23) hahaha.

If you watch all those family scenes again, try your hardest to ignore how funny everyone is being, which is a difficult task I'll grant you, and actually look at what is factually happening with the characters, and you'll see what I'm talking about. Or maybe you won't, like I said, it's fine to have different interpretations of things. I'm not saying she's a bad person, I'm saying she's a complicated person and she's not super great at parenting, but she does try.

Or here's a big example, how about that time Luc straight up died because Veth and Jester couldn't shut the fuck up for 10 minutes to let Caleb cast the dome to make their families safer in a completely unknown location while they were on the run from a terrifying evil wizard? You'd think responsible parenting (or responsible daughtering, looking at you Jester, your mom is right there!) would prioritize the safety of the child, rather than wandering around chatting about future plans for a detective agency in a potentially dangerous situation.

Veth IS a rogue, they could have snuck around the whole time, but they were having fun and got careless, and the cost was steep. She lucked out big time that Caduceus is THE Cleric of all time and saved a spell slot. (The blame is shared 50/50 with Jester on this one, it's just a vibrant example of the shit I'm talking about. She's reckless, makes bad decisions, and endangers people accidentally).

Again, the meta reason for this is because Sam and Laura can't stop cracking jokes, and THEY were having fun, and weren't paying attention to the volume of the conversation because the CR cast forget to do that all the time anyway. Too bad for Veth and Jester that it reflects INCREDIBLY badly on their characters this particular time. And Veth has a history of carelessness so you can't even say it's out of character, or just a one-off incident. Considering she accidentally killed both Caduceus and herself by being careless, it's a fairly consistent character flaw at this point.

(At least she pays child support though lol you are correct. Where's Relvin's child support Liliana?! Granted the child support payments from nowhere did freak Yeza out a bit so they might also double as accidental psychological warfare, but oh well, she DID try, I give her all the credit for that!)

As for the "hag thing" it's not about "thought crimes" or whatever, it's about her having the support system around her to have the strength necessary TO resist stuff like that and like Halas, etc. It's like how without the Mighty Nein Caleb would almost certainly have ended up back in Trent's web as a Volstrucker (Liam and Matt said it themselves, and that was Matt's plan if Caleb left the group) or Fjord would have ended up releasing Uk'otoa (Uk'otoa). Thinking about doing a thing, and doing the thing are not the same. I merely acknowledge the potential inside her for doing the things, and I think it's more than "just a thought" or a "moment of weakness." In the right circumstances, I think she'd do it. But she has support and love and hope and a wizard treatment plan, so she won't.

If the Good Moms of Critical Role ever learn about the shit Liliana's pulled it's on sight 😤

[fuck-customers]

Last year I worked at a small student led handicraft store run by my university and it was originally supposed to be a temporary pop-up run by the lecturers who led the events management course. It was the best job I’d ever had - which isn’t saying much because every other job I’ve had has been horrendous and traumatising in ways I can’t even describe - so of course I was overjoyed when they told us they were extending our temporary contracts by a year and keeping the shop open indefinitely.

At that point things started going downhill. The uni stopped promoting the shop at all so our customer numbers dropped dramatically, and the uni’s PR department refused to let us utilise the shop’s social media page despite asking one of the employees to manage the social media and making her take on extra hours. They refused to make the necessary changes in order to make it the permanent storefront they envisioned - All our bookkeeping for every single purchase had to be written in a paper ledger and then copied and reformatted into a dozen different stock and accounting spreadsheets on a laptop, for every single individual item in each sale, before we could take payment, because they refused to pay for software that would automate it, so a single transaction could take anywhere between 5-20 minutes depending on what the person was buying. Many customers ended up getting frustrated and just walked off.

We started haemorrhaging stockists as the uni didn’t pay them fairly or on time, despite pestering from both stockists and floor staff. Even now, nearly 6 months after the whole thing shut down, some stockists still haven’t been paid. The uni took such a huge amount of commission from each sale (nearly 3 times the industry standard!) that the stockists making products couldn’t afford to pay themselves fairly without doubling or tripling the prices of their work, which fucked up their sales. Most people didn’t even earn enough to cover production costs for their work.

I was maybe the only person on the entire staff who actually had any significant retail and customer facing experience, having worked in the fast food and retail industries for ~4 years before I started at the shop, and it was abysmal. The events management faculty who were supposed to be running it had no customer facing experience and did nothing to help when problems came up - they treated it like a temporary event rather than a permanent shopfront and we had so little support and oversight it was awful. We had to take on full management responsibility despite it being well above our pay grade because they refused to hire an experienced manager or supervisor - while trying to man the store we would also have to do admin, liaise with clients and stockists, accounting, stock input, paying for essential supplies with our own money because the Uni refused to approve them, organising our own shifts and pay, making social media content, and arranging cover for if someone was ill or had an emergency. Instead of any reasonable support they sent us a horribly overworked postgrad intern who was working between 5-6 different departments and could only actually be in the store maybe one hour a month, had no idea what she was doing, and was so overworked that she eventually had a breakdown and quit.

This issue was compounded because they’d only ever let us put two employees on each shift - they refused to pay enough for staff numbers above that despite being so busy in the first few months that we couldn’t keep up, and told us that for safety reasons both employees had to be there to open the shop- so if somebody was late or didn’t show up the other person wouldn’t be able to work either. If one person was on a double shift and the second person’s replacement for second shift wasn’t on time, the person on the double wouldn’t be able to leave for a lunch break, and the person on the single would have to stay extra time. There were several employees that would spend the entire shift doing fuck all - one guy was at least two hours late every single shift, and bought his XBOX with him every time, and spent the entire time he was working with his feet propped up on the counter playing GTA. The university genuinely didn’t care about the shop or its success enough to even give him a disciplinary.

It was awful, especially because there were a small group of us who were both stockists and floor staff, and were genuinely invested in the shop’s success. But our contracts ran till the end of the academic year, and the pay was really decent compared to a lot of jobs in the area, and it was stable and above minimum wage, so we (the staff) really did try to make it work, but we were set up to fail. Eventually we were barely making a sale a day, and then it dropped to a sale a week.

