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whore-ibly-hot · 1 year

Text

Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader

'His little bride.'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)

Part 2 here

The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.

General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.

"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.

He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.

He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.

"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.

"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.

His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.

You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.

"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.

"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.

He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.

"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.

As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.

"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.

Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.

Dear sir,

As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.

-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.

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kp777 · 3 months

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By Jake Johnson

Common Dreams

July 1, 2024

A legal journalist described the liberal justice's dissent as "one of the most terrified and terrifying pieces of judicial writing I've ever encountered."

In her dissent against the U.S. Supreme Court's Monday ruling in Trump v. United States, liberal Justice Sonia Sotomayor listed several acts that she argued the high court's right-wing supermajority has effectively sanctioned as unprosecutable exercises of presidential authority.

"Orders the Navy's SEAL Team 6 to assassinate a political rival? Immune," wrote Sotomayor. "Organizes a military coup to hold onto power? Immune. Takes a bribe in exchange for a pardon? Immune. Immune, immune, immune."

The high court's 6-3 decision along ideological lines granted former President Donald Trump "absolute immunity" for acts that fall within the scope of the "responsibilities of the executive branch under the Constitution," as Chief Justice John Roberts wrote for the majority.

The new ruling leaves it to the lower courts to determine whether the election-subversion acts for which Trump was charged last year in a case led by Special Counsel Jack Smith were "official" or "unofficial." The Supreme Court took more than four months to decide the case after agreeing to hear it, meaning Trump is unlikely to face trial before the November presidential election.

The Associated Pressnoted that the Supreme Court "further restricted prosecutors by prohibiting them from using any official acts as evidence in trying to prove a president's unofficial actions violated the law"—a move that Sotomayor condemned as "nonsensical."

While Roberts acknowledged that "not everything the president does is official," Sotomayor argued that the majority's expansion of "the concept of core powers beyond any recognizable bounds" means that "a president's use of any official power for any purpose, even the most corrupt, is immune from prosecution."

"Whenever the president wields the enormous power of his office, the majority says, the criminal law (at least presumptively) cannot touch him," wrote Sotomayor. "Even if these nightmare scenarios never play out, and I pray they never do, the damage has been done. The relationship between the president and the people he serves has shifted irrevocably. In every use of official power, the president is now a king above the law."

Sotomayor expressed "fear for our democracy" as she closed her dissent against the ruling by the Supreme Court's majority, two members of which have recently faced intense scrutiny and calls to resign for accepting lavish gifts from right-wing billionaires.

"Justice Sotomayor's alarmed dissent was signed 'with fear for our democracy,'" U.S. Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse (D-R.I.) said in a statement Monday. "This is a blaring warning to voters of the anti-democratic forces pulling the strings both at the Supreme Court and in the Republican Party."

"Not only does this decision deprive the American people of knowing whether the former president is guilty of attempting to overturn the last election before they head to the polls in November, it also makes it much harder to hold a former president accountable for illegal acts committed while in office," said Whitehouse. "The far-right radicals on the court have essentially made the president a monarch above the law, the Founding Fathers' greatest fear."

Mark Joseph Stern, who covers the U.S. courts for Slate, called Sotomayor's dissent "one of the most terrified and terrifying pieces of judicial writing I've ever encountered."

Pointing to Sotomayor's dissent, U.S. Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.) wrote Monday that "it is a dark day for democracy when presidents can commit any crime they want in their official capacity, and these justices are bribed for their decisions."

"Coup attempts are not 'official acts,'" she added.

Also writing in dissent was liberal Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, who warned that "in the majority's view, while all other citizens of the United States must do their jobs and live their lives within the confines of criminal prohibitions, the president cannot be made to do so; he must sometimes be exempt from the law's dictates depending on the character of his conduct."

"Indeed, the majority holds that the president, unlike anyone else in our country, is comparatively free to engage in criminal acts in furtherance of his official duties," wrote Jackson, who criticized the right-wing majority's "arbitrary and irrational" attempt to distinguish between official and unofficial acts.

"It suggests that the unofficial criminal acts of a president are the only ones worthy of prosecution," the justice continued. "Quite to the contrary, it is when the president commits crimes using his unparalleled official powers that the risks of abuse and autocracy will be most dire."

#u.s. supreme court #scotus #presidential immunity #sonia sotomayor #democracy at stake #scotus corruption #scotus biased #scotus acting politically

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decolonize-the-everything · 2 months

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Hi! I'm a white queer person who has decided to vote 3rd Party unless Kamala demands ceasefire, but am nervous that it might allow Trump to win and enact Project 2025... What should I do if he does?

The same things you were gonna do if Kamala won.

Honestly? The same stuff you should be doing now anyway.

Protest, mutual aid, getting in touch with your community since it's them you'll be fighting alongside, direct action (like housing and feeding people or derailing trains and military cargo ships), advocate for 3rd parties & for human rights to be codified, and don't get distracted by performative progress.

Before Biden leaves office:

Demand Biden & Kamala ratify with the ICC again and call for a ceasefire.

Demand a re-election & demand trump be removed from the ballot.

And I do mean demand since Trump is pledging to commit genocide and overturn US government; Biden would be absolutely in his right to do remove him and is hypocritical enough to do so imo.

The Supreme Court ruled in Trump v. United States (2024) that all presidents have absolute criminal immunity for official acts under core constitutional powers. Have him remove Trump.

You want it to work?

Start calling trump a terrorist. Think of shitty hashtag names like genocide Joe and make it go viral.

Demand that he be removed the race and barred from serving in any public office forever. Make it impossible for democrats not to concede to such a rational demand. Put on pressure like they've never seen. They need to think the entire country feels that way.

If Joe is stepping down for Kamala anyway what does he have to lose in the last 3 months by pissing off his entire voter base?

A re-election when he's 100?

They're already contented with Kamala replacing him.

And if Trump wins:

go back to the 1st paragraph. Because he will be targeting political opponents which means it might as well be 1984 in this bitch already since the internet is forever :)

You need to be building community offline and speaking to Real people about your concerns and learning how a rebellion happens and how far the people in Your community would go to protect you or anyone else.

You need to find out who you can trust and who has your back and you need to work together to find a way to fight back against the bigotry and fascism growing in your community.

Reminders from last time:

Learn how to spot a cop or learn how to Be Quiet until you can confirm a cop is not present especially at protests

Bring back White Silence is Violence

NOW is the time to find local protest orgs, their sites, and their bail funds

Figure out what lawyer represents protesters near you and start spreading the word immediately.

Mutual Aid Disaster Relief Street Medic Handbook because even basic street medic skills are good to have

Listen to women of color, start looking towards the organizers of color in your area. If they are uplifting Palestine and learning how to decolonize it or themselves then so are you, etc.

If you cannot take direct action then learn where to donate, what names to spread, what orgs you need to support, how to help with supplies, or if you can help with rides, babysitting, escape routes, etc.

Now is the time to find out how protest laws near you have changed so you don't catch a bogus charge

New tips:

Agree as a gen z/millenial collective to fight Trump on the basis anti-white supremacy rather than anti-republican/anti-trump rhetoric as that's too divisive and doesn't name the actual oppressor we want gone which is white supremacist fascism (because Trump is but a figurehead and removing him alone will do nothing)

Learn about intersectionality. NO not what you think it is what Kimberlé Crenshaw said it actually is. Then apply it this and work on whatever privilege you have so everyone can work together instead of prioritizing their own struggle

Learn the 14 characteristics of fascism

If you're athletic and fast: learn to de-arrest, but watch out

Go thru the MADR zines! Read 'Accomplices not Allies',

Get used to the idea of broken windows, looting, and burning police departments now. Understand they are just stuff. If the USA can commit genocide then it can take a a few broken buildings. Like if liberals can let genocide happen to stop project2025, then why not let Americans break windows to stop Trump AND project2025? There are lives at stake. A window shouldn't stop you from saving them.

Start a fun themed book club night with your friends if you have to. idc. But the work needs to be happening yesterday if you haven't started anon 💗💗💗

You got this.

You don't have to do all of those things but you can do something, so figure out which one it is.

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phoward89 · 5 months

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Based on this ask

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, masterbation (m & f), p in v (alluded to), Dark!Coriolanus, Young Politician!Coriolanus, Secretary!Reader

This one got away from me so it's a bit long. Whoops...

You're at your desk, logging into your computer to start the day whenever the door to the office opens and in walks your boss. Senator Coriolanus Snow. One of the youngest Head Gamemakers and Senators in the history of Panem. He's only 24 years old and he's already so successful.

Crazy, right?

Your older brother was in the same graduating class as him at the Academy. Rein was a slacker that wasn't in the top 24 while Coryo- uh Coriolanus- was the top student, won the Plinth prize, and even did a short stint as a Peacekeeper to serve the greater good of the country (like his father General Crassus Snow did before him) before attending the University as a double major in Political Science and Military Strategies. Oh and while attending the University he interned under Dr. Gaul, became an Assistant Gamemaker, and even became the Head Gamemaker himself when Dr. Gaul died in a tragic lab accident involving her mutts.

And he did all of that by age 20.

Age 20!

After graduating from the Academy, Rein was shoved into the Peacekeepers by your father, retired Colonel Javanis Halvir. Your brother was sent to 8 and he complained in all of his letters about it. Once he was eligible to take the Officer's Aptitude Exam, your father had ordered him to sign up. So, Rein took the test and became an officer. He got assigned to PK Base D-12.

And that's what your older brother accomplished by 20. Oh and he also knocked up a local barmaid from the Hobb, causing your father to have a stroke. Your mother found it very comical.

And then both of your parents told you that you needed to redeem the family name, blah blah blah, and pushed you to be the top student in the Academy. So, of course you ended up in the top 24. And you mentored a tribute, a 17 year old boy from 7, that won. He was very proficient with an ax. You didn't have to do too much mentoring, he basically just hacked everybody to bits…

But you still won the Plinth Prize anyways. And during the ceremony for the prize, instead of Strabo Plinth handing you over the Plinth Prize it was his heir instead.

Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow.

After handing you the prize he had asked you to have a glass of posca with him, causing your mother to glare angrily at the interaction. Your father on the other hand was ecstatic that Coryo-uh Coriolanus- wanted to talk to you. He served under General Snow in 12; thought that Coriolanus was a man cut from the same cloth as his father.

Anyways, once you and Coriolanus Snow got to talking he admitted that he was going into politics and would need a personal secretary; an assistant per say to help him with his day to day tasks such as scheduling meetings, etc. and much to your surprise, he offered you the job.

That was a couple of years ago.

So, yes, that's how you got your job. And you really liked your job. It wasn't that hard to do plus it made you feel important that such an accomplished and powerful man trusted you to manage his life.

If you only knew that Coriolanus, who's been insisting that you call him Coryo for roughly a year now, has been lusting after you since he saw you in a cute dress that hugged your body just right when he presented you the Plinth Prize 2 years ago. Also, your boss is a dark soul. A cold man. But he does have a soft spot for you.

And only for you.

Which is why he greets you with a wide, manic smile that makes the corners of his baby blues crinkle. “Good morning, Y/N.” The platinum blonde senator says while crossing the room, heading to your desk.

“Good morning, Senator Snow.” You politely smile, pulling up the excel document in order to print out the day's schedule for your boss. And talk about your boss, he's holding a bouquet of white roses in one hand and a tray of coffee along with a pastry bag in the other as he stops at your desk.

Coriolanus sets everything down, only to grab the vase on the corner of your desk and bring it over to the trash. All the while saying, “I brought you some fresh roses, courtesy of Grandma’am’s rooftop garden, to replace the wilted ones on your desk.”

The blonde politician did that every Monday for you. He brought fresh flowers for your office vase. A vase he gifted you for your one year work anniversary last year.

Dumping the contents of the vase out in the trash can, Coriolanus gestured to the coffees and brown paper bag on your desk, only to explain, “The barista at the coffee shop got my order wrong, so I had to do a second order, but since I already paid for the wrong order I figured I'd give it to you.”

“Oh, thank you, Coriolanus, Sir.” You simply smiled, grateful for the free coffee. You were going to put a pot on in the break room as soon as you printed out Snow's schedule, but getting an unexpected cup of coffee’s always nice.

Perhaps you'll pay it forward and treat him to coffee tomorrow. The gods know that you have his coffee order memorized.

It's black, just like his soul, with a couple of sugar packets. Not Splenda, not Sweet ‘n’ Low, not Truvia, but real sugar made from sugar cane grown down in 11. Oh and he always has a chocolate filled croissant too.

You also know his afternoon tea order by heart along with his dinner orders from a handful of takeout places he prefers. Hell, you even know his liquor order for after hours meetings. But it's your duty to know those things since, after all, you're his personal secretary.

Literally his right hand woman.

“Darling, how many times have I told you to, please, call me Coryo.” Your boss shook his head at you while bringing the empty vase to the nearby bathroom to fill up with water.

It must've been at least a hundred times by now, maybe more. But it felt weird to you calling your boss such a personal sounding nickname. You're both professional adults, if you call him by his name it should be Coriolanus. If not then you'll just refer to him as his title, since he's your boss.

“You know I can't call you Coryo, Coriolanus. It's not proper; you're my boss.” You remind the senator, who's dressed to the nines today in a perfectly tailored three piece black suit- complete with a white dress shirt and striped tie, as he walks out of the bathroom and back into your foyer office with the filled up vase in hand.

A vase that looked dwarfed by his large grip. “We've known each other for a couple of years now, darling. I'd like to think of us as being on friendly terms, wouldn't you?” Coriolanus asked, placing the vase down on your desk and arranging the flowers in them for you.

You clicked the print button on your computer, only to swivel your chair around to reach the ink jet printer behind you. “Yes, we're friendly, but you're still my boss.”

“And as your boss I'm now ordering you to call me Coryo.” He told you, pulling out the coffee that was yours, due to error, and setting it on your desk while you watched the printer spit out the paper with his daily schedule on it.

“Fine, I'll call you Coryo.” You gave in, grabbing the paper and swiveling back around to face your him.

“I got two croissants since I had to get my order remade, so it looks like you'll be getting one this morning, darling.” Coryo told you, opening up the paper bag and pulling out a pastry. He grabbed a napkin that was stuffed into the drink carrier and put it on your desk, next to your coffee, before depositing your croissant on it.

“Thank you.” You simply smile. Handing him over his schedule, you announce, “Here's your schedule for today.”

The platinum blonde gives you a closed lip smile and nods before stretching his hand out for the paper. “You've got a dinner meeting tonight at 7 o’clock sharp with a political sponsor.” You reminded him, your fingertips brushing, while he grabs the outstretched paper from you.

Briefly glancing over the paper in his hand, he asked, “Would you like to go with me?”

“What?”

“Dinner at 7 o’clock sharp. Would you like to go with me?”

Shaking your head, you politely decline his offer. “Oh no, I'm sorry, Coryo, Sir, but I can't go.”

“Why not? Got a boyfriend or something occupying your time?” The senator sharply asks, his baritone heavy with a tingle of jealousy.

Coriolanus prayed to every God he never believed in that you're single. If not, well he's going to go whack some unlucky bastard to free you up to be his girl. He's decided that he's tired of pinning over you; stalking you.

Coryo's ready to take things to the next level. He's ready to fucking corrupt you; make you his forever. He's going to be announcing his bid for the presidential runoff, the first step in becoming one of two candidates to face off for the presidency, and it's time for him to get into a relationship.

A public relationship.

And you're perfect for that. Coriolanus knows, without a doubt, that you'll make a perfect First Lady. That your beauty and slight innocence will be the perfect contrast to his cold, stoic, but regal stature. That you're a perfect fit for him.

Plus he's getting tired of paying for whores. Whores that he has to keep disposing of so that they can't blackmail him about his sexual appetite. Coriolanus prides himself of being from one of the founding families of Panem, from the Old Guard. He even runs on the Old Guard ticket; he can't have some disgruntled whore tarnishing his reputation.

It'd be much cheaper and easier to just get you into bed; fuck you in all the ways that he likes.

But he also has a soft spot for you. Coryo likes you. Okay, that's a lie. He's obsessed with you in such a dark, sick way that if he sees a man smile at you or get too close to you then he's killing that man. Yea, Senator Snow’s in love with you, or at least in his head he's in love with you.

It's more like an obsession.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't have a boyfriend.” Well, you had an on-again, off-again thing going on with your neighbor across the hall from you, but since it's currently off Coryo doesn't need to know about that.

Coriolanus swore that he heard the heavens singing hymns upon hearing that you're single. Yes, now’s the perfect time for him to make you his.

“Then I'll have my driver pick you up for dinner tonight. Wear something nice.”

Once again, you decline him invitation. “You're my boss, I'm sorry, but I can't go with you tonight.”

Usually Coriolanus appreciates your professionalism and dedication to your job, but right now he loathes it. Why can't you just accept that he's taking you to his dinner meeting tonight. That he's showing you off on his arm for the entire Capitol to see.

Leaning against your desk, he gives you a piercing look with his icy eyes and tells you, “It's a very important business dinner with a political sponsor, Y/N, and you're my assistant.” A calculating look crosses the politician's face as he adds in, “It's actually, you might say, very vital that you attend dinner with me tonight.”

Well…

When he puts it that way.

“Okay, I'll go to dinner with you tonight.” You relent, causing a smug grin to appear on Coryo's face.

“Good.” Coryo grins, making his face light up like sunshine, as he grabs his coffee and pastry bag. “Since dinner's at 7, I'll have my driver pick you up at 6:45. That'll leave a 15 minute window to get to the restaurant.” The platinum blonde told you the plan before pivoting on his heel and striding over to his office. Pausing at his door, with his large hand hovering over the knob, he looked over his shoulder and told you, “Wear either a red or black dress, but preferably red.”, before opening up the door and disappearing inside of his office.

Oh, how did you get into this mess?

Coriolanus sat at his mahogany desk, going over documents for various bills that he could either sponsor or just straight up deny. Honestly, most of the shit that got dumped on his desk he denied. If it didn't pertain to the Capitol and the Capitolites then he just shoved the document in his shredder and made a note to vote no, well in the Senate it was ‘nah’, on it.

And Senator Snow was notorious for voting nah on everything.

As he sat in his office going over mindless matters, he couldn't help but wonder about what you'd look like all dolled up for dinner tonight. He knew that you had a few nice cocktail dresses to pick from, but the mystery of whether you'd listen to him and wear something black or preferably red versus another color altogether made his head spin a mile a minute. He hopes that you're a good little secretary and listen to him about the dress.

But what he really can't help fantasizing about is what you'll be wearing underneath your dress. He can't help picturing you in a bra and panty set that hugs your body in the right ways. The senator's daydreaming about delicate lace molded against your most private parts, that are hidden away only for your lover to see.

And just thinking about becoming your lover, stripping you out of not just your dress, but your soft, delicate lingerie has his pants growing tighter. So tight, in fact, that it was downright uncomfortable.

Letting out a barely audible groan, the platinum blonde stood up from his desk and went over to his door. For just a moment, he leaned his forehead against it and debated on whether or not to call you into his office; have you on your knees underneath his desk for him. But then he decided against it; locked his door instead and went over to his desk chair to take care of himself.

You're not some district whore, you deserve to be properly wined and dined first before he has you on your knees for him- choking on his cock with tears and mascara messily running down your cheeks.

Oh, just the thought of you with your pretty mouth around his large cock had said cock twitching in his pants.

Quickly, Coriolanus makes his way over to the small sofa that's in the corner of his office. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, only to tug his pants and boxer briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free before sitting on the sofa. Spitting in his hand, he leans back into the sofa and wraps his large hand around his cock.

He feels his dick throbbing angrily in his cold hand while sliding his thumb over his tip’s leaky slit. The platinum blonde bites back a moan, and closes his eyes- pretending that it's your hand wrapped around his shaft and your thumb teasing his cockhead. Fuck, how he craves your touch. Using his thumb to spread precum over his tip and down the length of his dick, he started to move his fist up and down in measured glides.

Coriolanus knows he should just rub one out as quick as possible since he's at work, but the fact that you- the object of all his fantasies- is right outside won't let him. Being in such close proximity to you feeds his fantasies and he has to have a proper handjob session.

Coriolanus has to indulge in the make believe notion that you're the one pumping his cock up and down, twisting your wrist slightly every now and then. That it's you playing with his cum heavy balls, making his toes curl in his socks and black floor shines, as the fist around his cock starts to slightly pick up pace.

Gods, he's getting lost in his fantasy of you pleasuring him with your hands, hell even your mouth- that he's sure will be aching from his cock unhinging your jaw when you suck him off- that the loud ringing of his office phone startles him.

“Goddamnit! Can't I fuck my fist in peace?” Coriolanus grumbled.

He's angry that his fantasy was broken; that he has to fist his cock faster than he wanted to.

The phone continued to ring off the hook as he furiously moved his hand up and down his dick. He bit his lip and bucked his hips, spurting his cum into his left hand. The one that he was using on his balls before the damn phone started ringing like crazy.

Letting out an aggravated sigh, he grabbed a few tissues from the box on the side table next to him and wiped off his hand. Standing up to right his boxer briefs and pants, he heard your heels echo down the hall. Great, just great, now you're on your way to his office because the phone’s ringing off the hook.

Quickly, Coriolanus tosses the tissues into the wastebin. Rushing to his desk, he grabs the phone, only to slam it down. Hard.