When they closed the shop, right before the end of the semester when people’s rent would be due, they gave us 10 days’ notice - which went against our contract - and no redundancy pay. Most people had had shifts for the next 8-9 weeks already scheduled, which we never got to work. We never got our holiday pay or the Christmas bonus they’d promised us 9 months prior. It was such short notice that several people couldn’t find new jobs in time, couldn’t scrape enough together to pay their bills and rent on time, and they didn’t even have the decency to tell us we were losing our jobs in person - they sent out a single email to one of the girls who helped organise shifts, and she had to post it in the staff group chat.

And the sad thing? It was still the best, least stressful job I’ve ever had. It was the only job I’ve had that didnt actually make me want to die. I miss it like hell. It was the only job I’ve had that paid me above the legal minimum wage. I’m physically disabled, and it was the only job I’ve ever had that actually followed through on the reasonable adjustments and disability accommodations they’d promised me.

But the way it was run it wasn’t fair or sustainable , and it shouldn’t have ended the way it did.

Posted by admin Rodney

[solsticelosthermind]

I wish you would write a fake dating fic where Clint or Bucky has to play lovey dovey with Nat (or someone else) for a mission, and they do a really good job at being convincingly in love, and that’s the trigger for the unpartnered party to realize how badly they wanted to be in Nat’s spot.

You!!! You are my favorite. This is going directly in my wips but uhh oops have the 700ish words that fell out in the last half hour: See, the mission isn’t an issue. They’ve done this before, the whole giggly-handsy-just-married-style of touristy shtick tended to be a perfect cover when they wanted to be seen but not necessarily noticed.

Except it was usually Clint pressed close to Natasha, playing a silent game of chicken with wandering hands.

And now Clint is on the sidelines.

The Backup, y’know, putting the eye in Hawkeye to use, the safety net while the spider and her mate spin invisible threads around their prey.

And, well, look, his job is to look, isn’t it? So sue him, he’s looking.

He’s caught half the damn fair drooling over them as they wander around.

Case in point, Bucky makes a show of ‘covertly’ looking around before tugging her into a less-than-hidden alcove. He picks her up by the waist like she’s made of air. When he sets her down on some kind of table, she’s slightly taller than he is. Her arms slip around his shoulders and her legs part to let him between her knees, and Clint’s not about to choke on his own spit about it, no sirree.

They’re shooed back out into the main walkway hardly a minute later. Bucky radiates the perfect amount of smugness as he tucks her under his arm, a hint of lipstick ruining the corner of his beautifully pouty mouth. Nat is the picture of shyly mortified glee, burrowing into his side to highlight the mess he’s made of her hair.

They turn the corner and she pulls him down for a kiss that lingers slightly too long, brushing her lipstick off his mouth only to kiss him again like she can’t help herself.

God. Bucky’s eyes are so dark when he straightens, thumbing at his mouth and kissing the top of her head. They step up to a game Clint knows is rigged five ways from Sunday, but Bucky plays the kid running it like a fiddle, knocking down the bottles that have been glued down with a wink. He makes a big show out of collecting a giant stuffed cat, calico with huge green eyes, and presenting it to Nat with all the gravitas of a fucking proposal. The smirk on his stupid mouth makes Clint want to eat his own arrows.

“Hey,” Sam mutters, knocking their shoulders together. “Tone down the scowl, man, you’re gonna freak out the mark.”

“Am not.”

“You absolutely are, dumbass. What��s got you all grumpy anyway? Still pissed Bucky got tapped to be Nat’s boy toy?”

“I can pull off a good pair of heels, too, y'know” Clint mutters.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Sam drawls.

Clint’s too busy watching the way Bucky runs a hand down Nat’s arm. He hooks their knuckles together and pulls her hand up for a kiss that’s more indecent than when he was literally grinding into her a minute ago. She giggles, long lashes fluttering as she lets him pull her in against him again.

“Yo. Barton. You with me? Where’s your head at, man?”

“I have never wanted to be short so bad in my life,” Clint answers stupidly.

“Again. What in the actual hell?”

Bucky’s hand is so casually possessive as it rests on the back of her hip. He guides her around some kind of cotton candy debacle and the muscles in his arm should be criminal.

Sam bursts into a horrible wheezing cackle that bends him in half.

Clint blinks. He darts a look to where Bucky’s running his hands through Nat’s hair, twirling it around his finger as they talk to someone’s grandma hawking funky crocheted dolls. He looks back down to where Sam’s going darker from the force of his laughter.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh man,” Sam gasps, throwing a hand on Clint’s arm to help himself upright. “You’re down bad, aren’t you?”

Clint looks back. Bucky’s got his head thrown back on his own laughter, throat bared and eyes scrunched up. He’s the most gorgeous thing Clint’s ever laid eyes on.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You’ve got terrible taste.”

Bucky chooses that moment to slant a look over his shoulder, like he knows.

Clint gives him the all-clear, and for some reason Sam starts laughing again.

“The worst,” he repeats.

And that’s just not true at all.

“Could be worse,” Clint says once he manages to squash the need to go nuh-uh like he’s three instead of thirty. “Could be you.”

[gayczennie]

Forever ago I said I’d write this oneshot for Johnny, but I haven’t been in the headspace to write for a while. Today I randomly felt the inspiration to write a bit. I apologize if it doesn’t read well, I may or may not have written it while high af. It took way longer than I thought it would to lead into the actual sex part of the story, so there’s not really any smut in this yet. I’ll try to return later and write the actual smut later, but in the mean time enjoy whatever this is 🤩

Johnny x male reader

General summary: Johnny jerks you off after practice as a reward for getting through a really long day despite being super sore from yesterday’s activities

Reader is having a really hard time keeping it together with all the stress of being an idol

Johnny has been mentoring him and helping him get into shape

Johnny drags him to the car straight after practice seeing that reader is on the verge of breaking down

“Fuck this is exhausting!” you exclaim pushing back your hair that’s sticking to your forehead from all the sweat. “I don’t know why this choreography just isn’t getting through my head. And I’m tired and sore and I just wanna be done for the day so bad!!” Your throat stings from all the cardio you’ve been getting and your thighs shake under you, threatening to give way and send you collapsing onto the floor. You’d been obsessing over looking perfect for the performance that’s quickly approaching. Every free second of the day was spent in a practice room or with Jonny at the gym. He’d been so patient with you the last two weeks, really taking you under his wing. Johnny had made it his personal mission to get you whipped into shape before the upcoming reward show stage with the rest of NCT 127. The two of you had spent a lot of time together recently and you were of course naturally becoming closer. Johnny was harsh on you though, always manhandling your body into the correct form whether you were lifting weights improperly at the gym or doing the choreo slightly wrong. It had left you feeling a weird mix of admiration for the man mixed with a slight fear of his stearnness… and maybe, just maybe, it made you feel a tiny bit turned on feeling his harsh glare and his strong hands around your body guiding you to where you needed to be…