Hey, he made the excessive ringing stop. Whoever called should just stick to the after 3 rings, hang up and try again later rule. Coriolanus has more important things to do than listen to a phone ring endlessly.

More important things: like jacking off to daydreams and fantasies about his secretary.

His secretary that's knocking on his door and asking him if he's alright.

“I'm fine, my darling.” Coriolanus called out to you while crossing his office. He unlocked his door and opened it, only to give you a manipulative smile while feeding you the bullshit lie of, “I just zoned out reading a grant proposal and didn't realize the phone was ringing.”

“Are you sure you're alright?” You asked, only to follow it up with the offer of, “I can always read some of those grant proposals and take notes on them for you, if you want. That way you won't get so bored to death reading them that you miss important phone calls.”

“You'd do that, for me?” Coriolanus asked, feeling a bit touched by your offer. Oh, how he thinks you're an absolute sweetheart.

A perfect angel sent to him from the Lord above. And he's your golden angel too.

Lucifer, that is.

“Of course, Coryo. It's my job to help you with paperwork.”

And before another word could be shared between you two, his phone started ringing. Again.

“Oh, I'll leave you to your call. Just put whatever you want me to read for you on my desk later.”

“I will, darling.” Coriolanus smiles at you, watching you walk away before closing his door.

Storming over to his phone, he sees that the video option light is blinking. Sitting down, he answered the phone and pressed the button to turn on his video call screen. As soon as the face of the half-assed idiot that was one of the Junior Gamemakers appeared on the screen he immediately felt a migraine coming on.

“Senator Snow, are you neglecting Head Gamemaker duties in favor of politics? You never answered my call.” The redhead man with a bad combover had the audacity to tell his boss via the phone screen.

Poor soul must not value his life…

“There’s 3 fucking months before the games, that I'm designing, so there's no damn reason for you to call me and let the phone ring off the hook. Are you incompetent? If you had the common sense that God gave a mule the. You'd know I was busy with other matters and couldn't answer your ridiculous call.” Coriolanus seethed in a long winded rant. His veins were protruding from his pale neck; a red vein was angrily popping in his forehead too. But it was his eyes that held so much hate in their icy orbs.

The man on the phone screen, despite being a few years older then Senator Snow, was a complete incompetent idiot in Coriolanus' opinion. Age certainly didn't make him any wiser.

“I'm a very busy man; next time you pester me I'll have you thrown into a tank full of rabid mutts.” Coriolanus promised the Junior Gamemaker before hanging up, hard, on him.

Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps into his overstuffed leather office chair. Letting out a heavy sigh, he rubs his temples and tries to calm down by daydreaming about dinner with you tonight.

Your day went on as it usually does. You took calls and made appointments for Senator Snow. You also read and typed up some cliff notes for a few bills that Coryo left for you before he took off for lunch. He didn't say where he was going and you didn't ask.

When he came back from a power lunch, you knew he went somewhere for drinks cause you could smell a hint of whiskey radiating from his pores, he greeted you with a simple thin lipped smile and placed a container of food on your desk. He didn't tell you to take your lunch break, but the way he wordlessly moved his baby blues between you and the doggie bag he just dumped on your desk was more than enough to give you a hint that he wanted you to eat. So, you simply thanked him, before handing him some notes and taking the food he got you to the break room.

After lunch, the remainder of your day was mundane. Or at least it was until Coryo emerged from his office and strutted over to your desk. You didn't pay him any mind, figuring that he prolly just wanted the other bills back along with the notes you just finished up on them. So, when he perches himself on the corner of your desk, all the while suggesting, “Darling, why don't you leave early. You can pamper yourself with, say, a rosewater bubble bath before tonight's dinner. Yea?”, you're taken aback.

You're in total shock.

Your nose scrunched up, reminding Coriolanus of a little bunny rabbit, as you asked incredulously, “Excuse me, Senator Snow? You're sending me home early?” Softly, you trailed off, “To take a bubble bath…”, while tilting up a baffled arched eyebrow.

“A rosewater bubble bath.” The regal platinum man corrected with a long finger high up in the air. Leaning slightly, so that he towers over you as you sit behind your desk (and gets a nice little peek down your v-neck blouse at your modest cleavage), he tells you, “You're such a dedicated employee; I think you deserve to go home early and pamper yourself before I drag you out to a dinner with my potential political sponsor.”

And what he wasn't telling you was that Mr. Feathersworth was bringing his mistress along. Oh yea… So, technically, it's a couples dinner.

Really? He wants you to relax and pamper yourself before a dinner full of political talk? Wow. You weren't expecting that from your boss.

“My bath and beauty products are actually rose-vanilla scented, Coryo, not rosewater.” You told him, before you could even think better of it.

A smirk appears on Coryo's face and desire briefly flashed in his cerulean eyes. The imposing man favored roses; in fact it was his signature, so that fact that you used rose-vanilla scented bath and beauty products had his cold, black heart beating with warmth, life, and daresay love for you.

“Darling, you deserve to pamper yourself in that rose-vanilla bubble bath. We'll be in for quite a long evening; you don't want to be tense beforehand, now so you?”

Well…

When he puts it that way.

Sighing slightly, you gave in with, “Fine, I'll leave early and pamper myself with a bubble bath.”

“Rose-vanilla bubble bath.” Coriolanus corrected with a ghost of a smile tracing his lush lips. Patting your cheek, he tells you, “Go ahead and go, darling. I'll be fine here for a few more hours.”, before pushing himself off of your desk.

“Thank you. I'll see you later for that political dinner.” You genuinely smiled, grabbing your bag out from under your desk and shouldering it before standing up.

“Remember, my driver will be by at 6:45 sharp.”

“Oh, that's right. You need-” You began, intending to give Senator Snow your address, only to be cut off by a raised hand. “I have your address in my employee files, Y/N.” His baritone hung thickly in the air like honey stuck on a honeycomb; slowly dripping down, as he ordered, “Go home and pamper yourself; get all dolled up in something red, my darling rose.”

As you sat neck deep in your tub, surrounded by bubbles, thoughts of your boss floated around your head. You never really thought much about him, or at least you didn't til now. Yes, you always thought that he was easy on the eyes- platinum hair (you always secretly wondered if the carpet matches the drapes), striking crystal blue eyes, a prominent nose, sharp jawline, tall and lanky build. But you never truly fixated your attention on his looks, or at least until now that is.

You can't explain it, but the interaction you had with him before leaving the office had your blood racing. You're flustered with dirty thoughts. Things that you've never truly let yourself imagine about Senator Coriolanus Snow.

But now…

Well, now you find yourself closing your eyes and thinking about your boss while relaxing in your bath; trailing hand over your breasts while your other hand’s rubbing your clit; dipping two fingers in and out of your pussy.

It's best to get this out of your system now, before you're stuck going to dinner with him tonight.

“Coriolanus, I was expecting your driver to pick me up.” You gasp, hand tightly gripping the doorknob of your open door, as you're shocked by the sight of the tall platinum blonde standing in front of you- dressed impeccably in a deep crimson suit with a single red rose in his hand.

“Bentley drove me here.” Coriolanus informed you. “Now, what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn't walk up to your door to get you our dinner date?” He smirks, offering you the rose.

Your eyes widen at his words. “Dinner date…but I thought this was a professional dinner with a potential political backer, Senator Snow.” You tell him as you shakily take the offered rose from his large, outstretched hand.

“Yes, well, my darling, Mr. Feathersworth informed me that he's bringing along his mistress to Mizuna’s so I don't see why we can't mix some business with pleasure as well.”

Before you could utter a word, the door right across the hall and behind Coriolanus opened; out walked your on-off neighbor ex. Bastard was dressed like he's going out somewhere (or going out with someone). His sea-green eyes look over at you and lock Coriolanus back a bit curiously: portraying that he can't believe you're all dolled up and going out with someone so regal looking.

Deciding that you didn't like the look on your ex’s face, you put your hand on Coriolanus' label and press a quick kiss to his lips before telling him, “Let me put up this rose, Coryo, and then you can take me on our date.”

Coryo grabbed your face in one of his hands and kissed you again, this time his lips searing and hungry, before running his hand over your cheekbone and darkly smirking, “You can just take it along with us, darling. I'm taking you home with me tonight; it'd be such a shame for you to leave your rose alone on a side table all night.”

“You're taking me home with you?” You asked, finding this information entirely new to you.

At least your bronze haired ex wasn't standing behind Coryo; gawking at you anymore.

Pulling you out of your apartment and locking your doorknob, only to slam the door shut, he bluntly tells you, “I’d be a fool not to, Y/N, and, frankly, I'm anything, but a fool.” Coryo smoothly tell you while leading you down the hallway; towards the elevator bank.

And of course when you reach the elevator your ex is just stepping into it. Great, now you're going to be riding in an elevator with your on-off neighbor ex and your boss/sudden new fling.

Oh boy…

“After you, darling.” Coryo sweetly tells you, guiding you into the metal box while following right behind you.

You feel your ex’s eyes on you, burning a hole into the side of your face, as Coriolanus hits the buttons to both close the door and go to the lobby.

“Should've known you'd be cozy with Senator Snow, considering you're his personal secretary.” Flew out of your ex’s mouth as soon as he saw Coryo's large hand come to rest on the small of your back.

“Odysseus…” You chastise, nearly hissing at him.

Coriolanus snapped his head around so fast, it was as if it was going to spin off exorcist style, and narrowed his eyes at the bronze haired man next to you. “I can have you turned into an Avox for slander against Miss Y/N, so I’d mind that useless tongue of yours if I were you.”

“Coryo, calm down. My neighbor-”

“Ex” Odysseus supplied at the same time you uttered the word neighbor, causing Coriolanus’ face to turn into hardened stone.

“She doesn't belong to you anymore, Odysseus. My darling seems to have gotten tired of settling for beans and has upgraded to the filet mignon.” The senator told your ex in a smooth, but eerily cold tone. “You ought to consider yourself lucky that I won't be calling for your tongue, but I'm sure I'm we can agree to you not bothering my sweet girl anymore, can't we, Mister-”

“Odair. Name's Odysseus Odair, Senator Snow.” Your ex shot out, his voice fake and sugary, as he played with fire.

Snow melts, but fish fry. And unfortunately for Odysseus Odair he'd learn that the hard way after Senator Coriolanus Snow gets him exhiled to District 4 for the crimes of slander. Coriolanus' cold ass gives Poseidon Odair, Odysseus’ father, an ultimatum- either sign over his assets, investments, and company over to him and go into exhiled on 4 with his son or his son would be turned into an Avox for slander against you, the senator's personal secretary and girlfriend.

Coriolanus Snow was a cold ass to everyone except for you. Something that you'd come to discover in time. But right now it's not important.

No, right now what's important is keeping the senator from tearing your ex apart limb by limb.

Sensing that Coryo was starting to unravel (something that you've never seen and, frankly, didn't want to) you rubbed his shoulder while telling him, “Coryo, please, just let it go. You don't want to be in a bad mood before dinner with your political backer, do you?”

Coriolanus’ jaw twitched for a moment before he gave you a slight smile, “Of course, darling.”

Odysseus found Senator Snow's demanear changing into sweet and loving for you at the drop of a hat very alarming. Honestly, he thought it was downright scary that Snow went from menacing one minute to practically cooing at you the next.

As soon as the elevator came to a stop and the doors dinged open, your ex practically ran out of them. It made Coryo chuckle.

You and Coryo walked out of the elevator together, only to cross the lobby and head out of the building towards his car. His driver, Bentley, was standing by the black luxury sedan that was parked in front of the curb. Upon seeing you with the senator, he quickly opened the back door. You thanked him and let Coryo help you into the backseat.

“Oh, darling, I'm so sorry for not telling you earlier, but you look truly beautiful in your red dress.” Coryo told you, once he was settled in the back seat next to you.

“Thank you, Coryo. You look handsome yourself.” You replied with a smile as the driver took his place behind the wheel and pull the car away from your building.

“And tonight we'll make quite the debate as a stunning political couple.” The platinum blonde confidently told you as you rode to the high end restaurant the meeting with major political endorser Mr. Feathersworth, and his mistress, was taking place at.

Tonight is only the first of many spent at Coryo's side. It's safe to say that you're Senator Snow's darling sectary; that he has a soft spot for you. After all, he charmed you into becoming his girlfriend with the guise of attending a political dinner with him for work related purposes.

But you'd accept that dinner invitation again and again no matter what universe you're in because that dinner ended with Coryo fucking you in the backseat of his car. The poor driver nearly drove the car off a bridge and into the opposite lane of traffic he was so startled by what his boss and you were doing. Yes, the two of you still were clothed (for the most part) but Bentley knew that if he looked into the rearview mirror and saw something he wasn't supposed to then Snow would have his eyeballs pickled in a jar (literally!). And after fucking in the backseat of his car, a life was created with Coryo and you never left his side.

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contemplatingoutlander · 2 months

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Finally, The New York Times Editorial Board says Trump is unfit to hold the Office of the President of the United States!

This is a "gift🎁link" so you can read the entire, HISTORIC editorial by The New York Times Editorial Board stating in no uncertain terms that Donald Trump is unfit for office.

Below are some excerpts from the five subsections of the editorial: I Moral Fitness, II. Principled Leadership, III. Character, IV. A President's Words, and V. Rule of Law

I. MORAL FITNESS MATTERS

Presidents are confronted daily with challenges that require not just strength and conviction but also honesty, humility, selflessness, fortitude and the perspective that comes from sound moral judgment. If Mr. Trump has these qualities, Americans have never seen them in action on behalf of the nation’s interests. His words and actions demonstrate a disregard for basic right and wrong and a clear lack of moral fitness for the responsibilities of the presidency.

He lies blatantly and maliciously, embraces racists, abuses women and has a schoolyard bully’s instinct to target society’s most vulnerable. He has delighted in coarsening and polarizing the town square with ever more divisive and incendiary language. Mr. Trump is a man who craves validation and vindication, so much that he would prefer a hostile leader’s lies to his own intelligence agencies’ truths and would shake down a vulnerable ally for short-term political advantage. His handling of everything from routine affairs to major crises was undermined by his blundering combination of impulsiveness, insecurity and unstudied certainty. [...] The Supreme Court, with its ruling on July 1 granting presidents “absolute immunity” for official acts, has removed an obstacle to Mr. Trump’s worst impulses: the threat of legal consequences. What remains is his own sense of right and wrong. Our country’s future is too precious to rely on such a broken moral compass. [color emphasis added]

Below the cut are excerpts from the other four subsections.

II. PRINCIPLED LEADERSHIP MATTERS

Republican presidents and presidential candidates have used their leadership at critical moments to set a tone for society to live up to. Mr. Reagan faced down totalitarianism in the 1980s.... George H.W. Bush signed the Americans With Disabilities Act.... George W. Bush, for all his failures after Sept. 11, did not stoke hate against or demonize Muslims or Islam.

As a candidate during the 2008 race, Mr. McCain spoke out when his fellow conservatives spread lies about his opponent, Barack Obama. Mr. Romney was willing to sacrifice his standing and influence in the party he once represented as a presidential nominee, by boldly calling out Mr. Trump’s failings and voting for his removal from office. These acts of leadership are what it means to put country first, to think beyond oneself. Mr. Trump has demonstrated contempt for these American ideals. He admires autocrats, from Viktor Orban to Vladimir Putin to Kim Jong-un. He believes in the strongman model of power — a leader who makes things happen by demanding it, compelling agreement through force of will or personality. In reality, a strongman rules through fear and the unprincipled use of political might for self-serving ends, imposing poorly conceived policies that smother innovation, entrepreneurship, ideas and hope. During his four years in office, Mr. Trump tried to govern the United States as a strongman would, issuing orders or making decrees on Twitter. He announced sudden changes in policy — on who can serve in the military, on trade policy, on how the United States deals with North Korea or Russia — without consulting experts on his staff about how these changes would affect America. Indeed, nowhere did he put his political or personal interests above the national interest more tragically than during the pandemic, when he faked his way through a crisis by touting conspiracy theories and pseudoscience while ignoring the advice of his own experts and resisting basic safety measures that would have saved lives. [...] A second Trump administration would be different. He intends to fill his administration with sycophants, those who have shown themselves willing to obey Mr. Trump’s demands or those who lack the strength to stand up to him. He wants to remove those who would be obstacles to his agenda, by enacting an order to make it easier to fire civil servants and replace them with those more loyal to him. This means not only that Americans would lose the benefit of their expertise but also that America would be governed in a climate of fear, in which government employees must serve the interests of the president rather than the public.... Another term under Mr. Trump’s leadership would risk doing permanent damage to our government. [color/ emphasis added]

III. CHARACTER MATTERS

Character is the quality that gives a leader credibility, authority and influence. During the 2016 campaign, Mr. Trump’s petty attacks on his opponents and their families led many Republicans to conclude that he lacked such character. Other Republicans, including those who supported the former president’s policies in office, say they can no longer in good conscience back him for the presidency. “It’s a job that requires the kind of character he just doesn’t have,” Paul Ryan, a former Republican House speaker, said of Mr. Trump in May.

Those who know Mr. Trump’s character best — the people he appointed to serve in the most important positions of his White House — have expressed grave doubts about his fitness for office.His former chief of staff John Kelly, a retired four-star Marine Corps general, described Mr. Trump as “a person who admires autocrats and murderous dictators. A person that has nothing but contempt for our democratic institutions, our Constitution and the rule of law.” Bill Barr, whom Mr. Trump appointed as attorney general, said of him, “He will always put his own interest and gratifying his own ego ahead of everything else, including the country’s interest.” James Mattis, a retired four-star Marine general who served as defense secretary, said, “Donald Trump is the first president in my lifetime who does not try to unite the American people — does not even pretend to try.” Mike Pence, Mr. Trump’s vice president, has disavowed him. No other vice president in modern American history has done this. “I believe that anyone who puts themselves over the Constitution should never be president of the United States,” Mr. Pence has said. “And anyone who asked someone else to put them over the Constitution should never be president of the United States again.” [...] It may be tempting for Americans to believe that a second Trump presidency would be much like the first, with the rest of government steeled to protect the country and resist his worst impulses. But the strongman needs others to be weak, and Mr. Trump is surrounding himself with yes men. The American public has a right to demand more from their president and those who would serve under him. [color/ emphasis added]

IV. A PRESIDENT’S WORDS MATTER

When America saw white nationalists and neo-Nazis march through the streets of Charlottesville, Va., in 2017 and activists were rallying against racism, Mr. Trump spoke of “very fine people on both sides.” When he was pressed about the white supremacist Proud Boys during a 2020 debate, Mr. Trump told them to “stand back and stand by,” a request that, records show, they took literally in deciding to storm Congress. This winter, the former president urged Iowans to vote for him and score a victory over their fellow Americans — “all of the liars, cheaters, thugs, perverts, frauds, crooks, freaks, creeps.” And in a Veterans Day speech in New Hampshire, he used the word “vermin,” a term he has deployed to describe both immigrants and political opponents.

What a president says reflects on the United States and the kind of society we aspire to be. In 2022 this board raised an urgent alarm about the rising threat of political violence in the United States and what Americans could do to stop it. At the time... the Republican Party was in the middle of a fight for control, between Trumpists and those who were ready to move on from his destructive leadership. This struggle within the party has consequences for all Americans. “A healthy democracy requires both political parties to be fully committed to the rule of law and not to entertain or even tacitly encourage violence or violent speech,” we wrote. A large faction of one party in our country fails that test, and that faction, Mr. Trump’s MAGA extremists, now control the party and its levers of power. There are many reasons his conquest of the Republican Party is bad for American democracy, but one of the most significant is that those extremists have often embraced violent speech or the belief in using violence to achieve their political goals. This belief led to the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol, and it has resulted in a rising number of threats against judges, elected officials and prosecutors. This threat cannot be separated from Mr. Trump’s use of language to encourage violence, to dehumanize groups of people and to spread lies. A study by researchers at the University of California, Davis, released in October 2022, came to the conclusion that MAGA Republicans (as opposed to those who identified themselves as traditional Republicans) “are more likely to hold extreme and racist beliefs, to endorse political violence, to see such violence as likely to occur and to predict that they will be armed under circumstances in which they consider political violence to be justified.” The Republican Party had an opportunity to renounce Trumpism; it has submitted to it. Republican leaders have had many opportunities to repudiate his violent discourse and make clear that it should have no place in political life; they failed to. [...] But with his nomination by his party all but assured, Mr. Trump has become even more reckless in employing extreme and violent speech, such as his references to executing generals who raise questions about his actions. He has argued, before the Supreme Court, that he should have the right to assassinate a political rival and face no consequences. [color/ emphasis added]

V. THE RULE OF LAW MATTERS

The danger from these foundational failings — of morals and character, of principled leadership and rhetorical excess — is never clearer than in Mr. Trump’s disregard for rule of law, his willingness to do long-term damage to the integrity of America’s systems for short-term personal gain. As we’ve noted, Mr. Trump’s disregard for democracy was most evident in his attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 election and to encourage violence to stop the peaceful transfer of power. What stood in his way were the many patriotic Americans, at every level of government, who rejected his efforts to bully them into complying with his demands to change election results. Instead, they followed the rules and followed the law. This respect for the rule of law, not the rule of men, is what has allowed American democracy to survive for more than 200 years.