“You done complaining y/n?” asks Johnny from his place on the floor in front of you. He sits in front of the practice room mirror where he’s been for the last 3 hours straight helping you drill your choreography. “I know you’ve been working hard all day baby. But I think you can nail it if you go one or two more times y/n.” Fuck did he just say baby? Did you hear him right?. Maybe the tension you’d been feeling between the two of you the last couple weeks wasn’t all in your head after all. Too exhausted and sore to get your hopes up just yet though, you respond in a whining voice“Johnny I can’t. My whole body hurts and I can barely even move anymore. What’s the point? The performance is so soon anyways I’m not gonna get any better.” You expect Johnny to scold you and tell you to run it again, but instead you see a glimmer in his eyes and the start of a smirk spreading across his face. “Keep going until I tell you it’s satisfactory, and I’ll surprise you with a reward baby. How does that sound?” There it was again. “Baby”. You were certainly intrigued to say the least. Before you even have a chance to respond, Johnny hits play on the music again and you get back into position for another shot at the choreo.

Your legs are still shaking, but you do your best to keep it together and run the song again. Every ounce of your concentration goes into perfecting the dance, hoping that this will finally be the last run through. You put on your best show and move with every bit of energy you’ve got left, sweat spraying across the room as you move to the beat. Finally, the song’s end comes to an end and you finish and then fall to the ground. Rolling over onto your back, you peer up at the ceiling through hooded eyes and Johnny moves into your field of vision. His head hovers over you, making his necklace dangle over your face. “I won’t lie to you, you still have more work to do y/n. But you’re getting better for sure. You worked hard today and you looked good doing it. Come on” he said, holding a hand out to you to help you off the floor. You ignore his outreached hand and instead meet his eyes and ask “Johnny. Is it really still bad? Be honest. I need to know if it sucked”. Tears prickle at your eyes and Johnny’s smirk down at you on the ground quickly fades. He scoops you up onto your feet and places his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n. You don’t suck at all. It was really fucking good! I’m just being hard on you because I wanted you to keep improving. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Somehow Johnny’s words of encouragement make you feel worse, as if he’s lying to you just to make you feel better. “Baby don’t worry about it ok. You looked really good. Like I said before. How about that reward?” He tilts your head up at him and you notice that same glimmer enter his eyes again. It hits you too that he’s got his hands on you again, manipulating your movement the way he so often does. You let him grab your hand and guide you toward the door to finally leave the SM building. The two of you walk toward his car in the parking lot to go home, but to your surprise Johnny leads you both toward the back doors of the car instead of the driver’s and passenger’s seats. “Are we not going home? Johnny I’m so exhausted and I just wanna lie down and cr-

Your words are cut off as Johnny shuts the door and aggressively presses his lips against yours. You’re a little caught off guard at first, after all you didn’t even know if he was gay, but it doesn’t take any convincing for you to kiss him back passionately. Johnny’s hands waste no time exploring your body, and settling around your waist where he can easily control your small body against his. Pulling back a little, Johnny is the first to speak. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that y/n. Watching you train at the gym and in the studio has been turning me on for the longest time.” You smack his chest and ask him “why did you wait so long to do anything about it? You think I’m not thinking the same thing staring at your muscles every day? Or feeling your hands around my waist while we work on the dance? I’ve been spending all this time worrying and feeling stupid and you were interested in me the whole time??”

“I was waiting until I was sure you felt the same way” He shrugged. “What the fuck Johnny. I’ve been trying to hide a boner like ten times a day because of yo- He cuts you off again with a kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, exploring a bit, while one arm wraps around your lower back. He lowers you down on your back in the backseat while continuing his attack on your lips. “You taste salty” he whispers as he pulls away slightly to remove his shirt. The sight of Johnny’s impressive muscles makes your dick jump in your pants. For once, you do nothing to hide it. You want to fuck Johnny. And it looks like he wants to fuck you too

To be continued.

[xiaq]

Mom, don’t read this.

Once upon a time, 15-year-old X got her motorcycle license. For three years she was extremely responsible with this privilege, until she went to college.

Unlike her peers, who expressed their desire for rebellion in drinking, drugs, and sexually transmitted diseases, X decided her particular brand of youthful nonconformity would involve motorsports. Namely, street racing.

So, at 18, she set off to seek her fortune with a group of nighttime street-racers that, to be fair, met in a rural area that was unlikely to pose a risk to standard motorists. There were watchmen with walkie talkies (actually, I’m going to show my age, here, they mostly had those horrendous yellow phones that doubled as walky talkies, you remember those? the chirps?) who kept the area clear, and warned of any disturbances.

She went a few times. Raced a few times (won a few times!). It was all, frankly, anti-climactic after a steady diet of progressively more absurd Fast and Furious movies.

Until one night, when someone on watch-duty messed up. Or maybe this was a planned sting of some sort. But the cops arrived; multiple cars. And pretty much everyone ran.

Now, I’d never been in trouble in my life. I had a 4.0 and I was an only child with the definition of helicopter parents (excepting the motorcycle license, and no, I still don’t understand that logic. Can my 15-year-old get a motorcycle? Certainly! Can my 18-year-old headed to college next week have a curfew later than 8pm? Perish the thought! Anyway). In the split second I had to decide, my 18-year-old brain, in its infinite wisdom, said: Motorcycle fast. Police car slow.

So. You know. I…motorcycle fast-ed.

Immediately I was like. SELF!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!! You just made this so much worse if they catch you!! But I was already in top gear going well over 100mph, so that train of thought quickly turned into: I must not get caught.

I don’t know if you’re aware of how much faster a 600CC motorcycle is than the average Crown Victoria, but just know that it’s a lot. Especially when the motorcycle rider is less than 100lbs.