In the four years since losing the election, Mr. Trump has become only more determined to subvert the rule of law, because his whole theory of Trumpism boils down to doing whatever he wants without consequence. Americans are seeing this unfold as Mr. Trump attempts to fight off numerous criminal charges. Not content to work within the law to defend himself, he is instead turning to sympathetic judges — including two Supreme Court justices with apparent conflicts over the 2020 election and Jan. 6-related litigation. The playbook: delay federal prosecution until he can win election and end those legal cases. His vision of government is one that does what he wants, rather than a government that operates according to the rule of law as prescribed by the Constitution, the courts and Congress. [...] So much in the past two decades has tested these norms in our society.... We need a recommitment to the rule of law and the values of fair play. This election is a moment for Americans to decide whether we will keep striving for those ideals. Mr. Trump rejects them. If he is re-elected, America will face a new and precarious future, one that it may not be prepared for. It is a future in which intelligence agencies would be judged not according to whether they preserved national security but by whether they served Mr. Trump’s political agenda. It means that prosecutors and law enforcement officials would be judged not according to whether they follow the law to keep Americans safe but by whether they obey his demands to “go after” political enemies. It means that public servants would be judged not according to their dedication or skill but by whether they show sufficient loyalty to him and his MAGA agenda. Even if Mr. Trump’s vague policy agenda would not be fulfilled, he could rule by fear. The lesson of other countries shows that when a bureaucracy is politicized or pressured, the best public servants will run for the exits. This is what has already happened in Mr. Trump’s Republican Party, with principled leaders and officials retiring, quitting or facing ouster. In a second term, he intends to do that to the whole of government. [color/ emphasis added]

#trump #unfit for office #2024 elections #moral fitness matters #principled leadership matters #character matters #a president's words matter #rule of law matters #the new york times #editorial board #gift link

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caspercryptid · 5 months

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Dungeon Meshi as Monster Culture

-jeffrey jerome cohen as a framework for dungeon meshi

i. The Monsters Body is a cultural body

Vampires, burial, death: inter the corpse where the road forks...it will haunt that place that leads to many other places, that point of indecision...The monster is born only at this metaphoric crossroads, as an embodiment of a certain cultural moment—of a time, a feeling, and a place

ii. The Monster Always Escapes

We see the damage that the monster wreaks, the material remains...but the monster itself turns immaterial and vanishes, to reappear someplace else.

No monster tastes of death but once... Each time the grave opens and the unquiet slumberer strides forth("come from the dead, / Come back to tell you all"), the message proclaimed is transformed by the air that gives its speaker new life...monstrous interpretation is as much process as epiphany, a work that must content itself with fragments (footprints, bones, talismans, teeth, shadows, obscured glimpses—signifiers of monstrous passing that stand in for the monstrous body itself).

iii. The Monster Is the Harbinger of Category Crisis

The monster always escapes because it refuses easy categorization...they are disturbing hybrids whose externally incoherent bodies resist attempts to include them in any systematic structuration. And so the monster is dangerous, a form suspended between forms that threatens to smash distinctions.

The too-precise laws of nature as set forth by science are gleefully violated in the freakish compilation of the monster's body.

Full of rebuke to traditional methods of organizing knowledge and human experience, the geography of the monster is an imperiling expanse, and therefore always a contested cultural space

iv. The Monster dwells at the gate of difference

The monster is difference made flesh, come to dwell among us... the monster is an incorporation of the Outside, the Beyond—of all those loci that are rhetorically placed as distant and distinct but originate Within.

Representing an anterior culture as monstrous justifies its displacement or extermination by rendering the act heroic..A political figure suddenly out of favor is transformed like an unwilling participant in a science experiment by the appointed historians of the replacement regime: "monstrous history" is rife with sudden, Ovidian metamorphose

History itself becomes a monster: defeaturing, self-deconstructive, always in danger of exposing the sutures that bind its disparate elements into a single, unnatural body.

V: The Monster polices the borders of the possible

From its position at the limits of knowing, the monster stands as a warning against exploration of its uncertain demesnes...curiosity is more often punished than rewarded, that one is better off safely contained within one's own domestic sphere than abroad, away from the watchful eyes of the state

To step outside this official geography is to risk attack by some monstrous border patrol or (worse) to become monstrous oneself.

The horribly fascinating loss of Lycaon's humanity merely reifies his previous moral state; the king's body is rendered all transparence, instantly and insistently readable. The power of the narrative prohibition peaks in the lingering description of the monstrously composite Lycaon, at that median where he is both man and beast, dual natures in a helpless tumult of assertion. The fable concludes when Lycaon can no longer speak, only signify.

Whereas monsters born of political expedience and self-justifying nationalism function as living invitations to action, usually military (invasions, usurpations, colonizations), the monster of prohibition polices the borders of the possible, interdicting through its grotesque body some behaviors and actions, envaluing others.

victims are devoured, engulfed, made to vanish from the public gaze: cannibalism as incorporation into the wrong cultural body.

vi: Fear of the monster is really a kind of desire

The monster is continually linked to forbidden practices, in order to normalize and to enforce. The monster also attracts. The same creatures who terrify and interdict can evoke potent escapist fantasies; the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint

Escapist delight gives way to horror only when the monster threatens to overstep these boundaries, to destroy or deconstruct the thin walls of category and culture. When contained by geographic, generic, or epistemic marginalization, the monster can function as an alter ego, as an alluring projection of (an Other) self. The monster awakens one to the pleasures of the body, to the simple and fleeting joys of being frightened, or frightening—to the experience of mortality and corporality

The habitations of the monsters ...are more than dark regions of uncertain danger: they are also realms of happy fantasy, horizons of liberation.

the scapegoated monster is perhaps ritually destroyed in the course of some official narrative, purging the community by eliminating its sins. The monster's eradication functions as an exorcism and, when retold and promulgated, as a catechism

vii: The monster stands at the threshold of becoming

Monsters are our children. They can be pushed to the farthest margins of geography and discourse, hidden away at the edges of the world and in the forbidden recesses of our mind, but they always return.

And when they come back, they bring not just a fuller knowledge of our place in history and the history of knowing our place, but they bear self-knowledge, human knowledge—and a discourse all the more sacred as it arises from the Outside. These monsters ask us how we perceive the world, and how we have misrepresented what we have attempted to place.

They ask us to reevaluate our cultural assumptions about race, gender, sexuality, our perception of difference, our tolerance toward its expression.

They ask us why we have created them

#dungeon meshi #Technically there's not spoilers for the manga but I think if you read the manga you'll get more out of this #laois touden #Marcille donato #falin touden #the canaries dungeon meshi #the canaries #senshi of izganda #thistle #thistle dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious #delicious in dungeon

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city-of-ladies · 1 month

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"The most notable players in Palaiologue politics were the empresses Yolanda-Irene of Montferrat and Anna of Savoy, and on the whole their record is woeful: Yolanda-Irene of Montferrat, second wife of Andronikos II, was unable to comprehend the succession rights of her eldest stepson, Michael IX, and since her husband remained obstinately unmoved by her representations she flounced off with her three sons to Thessalonika where she kept a separate court for many years from 1303 to her death in 1317. From her own domain she issued her own decrees, conducted her own foreign policy and plotted against her husband with the Serbs and Catalans: in mitigation, she had seen her five-year-old daughter married off to the middle-aged Serbian lecher Milutin, and considered that her eldest son John had been married beneath him to a Byzantine aristocrat, Irene Choumnaina. She died embittered and extremely wealthy.

When Yolanda’s grandson Andronikos III died early, leaving a nine-year old son John V and no arrangements for a regent, the empress Anna of Savoy assumed the regency. In so doing she provoked a civil war with her husband’s best friend John Kantakouzenos, and devastated the empire financially, bringing it to bankruptcy and pawning the crown jewels to Venice, as well as employing Turkish mercenaries and, it appears, offering to have her son convert to the church of Rome. Gregoras specifically blames her for the civil war, though he admits that she should not be criticised too heavily since she was a woman and a foreigner. Her mismanagement was not compensated for by her later negotiations in 1351 between John VI Kantakouzenos and her son in Thessalonika, who was planning a rebellion with the help of Stephen Dushan of Serbia. In 1351 Anna too settled in Thessalonika and reigned over it as her own portion of the empire until her death in c. 1365, even minting her own coinage.

These women were powerful and domineering ladies par excellence, but with the proviso that their political influence was virtually minimal. Despite their outspokenness and love of dominion they were not successful politicians: Anna of Savoy, the only one in whose hands government was placed, was compared to a weaver’s shuttle that ripped the purple cloth of empire. But there were of course exceptions. Civil wars ensured that not all empresses were foreigners and more than one woman of Byzantine descent reached the throne and was given quasi-imperial functions by her husband.

Theodora Doukaina Komnene Palaiologina, wife of Michael VIII, herself had imperial connections as the great-niece of John III Vatatzes, and issued acts concerning disputes over monastic properties during her husband’s reign, even addressing the emperor’s officials on occasion and confirming her husband’s decisions. Nevertheless, unlike other women of Michael’s family who went into exile over the issue, she was forced to support her husband’s policy of church union with Rome, a stance which she seems to have spent the rest of her life regretting. She was also humiliated when he wished to divorce her to marry Constance-Anna of Hohenstaufen, the widow of John III Vatatzes.

Another supportive empress consort can be seen in Irene Kantakouzene Asenina, whose martial spirit came to the fore during the civil war against Anna of Savoy and the Palaiologue ‘faction’. Irene in 1342 was put in charge of Didymoteichos by her husband John VI Kantakouzenos; she also organised the defence of Constantinople against the Genoese in April 1348 and against John Palaiologos in March 1353, being one of the very few Byzantine empresses who took command in military affairs. But like Theodora, Irene seems to have conformed to her husband’s wishes in matters of policy and agreed with his decisions concerning the exclusion of their sons from the succession and their eventual abdication in 1354.

Irene and her daughter Helena Kantakouzene, wife of John V Palaiologos, were both torn by conflicting loyalties between different family members, and Helena in particular was forced to mediate between her ineffectual husband and the ambitions of her son and grandson. She is supposed to have organised the escape of her husband and two younger sons from prison in 1379 and was promptly taken hostage with her father and two sisters by her eldest son Andronikos IV and imprisoned until 1381; her release was celebrated with popular rejoicing in the capital. According to Demetrios Kydones she was involved in political life under both her husband and son, Manuel II, but her main role was in mediating between the different members of her family.

In a final success story, the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine XI, owed his throne to his mother. The Serbian princess Helena Dragash, wife of Manuel II Palaiologos, in the last legitimating political manoeuvre by a Byzantine empress, successfully managed to keep the throne for her son Constantine and fend off the claims of his brother Demetrios. She arranged for Constantine’s proclamation as emperor in the Peloponnese and asserted her right to act as regent until his arrival in the capital from Mistra in 1449.

Despite the general lack of opportunity for them to play a role in politics, Palaiologue imperial women in the thirteenth century found outlets for their independent spirit and considerable financial resources in other ways. They were noted for their foundation or restoration of monastic establishments and for their patronage of the arts. Theodora Palaiologina restored the foundation of Constantine Lips as a convent for fifty nuns, with a small hospital for laywomen attached, as well as refounding a smaller convent of Sts Kosmas and Damian. She was also an active patron of the arts, commissioning the production of manuscripts like Theodora Raoulaina, her husband’s niece. Her typikon displays the pride she felt in her family and position, an attitude typically found amongst aristocratic women.

Clearly, like empresses prior to 1204, she had considerable wealth in her own hands both as empress and dowager. She had been granted the island of Kos as her private property by Michael, while she had also inherited land from her family and been given properties by her son Andronikos. Other women of the family also display the power of conspicuous spending: Theodora Raoulaina used her money to refound St Andrew of Crete as a convent where she pursued her scholarly interests.

Theodora Palaiologina Angelina Kantakouzene, John Kantakouzenos’s mother, was arguably the richest woman of the period and financed Andronikos III’s bid for power in the civil war against his grandfather. Irene Choumnaina Palaiologina, in name at least an empress, who had been married to Andronikos II’s son John and widowed at sixteen, used her immense wealth, against the wishes of her parents, to rebuild the convent of Philanthropes Soter, where she championed the cause of ‘orthodoxy’ against Gregory Palamas and his hesychast followers. Helena Kantakouzene, too, wife of John V, was a patron of the arts. She had been classically educated and was the benefactor of scholars, notably of Demetrios Kydones who dedicated to her a translation of one of the works of St Augustine.

The woman who actually holds power in this period, Anna of Savoy, does her sex little credit: like Yolanda she appears to have been both headstrong and greedy, and, still worse, incompetent. In contrast, empresses such as Irene Kantakouzene Asenina reflect the abilities of their predecessors: they were educated to be managers, possessed of great resources, patrons of art and monastic foundations, and, given the right circumstances, capable of significant political involvement in religious controversies and the running of the empire. Unfortunately they generally had to show their competence in opposition to official state positions. While they may have wished to emulate earlier regent empresses, they were not given the chance: the women who, proud of their class and family, played a public and influential part in the running of the empire belonged to an earlier age."

Byzantine Empresses: Women and Power in Byzantium AD 527-1204, Lynda Garland

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wayfaringhoax · 1 year

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Plans

Summary: Javier Peña is slowly but surely becoming a thorn in your side. He just can't seem to leave you alone at work, and you're coming to realise that dismantling your plans is his top priority.

Word Count: 15k

SLOW BURN! You have been warned ...

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Trope: Opposites Attract (work acquaintances that bicker like crazy)

Rating: Explicit. 18+ MDNI

Warnings: explicit sexual content (dirty talk, oral sex f-receiving, p in v), swearing, consumption of alcohol, mention of drug-related violence and death, angst, mention of overworking, bickering at work, bribing/trading favours at work, discussion of insecurities, talk of previous sexual partners. Slight dub-con with an unexpected kiss (on the cheek).

Author’s Note: This fic features a reader/OFC blend. She has a defined job and a particular personality, but she has no pre-assigned physical appearance.

I really hope you enjoy this! Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you liked this fic. It would mean the world to me !!

You have a method for these types of calls. The ones where an embassy associate or some other government official refused to accept what you were trying to tell them. It’s all about the tone of voice used; you must appear agreeable with a hint of ditsiness, just enough to remind whatever balding senior on the opposite end of the phone that you were a woman, and so, it was expected that things weren’t getting done properly. If it weren’t for misogyny, you’d have been yelled at more times than you could count.

God, and the pet names. It was as though these men believed sweet talking had the power to override all scheduling conflicts and put their names at the top of the list. You swear they are the reason why you never like when men call you “baby”, or “sweetheart”. The only thing it aroused in you was disgust.

As the American Ambassador to Colombia, your boss was in high demand, and as his personal assistant, you were extremely protective of his diary. And well, Crosby was revered for his expertise and military history, which caused all the other WASPs in your sector to swarm to him; eager to share a drink and talk politics with an American hero.

Despite the fact your boss had no time to indulge them, having his hands full with more pressing matters - such as the alarming rise of drug-related violence in South America - they still blew up his phone constantly. Did these men not have wives to annoy, instead of you?

You lift your head at the sound of someone entering your office.

“Need your old man to sign this paperwork.”

Not now.

Javier. The man lives in his own little world, it seems. Can he not tell you’re currently occupied?

You raise a finger to your lips to shush him, before pointing at the phone pressed to your ear.

“What?” He mouths, moving closer to you.

Rolling your eyes, you make a shooing motion with your hands.

It doesn’t work, as he places the forms down in front of you, and when you think that’ll be it, you notice he’s leaning over your desk; eyes looking at you expectantly.

You look up at him in disbelief. He’s grown far too accustomed to getting his own way with the women around here. You’ve seen the way he smolders; dipping his head down so his eyes appear irresistible when he gazes up at them, and of course, you couldn’t help but scoff at how he’d undo a few more buttons of his shirt, too. Sometimes, if he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, he’d even resort to the sluttiest thing a guy could do: rolling the sleeves up. But, it hasn’t failed him yet.

Poor Colleen. She was about ready to hand over the embassy’s entire criminal database when Javier held her hand to admire her manicure. But it’s not going to work on you.

You pull the phone away from your ear and press it to your chest, giving him a look that could kill.

“Javier, I’m on the phone.” You hiss. “You’ll have to wait.”

He huffs in annoyance before sinking back into the chair opposite you. You’re doing your best to stay focused as you rattle off a list of alternative dates, but Javier’s taken to toying with your belongings that are laid out on your desk. When you notice him holding a frame next to his face, raising his eyebrows as he points to the photo of your cat, you’ve just about had enough of his impatience.

You attempt to snatch the object away from him, but he’s too quick for you; putting it back in its place before seizing your planner.

“Mr. Cassidy, I can assure you. As soon as your funding is cleared, the ambassador will be in touch to discuss moving forward with the project.” You say whilst frantically making grabby hands at the man sitting across from you, hoping it will entice him into returning your most prized possession.

You have no such luck, as Javier appears perfectly content to browse the pages outlining your meticulous schedule, stopping every so often to nod his head or hum in amusement. You feel your ire rise at the country attache’s brazen presumption, but somehow, it doesn’t reach your voice, allowing you to continue the call as normal.

Javier’s taken aback at how unaffected you seem, so he decides to ramp up his efforts.

Reaching into the pocket of his sand-coloured blazer, he pulls out a cigarette, and when he lights it, he observes how your eyes flash with a hint of something. Something he doesn’t see often.

Could it be quiet rage simmering beneath those doe eyes?

You were a people-pleaser; always pleasant and professional. So Javier’s surprised at the way you’re glaring at him. Proud even. Knowing he’s the one to bring it out of you.

As he makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and reclining back into the chair, you flash him an exaggerated smile. But Javier knows that it’s not meant for him, rather, it’s directed at whatever schmuck has been hoarding your attention for the past five minutes.

“Thank you for your patience, I’ll be in touch shortly. Alright, take care now.”

Finally. You end the call and immediately lean forward to retrieve your planner.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask. “Are there no drug kingpins that need incarcerating?”

He stares you down with a slight pout on his lips before repeating his earlier request; as though he didn’t even hear what you just said.

“I need this signing. It’s urgent, is he around?”

“Everything’s always urgent with you, huh?” You grumble.

“It’s not like there are lives at stake or anything.”

You don’t appreciate his sarcasm, especially after how he barged in and disrupted your work.

The smirk he’s masking is beyond infuriating, and you’re sure he’s exhaling the smoke from his lips in slow motion, purely to rile you up further.

Every little thing he’s doing seems to annoy you, though you’re not entirely sure why. You put it down to the fact that you know you can’t get rid of him. Not easily, anyway. And not until you give him what he wants.

“The ambassador’s engaged all day, I’m afraid. Try again tomorrow, perhaps?” You tell him with a sickly-sweet smile, holding his forms out towards him.

Javier realises he may have pushed you too far, so he quickly scrambles to sit up straight; hoping a different approach will work on you.

“Sweetheart-” He begins, leaning closer to you. Cigarette now forgotten in favour of working you over.

You cut him off. “Don’t call me that. I’m not one of your girls, Javier.”

He sighs, retreating back in defeat. It’s hard to believe that you didn’t even look at him when you spoke those words, but your tone alone suggested it would be wise to back off. And so, Javier does just that, whilst he scratches his head for a new strategy.

“How about you fast-track these...” He suggests, holding the papers up again. “And in exchange, I’ll buy you a drink.”

You can’t help but scoff.

“Yeah, that seems fair.” You jest. “That would also require me going to a bar with you, outside of working hours.”

You don’t need to elaborate. He knows you’d never willingly do such a thing.

“You see.” He drawls. “That’s where you’re wrong. A few little birdies on the third floor told me you’ve got plans this evening. If I just happen to be in the area…well, I think our arrangement can still be fulfilled.”

Your ears heat up in embarrassment. You didn’t like the thought that this man knew what you got up to outside of work. In your head, colleagues were colleagues, not friends. You liked to keep your work life completely separate from your personal life, and frankly, you didn’t want him trying to weasel his way in there. But something told you he wasn’t going to let this go.

It wasn’t like you’d advertised your plans. The women from communications had hounded you in the break room when they noticed you’d had your hair done. It would’ve been unprofessional to ignore them, so eventually, you’d let it slip that a few of your friends from home were visiting, and you all planned to head into town for some drinks.

They had fussed over you like you were a newborn. Of course, you assumed it was because you typically kept to yourself at work, and it simply gave them something to gossip about; someone’s life to pry into where they could.

When did you get so cynical?

Snapping out of the memory, you busy yourself with organising your desk drawer.

“Let me guess.” You say dryly, preoccupied with the task at hand. “You’ll be drinking alone?”

He raises his eyebrows in good humour. “Not if you’re there.”

“Fast-track’s gonna cost you more than one drink, Peña.” You tell him, your voice taking on a singsong quality as you avoid making eye contact.

“And I’m not drinking with you. I have friends, believe it or not.”

“What will it take?” He asks, looking somewhat intrigued; he didn’t think you’d budge.

“Well, there’s six of us. So three bottles of something should be about right.”

Javier sighs. Why does it cost money to get anything done around here?

“Wine?” He asks you.

“Am I that easy to read?” You say incredulously. There goes yet another thing he now knows about you.