So the half-dozen of us who all booked it the same direction, we know we’ve got at least one car following us, but they’re a fair ways behind. The trick is getting far enough ahead that you can quickly get off the road and hide without them seeing your exit. So we all start peeling off to find our hiding places.

Now, between our meeting location and my college, there was an IKEA. I’d bought the bookcase for my dorm there. And I’d unpacked the bookcase into my car in the IKEA parking lot, so I could throw away the giant cardboard box in the enormous blue dumpsters behind the store, rather than deal with it back on campus.

I head for the IKEA. I pull around back. I immediately turn off the bike and toe-walk my way between one of the dumpsters and the store wall, completely out of view of the street and most of the parking lot.

It’s literal minutes later that the cop car finally goes flying by, and evidently they don’t think, “hey, I should stop and check behind the IKEA dumpsters.” Several more minutes pass. No more cops.

At this point, the adrenaline turns into existential dread and shaking so bad that I have to put my kickstand down because my anxiety-ridden perfectionist body is not meant for this kind of stress, even when self-inflicted. I quietly have a panic attack, swear to never disobey the law again (unless it’s for civil protest), and, finally, when I’ve pulled myself together around an hour later, I slowly make my way home.

I never attended another race. Because I am a baby.

But I’m a baby who outran the cops, so.

A visual aid of 18-year-old X and her bike (named Shadowfax) (Shadowfax lived up to her name, that night. All hail.)

(To be clear, I do not endorse this behavior. I could have hurt or killed myself going those speeds or even put some innocent bystander in danger had other people been out and about that night. This was very, very, stupid.)

My new boss: “Everyone come to the team meeting with a surprising story about something you’ve done in the past. Something no one would expect of you!”

Me: Googling the statute of limitation for felonies in Texas

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Hey, so I started writing a Landoscar 5+1 which...didn't even spiral outwardly that badly, but I hate it. I hate it enough that I never want to look at it again, and I think that if I put it down, I will never pick it back up. And both desperately want to put it down, and don't believe in continually ramming your head into the wall if something isn't working. So, into the fic graveyard it goes.

But! Instead of tossing it in the trash, never to be seen again, I am posting it here to Tumblr. Maybe someone can enjoy it.

It's supposed to be Landoscar, but it takes Lando 1800 of those prose words to show up. What's happening in that first 1.8k? Charles adopting Oscar. Alex and George are also here. Max exists, and Lando is a biter.

The whole 5+1 part is outlined, it's five different things Lando calls Oscar in a College!AU and one time Oscar gives him a nickname back. The bones are all there, but...

*ahem*

I present to you: 2.3k of pose and 1.1k of outline.

Have an experience.

[INSERT TITLE HERE]

Oscar Piastri is a regular engineering major university shut in by the time Winter semester rolls around in his first year of university.

He has one friend—Logan, his roommate, who he’d met all the way back in middle school—two different incompetent lab groups, a class with four midterms and a final, 18 hours of lecture a week, a never ending stream of assignments, a healthy addition to Monster Energy™, and three humanities he has to take if he wants to graduate at all.

Oscar is taking a 300-level Principles of Marketing—he figures it will be useful enough—when he meets Charles Leclerc.

And that's when his life starts to change.

— — —

Charles is a business major, and Charles happens to be sitting next to Oscar when Professor Vettel—”But please call me Sebastain, or even Seb,”—asks them to introduce themselves to the person sitting next to them.

“Oscar Piastri. I’m in engineering, mechanical, first year.”

“Ah. So you are here for the credit, then? I am Charles Leclerc, second year.”

The name pings some level of familiarity deep in the back of his brain, but it’s not enough of a connection for him to follow it down any sort of rabbit hole. “Pretty much, but I have to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship, so I’m not planning on being completely useless.”

“Good,” Charles smiles. “Because this introduction thing is how Seb likes to assign groups of the term.”

Oscar feels like a bucket of water has been dumped on his head. “What?”

“I know. It is weird, but all of the professors here are. I hope we work well together. When I was in Intro to Marketing, I was stuck with George. George is nice, but he is very intense about the wrong things sometimes. We did not work well together.”

“This class is going to be, like, last on my list of priorities,” Oscar feels the need to tell him.

But Charles just smiles again. “I figured, since you said you are an engineer. That is okay. At least I know what I am in for from the start. We will meet once a week, yes? So we have a dedicated time to work on this class, and you can ignore it the rest of the time?”

Oscar starts to protest, but a clap sounds from the front of the room. “Well. I hope you like the person sitting next to you,” Professor Vettel, Sebastian, Seb says. “Because this is who you will be working with for the rest of the semester! I’ll give you five minutes to exchange contact information, and then we’ll get started!”

Charles winks at him; he’s bad at it. “See?”

Oscar forks over his number, and pencils in a weekly Wednesday evening library session with Charles Leclerc.

— — —

Wednesday evening quickly becomes Oscar’s favourite time of the week.

For two hours he can shut off his brain, ignore all of his coursework, and just hangout with Charles Leclerc. At least it feels like they’re just hanging out, because what’s actually happening is Charles is explaining to Oscar what the fuck he’s doing for their joint assignments that Oscar feels a little bit bad about putting his name on.

“It’s okay,” Charles assures him. “Seb’s husband is one of the engineering profs. He knows which people in his class are eng students, and how much they’ve got on their plates.”

“Which one?”

“Not telling.”

“Rude!”

“Besides, you’re doing quality control.”

“I don’t know what quality I am controlling, is the issue.”

“That is okay.”

“Is it? I’m going to fail the final at this rate.”

“No you aren’t.”

Oscar flops down onto the table. “Yes I am.”

“Because it is a term project.”

He looks up. “I’m not letting you do an entire term project on your own.”

“Of course you are not. We need to build a product website. I cannot code, and I know that coding is a requirement to graduate, so I will make the design document, and you will code.”

“Okay,” he says, small. “I don’t want to drag your grade down because I don’t know what’s going on in this course.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you,” Charles tells him. “You understand the lectures, non?”

“Yeah. And I’m acing the theory quizzes.”

Charles grins. “See? You are doing very well.”

Oscar smiles. “Okay, but what goes in a design document?”

— — —

“Charles, I know I have to be the one to do the presentation, but I can’t. I’m going to sound so stupid standing up there reading off these cards.”

“You are not going to sound stupid. That is why we are practicing.”

“You’re biased. You need to tell me I’m going well so I stay calm.”

“Are you not calm?” Charles asks, tilting his head.

“I am not calm.”

“This is you not calm?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I cannot tell. Which is good, because then no one will be able to see if you start to panic. The audience is like a snark.”

“Not helpful!”

“Right.” Charles taps his chin with this index finger. “I know! I will get George.”

“George?”

“Yes!” The upperclassman pulls out his phone. “If you can present to George, you can present to anybody.”

“I thought you didn’t like George?”

“I don’t like working with George. He is judgy.”

“And you want me to present in front of him?”

“Oui. He will stay quiet until you are done.”

“I hate this.”

“You told me you would.”

George is apparently George Russell, the man Oscar’s Solid Mechanics TA, Max Verstappen, loves to draw into pointless arguments. He brings his friend Alexander “Alex” Albon—wildlife biology major. They are both very good at quietly listening to him fumble, while keeping their expressions carefully blank.

At least George is. Alex is smiling at him in a way he knows is supposed to be comforting, but all it’s doing is making him more aware of tightness in his chest.

“And that’s that.” Oscar claps his hands together, and immediately regrets it.

Charles applauds and cheers like he’s just won a race or something.

Alex claps as well.

George turns to Charles. “You’ve adopted an engineer.”

“Maybe,” Charles grins. “You can barely tell.”

“It’s obvious.”

“No it’s not,” Charles turns to assure Oscar. “Barely. If you weren’t you, you couldn’t tell.”

“I mean it’s not really far, because I’ve seen him in Max’s office.”

Charles looks absolutely betrayed when his gaze whips towards him. “Why are you in Max’s office?”

“For help?”

Charles narrows his eyes.

“He’s my TA; solid mech.”

“Who do you like more?”

“Huh?”

“Me and Max. Who do you like more?”

Oscar’s eyes dart to Alex’s for a little help. There’s not much he can do, but he does manage to convey that this answer is apparently very important.

Oscar has never considered Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen against each other. They aren’t exactly in the same category of people in his mind.

“You?”

“More confidence.”

“You.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Charles sits back in his seat. “Do it again. Do you have a suit? You will wear a suit to this presentation.”

Oscar is only a little scared.

“Does Max like Oscar?” Charles asks George while they all go about packing their bags at the end of the session.

“I’d say so. You know how he pretends to be professional with the underclassmen, but when it’s just Oscar in the room he’s right back to his usual state of no decorum.”

Charles hums. “Do you do anything on Fridays, Oscar? Friday evenings?”

“Cry? All of my assignments are due Friday.”

“So you stay up all night doing them?”

“No, that's Thursday. I fix everything Friday morning, so that I’ve got time to cry in the evening before I start next week’s assignments on Saturday.”

Alex snorts. “Nice.”

“You are coming for drinks,” Charlest tells him. “Crying with friends is better than crying alone. I will come pick you up. Give me your address.” He holds out his phone in front of Oscar’s nose.

Oscar’s eyes dart back to Alex’s. The man looks just as befuddled as he feels, but honestly: Oscar would like more than one friend.

“Will I have to pay?” he asks.

“Non. If I tell you you have to pay you will come up with excuses to not come. I will pay. You have a class that ends at five thirty, non?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Then I will be there at six thirty. That will give you an hour to get home, and do whatever introvert things you need to do before we go out.”

At Oscar’s expression Alex tells him, “We also always meet up at seven.”

Which is good, because Oscar was about to tell Charles that they shouldn’t change their whole schedule for him.

— — —

Oscar’s shirt is only halfway on when there’s a knock at his door.

“In a minute!”

“I’ve got it!” Logan calls.

The door opens.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“You are not Oscar.”

“No. I’m not. Who are you?”

“Charles!” Oscar gasps, running out of his room. “Logan, this is Charles. He’s my Marketing partner. Charles, this is Logan, he’s my roommate.”

“You never mentioned a roommate.”

“Never came up,” he says, bending down to tie his shoelaces.

“I told you about my roommates!” Charles cries.

“You complained about your roommate to me,” he corrects.

Logan laughs. “Dude, you’re supposed to share horror stories when that happens.”

Oscar furrows his brows. “But I don’t have horror stories.”

“Oscar.”

“Yes?”

“Your roommate answered the door eating cereal out of a frying pan.”

Oscar turns to look.

Logan shrugs.

“Have you heard of bowls?” Charles shrieks.

“American,” he grins.

Oscar huffs. “He’s joking,” he assures Charles while grabbing his coat. “We’ve run out of bowls. Logan was supposed to do the dishes tonight.”

The man in question clicks his tongue, and shoots Charles with a finger gun. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back…when will I be back?”

“Two?”

“I’m not making it to two. I’ll be back at ten.”

“Text me. I’m staying in.”

“Cool.” Oscar throws him a thumbs up. “Shall we? Who’s going to be there, by the way?”

“George, Alex, Pierre, Esteban, Yuki, Liam, Lando, and Max is not coming.”

“Pierre is your roommate?”

“Oui.”

When Oscar gets to the pub, he is immediately reminded why he’s bad at making friends.

While everybody else introduced themselves with their first names only, Oscar had said: “Oscar Piastri.”

Full name, full confidence.

Which was his only saving grace: the confidence. His face didn’t even scrunch up in displeasure.

“Nice to meet you Oscar Piastri!” Lando says.

“Just Oscar is fine.”

“But your name is Oscar Piastri.”

“Oh my god Lando,” Alex laughs. “Ignore him. He bites, but he’s harmless.”

“I thought the saying goes ‘he doesn’t bite,’ right?”

“Yeah,” George shrugs. “But Lando does bite. Literally. He’s a bit feral, but he’s good the first hour.”

Charles pats Oscar’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“You’re all making me sound like a dog. I’m not a pet!”

“I think it’d be nice to be a pet dog. No solid mech homework.”

“Is that what we’re crying about tonight?” Alex asks.

“Yep.”

Lando’s eyes light up. “You schedule your crying?”

“I’m in mech eng.”

“Oh Oscar Piastri, I’m so sorry.”

George groans. “Just call him Oscar.”

“No.”