Yes, he thinks. But he wouldn’t dare tell you that, too scared to poke the bear since you were so close to giving him what he wants. Javier stays silent, opting to give you a knowing look instead.

Finally, you look his way, and your eyes pierce into him. He’s not quite sure if he’s turned on or scared shitless. Or perhaps he’s both?

Taking the papers from his grasp, you dangle them over the tray marked as “priority”, and his eyes lock on the movement of your hands like a cat chasing a laser.

“If this means you’ll leave me to work in peace …” You say, looking to him for confirmation of your agreement.

Javier raises both of his hands at that, holding his palms out in surrender. You squint at him in apprehension, before dropping the forms into the tray.

As he makes his way out of your office, he turns back to address you, and you’re not at all surprised when the DEA’s country attaché winks at you.

“I’ll see you there.” He tells you.

“Unfortunately.”

***

The bar isn’t as crowded as you hoped it would be. Which means you spot him as soon as he enters. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, but he’s slipped his signature leather jacket over the top, and as cliché as it sounds, it screams bad boy; giving you yet another good reason as to why you should stay away from Javier Peña.

Javier, however, is pleased by the lack of patrons this evening. There’s enough empty space for him to have the perfect view of you from where he’s perched at the bar, nursing his whiskey neat. It’s an intriguing view, he thinks, as his eyes soak up the sight of you, very much out of your element, as you leave your circle of friends to get a drink.

Your pristine black mary-janes have been swapped out for a pair of electric-blue strappy heels, and your modest silver stud earrings are nowhere to be seen. Instead, your ears are adorned with an elaborate, colourful pair of drop earrings, and Javier can’t help but want to pull your hair back so he can get a better look at them. Not that you’d ever let him that close to you. At least not before you tore him a new one, that’s for certain.

And the dress. His eyes can’t decide where to settle, as his gaze darts between each visual spectacle you’ve curated for him.

Well, he knows you most likely didn’t dress up for him, but he doesn’t stop himself from indulging in the thought for a brief moment. The knowledge that you’ve been hiding all this underneath those pencil skirts and stockings is a pleasant surprise to him. One his brain can’t seem to compute just yet.

Sure, he thought you were beautiful. After all, Javier wasn’t blind; he could spot a pretty woman from a mile away. But you always dressed so modestly. So he’s not quite sure what to think when he sets his eyes on the exposed skin of your shoulders in that halter neck, as well as the way the glittery fabric hugs your curves just right before it flares out slightly when it reaches the top of your thighs; giving your ensemble a flirty, playful touch.

He also can’t help himself from staring at the supple skin of your legs as they draw his eyes down, feeling as though he’s been hypnotised. Besides, you’d made an effort tonight, and it would be criminal to let all your hard work go unnoticed.

Was there someone you were trying to impress? Surely not.

Javier knew you weren’t the type to give any man who didn’t meet your exceptionally high, and oddly specific standards the time of day. If they weren’t going to play into your five-year plan, then they were of no use to you.

Perhaps you have yet to notice him, he wonders. Stubbing out his cigarette, he heads to the bar, ignoring the bartender’s sceptical look when he orders three bottles of red wine for the table of young, attractive women over in the corner. Women who look like the last thing they need is to be bothered by this man, drinking his sorrows, alone on a bar stool.

Amused, he watches you all fuss over the complimentary booze, chuckling to himself when he sees your friends dive right in to fill their glasses. But you don’t seem to be drinking any of the wine you haggled for back at the office. Instead, you stay sipping your margarita in the corner of the booth, seeming perfectly content to sit this one out.

Javier’s perplexed, and slightly exasperated at your cheek. His wallet is feeling significantly lighter in his jacket pocket as of right now, and here you are; shunning his generous offering.

He walks over to you, preparing to turn on the charm.

Wearing a winning smile, he approaches tentatively. He's playing the part of the handsome gentleman with nothing but pure intentions, and he doesn’t miss the way your friends’ eyes light up at his arrival. You, however, don’t seem so impressed.

He hunches over slightly, holding himself with a cocky air and chewing his gum as he catches the attention of the rest of the table.

“Ladies…” He begins. “Apologies for the interruption, but I need to borrow your friend here. It’ll just be for a few minutes, then I promise, you can have her back.”

You take a moment to consider what he might want, but nothing sensible comes to mind. Therefore, you conclude that he must’ve come over here for the sole purpose of vexing you.

“What’s the matter?” You ask him warily.

“Embassy business.” He tears his gaze away to wink at your friend. “It’s confidential, of course, so I can’t say any more.”

“Who’s this?” Your friend asks excitedly, and the rest of the group appears to share her enthusiasm, judging by their wide eyes and straightened backs. You couldn’t fault them, as the men back home were nowhere near as handsome as him. Javier had that whole rugged cowboy appeal; wild and headstrong, a little rough around the edges, with just enough charm and chivalry to make the panties drop.

Did you really just acknowledge that you find this infuriating man attractive?

You’d asked the bartender to go easy on the tequila, but perhaps he’d done the opposite. As there could be no other reason as to why you’re currently indulging in such absurd thoughts.

Of course, Javier’s thrilled at the prospect of flashing his badge to the group of beautiful women currently looking up at him like he’s some kind of god.

He holds it up to them. “Javier Peña, DEA.”

“Again, I apologise, but it really is urgent.” He says, looking at you expectantly.

You sulk out of your seat before you walk straight past him to a more secluded section of the bar.

He gets a little too close to you, as when you abruptly turn to face him, he’s hit with a mouthful of your hair. “What is it?” You grit out.

Meanwhile, Javier’s taken aback at how sexy you are when you’re mad like this. At the embassy, you kept it subdued; hiding behind your persona of professionalism with pleasant smiles and jovial handshakes. But right now, you look as though you might actually slap him.

“Bonita-”

Again, you cut him off at the use of another pet name. Holding your hand up as you roll your eyes in frustration.

He tries again. “You clean up nice…” And at that remark, you turn your body to face the bar, not wanting to give him another opportunity to check you out.

“You’re not drinking?”

You gesture to your margarita whilst you take a healthy sip.

“You know what I mean.” He says. “What? You rinse me out for nothing?”

Taking advantage of your apparent shyness, he’d managed to slip in closer, so you’re surprised when his next words are spoken into your ear.

“You waiting on someone else, huh? Got a better offer or something?”

“God…” You groan. “I just don’t like the idea of you buying me a drink, okay?”

“You’re from work.” You tell him as a matter of fact.

He raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“The problem is … ?” His words trail off, searching for your reasoning.

“The problem is.” You say. “Is that it’s not appropriate.”

Javier watches your eyes fix on something behind him, ultimately giving you away. He turns his head to see what’s caught your eye, finding what he could only describe as a rather gormless American tourist, sharing a beer with another fellow statesman, as they stick out like a sore thumb. A pair of gringos, if he wanted to be particular.

He can feel the mirth rising in his throat as it hits him. You had eyes for this plain-looking man.

And he liked the look of you, too, it seems, as Javier notices him rise from his seat, clearly heading in your direction.

“Oh, it’s funny is it?” You ask, your tone low.

He’s taken to ignoring you now; staring straight ahead at the bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar, finding your irritation to be quite the source of entertainment.

The sight that greets you next is Javier, taking a swig from his drink whilst his eyes peer at you over the rim of his glass, inciting you to do something. You ball your hands into tight fists, before shuffling down the bar slightly to put some distance between the two of you.

The tourist is now in front of you. He fluffs his hair as he leans against the bar and greets you, and Javier silently sniggers at the man’s mediocre efforts to flirt with you. You, however, don’t seem to mind it, judging by the genuine smile on your face. Oh, so this is your type. Meek, predictable and incredibly dry. Each to their own, he thinks.

He knows he should probably leave soon, not wanting to spend another weeknight wasted for no good reason, but he can’t tear himself away from eavesdropping on what might be the most boring conversation he’s ever heard. He’s listened to hundreds of wiretaps on sicarios’ phone conversations, and although he wishes those shitbags were dead, their chats were far more engaging than the one he’s currently privy to.

“So, what’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” You tell your admirer, overjoyed at the mundane nature of your conversation.

Mundane is safe, and safe is good. Good is what you need in a husband and potential father of your future children. Good pays the bills. Good doesn’t spin your world off its axis and force you to question everything you thought you knew about yourself. Good, was good. And this man had all the right qualities, so far.

Another question. “What do you think of lasagne?”

“Yeah, I like it.” You reply, and Javier can’t actually believe how into this you are.

Well, perhaps he could believe it, actually, if your planner was anything to go off. You even penciled in when you planned to consume alcohol.

He had nothing against your love of a routine. But he most definitely wanted to see how far he could push you; see how you’d react to spontaneity.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you place your hand on the American’s arm and lean in closer.

And for Javier, it’s the final straw.

His resolve snaps. Unable to tolerate any more of the painful scene unfolding right beside him, he makes his way over to where the two of you are standing, and in typical asshole fashion, he makes sure to accidentally bump his shoulder against the other man when he reaches you.

“Pérdon, amigo.” He says, hand on your date’s shoulder in a faux apology, before he mutters something else in Spanish. His voice low enough that you didn’t catch what it was.

You hazard a look up at him, and …

Fuck. You realise he’s only just getting started.

The tourist had been so kind as to order you both another drink, but before either of you could get your hands on them…

“Thanks, baby.” Javier coos, looking right at you as he takes a sip from one of the drinks; specifically, the one your date had been reaching for.

Stunned at his bold use of yet another pet name, it’s a few seconds later when you react. You turn your head so fast, that if he wasn’t a government agent, he would’ve missed it, but luckily for Javier, he senses you’re about to call him out when he sees your eyebrows raise, mouth open and hand poised, ready to point a finger in his direction.

So, naturally, he shuts you up before you can ruin his fun. And he does this in the way he knows best.

He kisses you.

Or at least he tries to, but you somehow manage to swerve him just before his lips meet your own, causing it to land on your cheek.

It’s only a peck, but it does the trick, as you are well and truly dumbfounded.

If the eyes are the window to the soul, then you hoped Javier could gauge just how close you were to throttling him by looking into yours. What the fuck was he doing?

Your ‘date’, though you weren’t sure you could call him that anymore, is just as shocked as you are, backing away from you slightly. You sense he’s not wanting to step on any toes, but he can tap-dance all over Javier Peña’s toes if he likes. In steel boots. You’d most definitely find joy in that.

You size him up, trying to work out how to get yourself out of this situation before this asshole escalates it. Conflict was the last thing you wanted; it didn’t fit into your schedule for the evening.

“Javie-” You try.

“Sweetheart…I think you’ve bored this man for long enough, don’t you think?” His arm snakes around your waist, pulling your body into his as he stares blankly at the other man, waiting for him to scurry.

And, well, you were also hoping he’d leave. However, your reasons were different from those of Javier’s. Whatever they may be.