Oscar laughs. He doesn’t really mind. It’s very clear that he’s just teasing. Besides, Oscar likes the way Lando says his full name: Oscar Piastri. It rolls off his tongue like it’s a single entity.

— — —

The presentation goes well, all things considered, and Oscar even manages to actually answer some of the audience questions without looking at Charles in panic first.

It’s a miracle.

“Good job!” Charles says, clapping his shoulder as they go back to their seats. “That was great. I’m so proud of you.”

Oscar blushes. “Stop. I feel like you’re about to give me a gold star or something.”

“I could. Do you want one?” Charles asks, way too earnestly for Oscar’s taste. “I carry some around with me. We give them to Lando when he does a good job.”

“First you tell me he bites, then you tell me you give him treats, are you sure he’s not the friend group’s dog or something.”

Charles grins. “Don’t let his whining confuse you, he likes it. He has a little sticker booklet, so if you are going to give him one you have to give it to him, because you put it on him it won’t be sticky anymore and it will be difficult to keep in the booklet.”

“Oh my god.”

“Would you like one?”

“I don’t have a booklet.”

“That is okay. You can put it on your laptop. They are die cut vinyl; very good quality.”

“Wow. Yeah I’ll have one.”

Oscar’s laptop is now the proud wearer of a smiling cartoon golden star sticker.

It’s silly, but he loves it.

— — —

At six thirty sharp every Friday, Charles Leclerc is at his door ready to drag him off to the pub with his friends who are all slowly, but surely, also being Oscar’s friends.

He jumps when all he gets is a loud “OSCAR!” before Lando is barrelling into his side, almost sending him sprawling just outside of the peb entrance.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Oscar is not not bracing for a bite.

Not because he wants Lando to bite him, but because he likes to think they’re friends, and apparently Lando bites his friends.

Or maybe they just told that to Oscar to scare him, and take the mick out of Lando in a single blow.

“Ah! Lando!” Alex cries. “You pest. Give me warning! You can’t just bite people.”

“I gave you a whole four seconds after arriving,” Lando pouts. “That’s plenty of warning. Not my fault you ignored it.”

“Say something,” Alex pleads, rubbing his shoulder. “You’ve gotten better at biting lightly, thank you.”

Lando brightens. “You’re welcome!” He turns to George. “George, I’m going to bite you.”

“Oh I don’t like that,” Alex says. “That’s so ominous. Nevermind. Don’t say anything. But like, tap me or something.”

Lando whacks George’s shoulder, and then with a “hwam” he clamps his teeth around the other man’s shoulder.

Oscar isn’t sure if he should be watching with horror or fascination.

Oscar jumps about twelve feet in the air when he hears a loud “OSCAR” shouted across the quad

Lando.

The biter.

Who didn’t bite anybody last time they were out

But they’ve known each other for longer than an hour, so he’s a little bit worried

Because Charles doesn’t tend to lie to him.

Lando throws himself into Oscar’s side

“Where are you going?”

“Physics Building.”

“Ugh. Why?”

“Solid Mech. Need to talk to my TA.”

“Terrible. I think. Max likes Solid Mech, but Max is a freak.”

“Verstappen?”

“Yep! Do you know him?”

“He’s my TA.”

“For Solid Mech?”

“Yup.”

“Of course he is. He was probably grading your assignments, that’s why he didn’t come out last night.”

Oscar pales. “You’re friends with my TA?”

“Yup! He’s a freak, but he’s cool.”

“If he’s a freak, what are you? I’m waiting for you to bite me.”

Lando pauses. “Do you want me to bite you, Oscar?”

“I was told you bite your friends.”

“Are we friends?”

“I dunno. Don’t have many of those.”

“Well we’ve got to fix that.”

Suddenly Lando is being scruffed.

“Lando. Why are you about to bite my favourite student?”

“We’re friends now. Charles brought him to the pub.”

“Ah.”

“Stop giving Oscar so many assignments. Cause then he’ll be less stressed, and you’ll be able to hangout more!”

“Not how that works. If I let you go, are you going to bite him?”

“He literally asked for it.”

“I did.”

Max sighs. “I see why Charles took you in. Were you having trouble with the assignment?”

“The indeterminate structures are doing my head in again.”

“The what?”

Max hauls Lando into his office. “Come in, you. You’re going to be Oscar’s rubber duck.”

“What?” he squawks. “Oscar! Max just called me dumb!”

Oscar feels warm.

He has a friend.

— — —

Lando loosens up a bit more and stops pronouncing the r in his name. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, but it practically kills Oscar.

Lando is an arts major, graphic design and photography

He sits with Oscar while he works on his assignments

Well, Lando is usually drawing or editing pictures

To Oscar it feels like not working, but Lando assures him that he is actually working

“Oscah. I’m bored.”

“I’m busy.”

“I knoooooooow. Can I take pictures of you?”

“What?”

“Pictures? With my camera? I need to practice my human portraits stuff. Framing and shit. And how to deal with natural lighting. The lighting in here is shit, mate.”

Oscar glances at him.

“I’ll be taking candid shots. Like you in your natural habitat. So I won’t even be talking. I’ll shut up!”

“Why is that a selling point?”

“Because you’re trying to work? I can be considerate.”

Oscar smiles. “Go for it. Might be a bit awkward though.”

“I’ve got you Oscah. I’ll make you look cool even without dynamic lighting.”

“I hate dynamics.”

— — —

Osc is not made for the pub despite being an engineer

“We are we are we are we are We are the engineers We can we can we can we can We can demolish forty beers So come so come so come so come So come along with us For we don't give a damn for any damn man who don't give a damn for us”

Oscar has been drinking water for the past three pubs on this crawl

He runs into Max at some point

Max, who decides that it’s time to save him, and Oscar is being dragged into a booth with Charles and his friends.

“Do you think those guys are going to notice you are gone?”

“Maybe? Probably. I’ve been Logan’s introvert all night. He’ll go looking for me before everybody leaves.”

Charles gets him another water.

Oscar starts asking questions about the torsion unit.

Max laughs, and they are doing office hours again.

“There you are! Man, I thought I’d lost you for good. You good, man?”

“Yeah! There is Charles.” He points.

Logan grins and shakes his hand. “Hey. Oscar’s roommate.”

“The messy one who eats cereal out of the frying pan?”

Logan laughs, everybody laughs. “Yeah. That’s me. We’re headed off to the next pub…”

Lando wraps his arms around Oscar’s torso and clings. “Nope. Osc is ours now. We’re keeping him. You have fun on your crawl.”

“Osc?” Lando jolts back. His face is suddenly stricken with a worried expression. “Is that okay? Can I call you that?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Logan tells him when Oscar starts floundering. “Use protection!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m staying at Liam’s!”

— — —

Lando comes over and finds out that Logan calls Oscar Osc and has for years.

He gets very pouty

“Just give him your own nickname,” Logan says in between bites of cereal.

“Do you not own bowls?”

“There are two left. Figured you would want one? And Oscar has some dignity left, so frying pan for me.”

“Osco, your roommate hurts me.”

“Osco?”

“I’ve decided on it.”

“Okay.”

“But seriously, what is wrong with your roommate?”

“American.”

“Bro.”

“He just called you bro.” Lando claps. “I’ve never heard someone do that in real life.”

Oscar sighs.

— — —

Charles: Who is your favourite?

Oscar *panicking*: Lando

Charles *waves him away*: Obviously. Between me and Max. Who is your favourite?

Oscar *deer in headlines*: Lando

Lando: *cackles*

Max: Remember, I grade your assignments. Actually, I am grading your midterm right now.

Oscar: How am I doing?

Max: Who is your favourite?

Oscar: *pales*

Charles: I do your assignments. I will not put your name on it.

George: That’s not going to work. Seb knows you well enough to know that Oscar hasn’t done any work all semester, and that you’re being petty.

Charles: And when Seb calls me for a meeting I will tell him how Oscar has been terrible to me, and does not deserve to coast off my work.

Oscar *panicking*: I need this class.

Charles *mouthing*: I’m joking.

Max: I’ll tell Mark that Oscar chose me over you, and he’ll tell Seb. Who’s Seb going to believe? You? Or a story that sounds exactly like something you would do?”

Charles: *pouts*

Oscar: Lando.

Lando: Say George. It’ll piss them both off.

Oscar: Alex.

George: Oi!

Alex: Don’t bring me into this!

Charles: It’s me, right?

Oscar: Yes?

Charles: With confidence.

Oscar: Yes.

Oscar is not a nickname guy.

But Lando clearly is

Charles drags Oscar to movie night in his dorm.

Lando gets up to stretch mid-action scene

“Anybody want anything? I’m gonna refill the popcorn.”

A chorus of nos from everybody in the room, but then Oscar finishes his drink.

“Hey, Lan, actually could you get me a Monster?”

Lando freezes.

He practically trips as he runs.

He throws himself on the couch

And bite

“Ow!”

“We warned you!”

“I let my guard down. It’s been weeks.”

[kissesforscars]

toji as a friend (for now), male!user

to be honest i don't know what to feel about this, i just really enjoy imagining toji as a friend, like a normal young person without being have to deal with any zenin bullshit. i enjoy the idea of him being normal young guy. i may write a second part of it so i'm sorry if this is short. I'M ALSO SORRY FOR THE YAPPING. please enjoy <3

“You know what? I fucking hate being friends with you,” Toji said with a tone that wasn't very sweet as you walked through the yard of the collage. The sounds of your footsteps were fading against the sounds of other students made. A scoff left your mouth as a reaction to his words and you felt a strong urge to slap him at the back of his useless head. “Yeah, me too,” you said back, like a dog showing their teeth to scare the threat. “I'm a very good option for you,” he said as he adjusted the strap of his bag, his nose was freezing because of the cold weather and Toji would rather be in his small apartment, eating a large pizza and watching stupid youtube videos that told the most unnecessary things about the history. But hey, he needed to study so he could find a better job. And when that happened, Toji would have enough money to be lazy as he pleased.

“Oh yeah?” You said and your mocking tone caused him to flash a stare at you with his furrowed eyebrows. “You're too damn big, you look at everyone like you want to murder them with an axe, you're not kind, you have a dirty mouth and you're cursing way too much, you don't know how to talk like a decent human being. Do you want me to continue my list? Or were these enough to hurt your ego that is bigger than Everest?” Your eyes met his green ones, you could observe the increasing frustration in them. He could snap your neck in two, he really could. But Toji chose not to. At least you get to be alive for one more day. “Put those words on a paper, Y/N,” Toji started speaking and you knew that his words wouldn't end nicely. “So I can fold that paper and stick it up to your ass.”

You wanted to laugh but a part of you felt nervous since how serious his threat seemed. You had never seen Toji sticking things to other people's ass but everything had a first when it's about Toji. “And do you think that you're any better? You're a stupid little nerd that can't have normal friends. If I wasn't here, you'd be a quiet kid in college and everyone would talk shit about you. You're damn lucky that I'm too honest, buddy,” Toji sniffed before turning his head forward, his nose was starting to turn red as if he was allergic to the cold and the cells on his skin were trying to warn him about that. “I'm not a nerd,” you said with a defensive tone. Come on, you weren't a nerd. You weren't even that smart. Toji would think everyone was a nerd compared to him because he was too damn stupid about lectures. Actually you didn't know if he was even smart about something, about anything.

Your eyes found his profile again as you continued your little walk that would end up in your own classes. Toji's green irises were staring ahead as if they were small emerald pieces ready to turn into bullets. And it seemed like he was still freezing. Toji hated winter even if his name was related to winter. The cold was nice until he started his fingers were getting numb and his nose was becoming wet like a dog's nose. The thoughts swirled inside your head and one of them was louder than the others. You realized if you really knew Toji. Yeah, you've been friends since highschool but was this all he had? Then you mentally slapped yourself for wondering about the other sides he had, like besides being your friend. What would he look like as a boyfriend, as a spouse or maybe as a father? Would he actually show some care and affection or would he stay the same?

“What did you bring for the lunch break?” Toji's question cleared away the clouds of thoughts inside your head and you almost wanted to thank him. But instead of doing that, you thought about his question. “I made a sandwich this morning and had some fruit with it,” you said after you remembered the bag you prepared for the lunch break. Both of you didn't enjoy eating in the cafeteria since the place was full of people and it was too loud to have fun with what you ate. Toji let out a grunt as if he said something as he inhaled and he gave a nod without looking at you. “Good, I'm planning to steal your fruits to put them in between the peanut butter breads I prepared,” Toji said and his hand reached to pat your shoulder when he finally turned his attention to you. “You may be a nerd but you bring good food.”

[skyfallscotland]

Things that got me a little frustrated with Onyx Storm in no particular order 💔

Please be nice, this is an addendum to my main Onyx Storm review post, and there is also a post about things I loved 🙏 I'm just a sensitive heart with superior pattern recognition (I'm mentally ill lol) and I struggle when I don't understand things—and I understood nothing.

I find it really hard to just go with the flow, I hate it when I don't understand things, and being confused just didn't make for a good reading experience for me. So here goes:

The magic system being entirely retconned.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I’m marked by their magic as a rider now, as their rider.

It's consistently referred to as "their" magic or "Andarna's magic" or "Tairn's magic" in the first two books, but in this one, the continent has magic and outside it, they're powerless?

Oh, except Vi for...reasons?

The marked ones all having second signets? This felt like fan service or a retcon. Why haven't any of them gone crazy? Because statistically some of them should have (and it would have at least been interesting). And if Liam could wield ice and use farsight, and that wasn't initially an error, why not wield it when Deigh was literally being chewed to death?

Continuous mentions of Xaden hearing actual fucking thoughts for god's sake that just get dropped and never picked up again? Par for the course. Don't even talk to me about it, I'm done.

Sgaeyl not talking to Xaden all book? Does she realise she would have died too, they all would have died if he hadn't done what he did? Mum pls the silent treatment sucks (this might be a personal trauma so we can probably scratch it, actually)

Andarna leaving then coming back almost immediately? I get it, she wanted to meet her shitty family, but this would have had more impact if she'd stayed when they were on the island. It felt like I got teary at her exit for nothing, like it was a ploy. I think I have whiplash.

Violet saying quite literally her most pressing need is information and then deciding no actually it's to know what her baby dragon is dreaming about in her dreamless sleep? Is this a joke? 😭

Violet is suddenly Adrian Ivashkov 💀 And what’s that got to do with who they are at their core? I’m lost! 😭

Also, those not-dreams never being explained? Like we know it's Berwyn calling him, but seriously Xaden, click on pls!

Xaden's mother showing up for...no reason? Really? Nice emotional arc, I enjoyed it, it was one of my favourite sequences, but she wasn't important to the story at all and we just?? Left?????

(I also want to punch her in the face, how dare she)

Finding out Halden's been doing...something??? At the Isles this whole time?? For Reasons, I guess??? I don't know, someone else might need to explain that to me.

(How I felt ^) Oh! And him being a twin? Basic information we could have known before—and I still don't know what happened to Alic, really. Like I want the whole story? 🥺

Violet's hair, the temple, all of that someone's going to have to explain to me like I'm five too because it's not clicking, I'm sorry. Also the temples/priestesses have magic? Their own different type of magic? And they aren't venin either? What makes a venin, a venin? My head is still spinning.

Aetos being back defying all logic (the aide to exile to in charge of everything pipeline really is something) and then he disappears entirely and is irrelevant? 😭 Why bring him back at all? What was the reason?

This is like the continuity that says Degrensi kicked Varrish out for being too torture-y and then they put him in charge of torturing kids, and then Degrensi followed Varrish's orders (even though he's below him in the chain of command and he hates him) last year to keep Xaden away from Violet all the time, but wait, now Degrensi gives no fucks about following orders???? I'm?? I just spent so much time being like wait, what?

Xaden who can literally command shadows for some reason not being able to sneak into Violet's room? And that same Xaden having zero control so they can't have sex, but then suddenly when it was time for another evenly spaced out sex scene, him being totally fine????? Is it ✨a mindset✨ ??

Violet having her memories wiped? For? Reasons???? Seriously for what purpose could the literal wedding ceremony part not have been remembered, please, that’s just mean Rebecca.

Aaric just Not telling anyone about his signet even though it would have meant more people living??? Aaric's name being CAMLAEN?????

I get that that’s a literary device, but on top of everything else I still felt like I was chasing my tail 😩

Professor Riorson teaching everyone for months, incl that signets have perfect counters, like his shadows and Violet's lightning, then sending Violet off to face the lightning/storm wielding gal while he went to face a guy he's literally incapable of killing? HELLO, should you not realise and switch?! Don’t be a dumb dumb (also a literary choice but it annoyed me so it’s here, please never battle the elite four Xaden, you’d fail).

Also oh look there's no rune on Brennan's neck like the one on his hand—sorry WHAT? are we implying that's from Naolin mending him or what? Do you know about it? Fucking say so, you sure as fuck haven't told us Vi???? It really bothers me that Violet apparently knows things and we don't. I feel like that's what third-person-POV is for, if you want to do things like that.

I still don’t know why venin can channel within the wards at all? And the wardstone was so easily altered after all that drama in IF?

Why aren't we reading Lilith's journals? Vi, sweetheart, please, give me some joy here.

Where are the other foster kids??? I still can't see how they're safe and not leverage, especially now it's looking like it will be a full-on secession bid once more.

Tyrrendor mines talladium?!

SURPRISE GRANDMA??? PLEASE!!

As you can see, I have a lot of questions—more than I had at the end of the last book, because none of those were answered, so I just have...this bigger pile of questions.

If you can read along and not think about any of these things and just not be bothered by the not knowing of it all, then I'm jealous of you. I really, really wish I could, but that's just not how my brain works and as someone with a mental illness I get tired of having to defend that to other people, it makes me feel like shit, honestly. I don’t want to think about these things, I just do. Like yeah, I hate my brain too but I have to live with it.

There were plenty of things I liked about this book, but my overall experience was that it felt messy, chaotic, and overwhelming.

Even the end—I still don't understand what happened fully, and I know that's on purpose, but after not understanding anything the whole book and having my questions from the last book go unanswered, I don't exactly appreciate it as a literary technique, I just find it frustrating 😟

In any case, these are just my out-of-pocket, personal opinions typed up late at night with zero filter, please don't come for me (lol), you don't need to agree—in fact, I know people don't, I ran a poll—this is just...how I'm feeling right now. It's a sucky feeling, but it is what it is.

I hope I can do a re-read at some point and enjoy it more, and get a better grasp on things, but for now...🖤