You simply didn’t think you’d be able to contain your anger at the agent’s shenanigans for much longer, and you didn’t want to flip your lid in front of the stranger.

Cutting his losses, your tourist sees himself back to his table, and you notice he’s quick to grab his jacket and tuck in his chair. Javier’s getting comfortable on the stool next to you when you see your admirer leave, and the tight-lipped smile he gives you on his way out has you cringing; mortified at the example that’s been made of you tonight.

When you’re sure he’s gone, you let some of the facade drop.

“What was that?” You ask Javier, voice as sharp as a thousand knives.

He simply twirls the glass around in his hand, not taking his eyes off the amber liquid for a second.

You push again. “What could you possibly have gained from that?”

But still, no answer from the DEA Country Attaché.

“You know what…nevermind.” You exclaim before attempting to return to your friends over in the booth.

Before you make it past him, Javier holds his arm out to stop you in your tracks. Offering you the second of the two drinks, he gestures for you to take it.

“Sit down.” He tells you. “At least until you’ve finished your drink.”

Simmering is no longer the most apt word to describe how you’re feeling right now. You are boiling; the heat in your veins ready to spill over at any moment.

Yet somehow, you are so overcome with outrage that your body feels stiff, and you’re unable to move, or even get more than a few words out. So, not quite able to comprehend what’s just transpired, you sit down, waiting for him to offer up some kind of explanation.

After a few more swirls of his drink around the glass, Javier breaks the silence.

“I was doing you a favour. Trust me, he was dull. You don’t want that.”

You deserve better than that, is what runs through his head, but that’s a whole other emotion, so he squashes it before it can fester into something more potent.

He continues. “Your kids would’ve been called Randy and Bob or some shit like that.”

“Yes.” You grate in response. “And we could’ve lived in a cushy house in a nice neighbourhood, bought a couple of cats, and travelled once per year.”

“You want that?” He asks you dubiously.

“And how could you know what I want, Javier?”

Sensing your control isn’t wavering, he turns to humour. “Well, uh…he didn’t seem like much of a cat person, I’m afraid.”

Well, he’s got you there. But you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d successfully picked out one of the man’s flaws. You couldn’t let Javier Peña of all people get the better of you.

“And you don’t seem like much of a diplomat, but here you are … Mr. Attaché.”

That one was a bit too on the nose.

A sullen look grows on his face; telling you it’s time to go.

Tomorrow’s a new day, and if you see him, it will be at work. He can’t get away with this shit there.

Right?

***

Clearly, Javier does not know how to respect your personal space.

The next day, at 12:15 pm precisely, you head to the break room for lunch, and by the time your coffee cup is filled, he’s there too. Loitering behind you like a lost puppy, but not the cute, innocent kind. Javier Peña was the yappy, irritating kind of puppy.

Crosby had often considered him a thorn in his side; always waltzing in with some grand scheme that threatened to derail everything he had been working towards for years. And now, you were beginning to understand just how your boss felt.

He waited for you to acknowledge him, but after seeing you potter about the communal space; tidying, reorganising, anything to look busy, he realised that you were stalling.

And you were. You were hoping he’d get bored of watching you be so mundane, and eventually, he’d leave you alone.

He makes himself a cup too, before leaning against the unit next to where you’re currently refilling the sugar.

“Good night?” He asks, his usual mirth now present again.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Lunch break.” He grins.

“Oh, excuse me. I thought your diet consisted of cigarettes only.” You tease.

So quick, he thinks. And he doesn’t give you a response, hoping this little victory over him would somehow weaken your guard.

“You never come in here. What’s special about today?” You ask.

He shrugs in response before straightening up slightly, subconsciously hoping to get a little closer to you. He’s fascinated. As far as he was concerned, you eat, sleep and breathe work. So seeing you use your break time, like everyone else, feels strange. It feels new.

What would you do? He found himself studying you like you were a rare specimen; your behaviours, motivations and fluctuations a complete mystery to be unravelled.

However, as he readjusts his posture, the collar of his shirt slips a little. Previously, the garment had done well to hide it, but now it’s plain to see.

A hickey.

This man has a hickey, just above his collarbone, and due to your proximity, you can see it as clear as day.

And for some reason unbeknownst to either of you, it incites you.

You’re not jealous.

You’re impressed. He’d spent a good portion of his evening derailing yours, and yet he still had time to secure a hookup. Well, the man was determined; you had to give him that.

“Good night?” You repeat to him, eyes locked on the offending mark.

Javier follows your gaze until he realises what you’re referring to. He looks around the room to check for eavesdroppers, before lowering his voice.

“Yeah, it was actually. It doesn’t compare to sitting at a bar discussing fucking lasagne, or all the different shades of purple that exist… but I’d say it was alright.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t my finest hour. But at least I ended the night with some dignity.”

“Oh, I had plenty of dignity by the end of the night.” He says. “You should try it sometime. It’s good stress relief.”

Stress relief. God, this man was ignorant if he didn’t realise that the majority of your stress recently has been caused by him.

Him, and his insistence on aggravating you, getting under your skin and sinking in deep, all for some twisted type of power play.

You must’ve been the only woman at the embassy who wasn’t throwing their panties at him as he walked by their station, which made you a challenge. Just like Escobar, you were a target that needed to be worked. He saw you as a conquest, and that’s what brought him to the break room just now: he was doing his reconnaissance.

Moving to the far side of the room, right where the refrigerator stood, you try to put some distance between you before replying to his quip.

“Thanks.” You tell him dryly, your eyes looking at anything but him. “But I’ve got my own form of stress relief that works just fine.”

He holds in a chuckle. You were probably one of the most highly-strung people he’d ever met, so he seriously doubted your words. If this was you with well-managed stress levels, he couldn’t imagine what you’d be like on a bad day. And yet, some part of him wanted to see that. Wanted to be the one that drove you to that place. Not out of malice, of course, but out of curiosity.

Javier wanted to work you up, right up to the point where you’re at the edge of what your body can handle, only to see you spiral down. All your rational thoughts lost to the physical, as you fall over the precipice, into a sea of baser instincts. It would be beautiful to see, he thinks.

But the sound of your heels drags him out of his fantasy, as he sees you heading towards the door. You were on your way back to your office, by the looks of it, and Javier can’t help but follow you, though he kept a safe distance so as to not spook you too soon.

When he sees that you’re at your desk again, comfortable, he quickly sneaks through the door.

You’d anticipated that he wouldn’t leave it alone without getting the last word in, so you weren’t exactly phased by his intrusion. Typing away, you get on with your business as though he’s not there.

Standing beside your desk, to any onlooker it appears as though he’s just running something by you, as he picks up a document from your desk that looks somewhat related to his sector. He rakes his eyes over it sporadically, not at all paying attention to anything it contains. Rather, he’s debating whether to let a certain thought of his loose. Would it be too much?

“What is it that you do then?” He asks. “For stress relief?”

He looks up from the piece of paper he’s holding to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. Javier felt as though there was something unsaid between you. Something festering in the back of both your minds.

Your ire now subdued, you drop your pen to look up at him. “Organisation. Cleaning, moving things around my apartment, filling out my planner…” You say, tapping your nails against the wooden surface in thought.

Javier feels something light tug at his chest. Fascination, for sure. But could it also be admiration he feels? He can see that you’re getting swept up in a daydream of your own making, drifting towards a sweet fantasy; your eyes lighting up in pleasure, and he wants so badly to call it fascinating, but something tells him it’s a little closer to endearing.

The document long forgotten, he asks you. “Your planner, huh?”

You nod in response. “It’s sacred.”

A delicate smile makes an appearance on your face, and Javier’s trying his hardest not to indulge in the sight.

“I bet. You use it to plan out every part of your life?”

“That’s what it’s for.”

“Even when you fuck?”

That renders you speechless. Javier had expected you to lash out, call him filthy or heatedly demand that he get out of your office. But nothing comes.

It’s at this exact moment when he realises he’s struck a nerve. Your shoulders have dropped, you’re nibbling on your bottom lip, and under the desk, he can see your feet have stopped their usual tapping. You look sheepish, almost.

He knows he can’t take it back, so he figures he might as well push forward. After all, he’s got nothing to lose. Except for his eyes, and any other vital body part, should you go back to being mad at him and claw them out.

“Right.” He drawls, waiting for you to elaborate.

Usually, when Javier Pena provokes you, he expects you to give it back to him. But not this time, it seems.

Laying back into your chair in resignation, you sigh. “Not quite. Let’s leave it at that.”

It’s clearly a lie, you denying that your sex life is dictated by a schedule. Javier knows you’re just the kind of woman that wants to exercise control over every aspect of your existence, even your carnal pleasure. You’re not giving much away, and he wants to crawl deeper; draw out a confession and claim a victory over you.

“Leave it at that...” He parrots.

“DEA interrogation 101, never deflect. Good job you’re not a criminal, huh?” He jests, his laugh seeming shakier this time.

Still unwilling to budge, you give him nothing.

Again, in classic Javier fashion, he leans down, hands planted firmly in front of yours on your desk, crowding your space as his eyes beg yours for contact. “Bonita.” He coos.

That does it, snapping you out of your mildness.

“Javier!” You admonish, voice firmly raised, though not enough to draw the attention of others.

“I know, I know… no pet names. Apologies.”

All he receives in response is your glare. Scathing and defiant.

Straightening up, he exhales whilst flexing his fingers. “Just tell me. Then I’ll leave it alone.”

But you’re not prepared to give this man any ammunition against you, not of your own volition, anyway.

However, he decides to adapt his strategy. He swipes the sacred object. Your planner, and holds it behind his back; beyond the extent of your reach.

You don’t react at first. Not until you hear his next words. “I think I’ll take a quick look-”

Darting out of your seat, you go to stop him, reaching over your desk for the stolen object, before he slams it back down in front of you. His wide palms pressed firm against the fabric cover, holding it down in a show of his dominance. You shouldn’t find that sexy, you think, cursing yourself silently for allowing yourself to become affected by this man.

As this is nothing short of an act of war, leaving you bristling and agitated. Rising to your feet, you gravitate towards where he’s holding your planner hostage. “You’ve had more than enough fun terrorising me over lunch break, I think it’s about time you get back to work.” You say.

“Tell me, and you can have it back.” He affirms, though he doesn’t need to move an inch. He knows, and you most definitely know, that your strength is no match for him. He’s an agent, for crying out loud. You’ve got no chance of getting your planner back without one of two methods: manipulation or seduction.

The latter was certainly off the cards, so you went with the former option. But you couldn’t deny your body’s reaction to Javier’s physicality. The way he stood firm in place, challenging you to come to him, all the while knowing he has the power to wrangle you wherever he sees fit. And to you, that was undeniably sexy.

You would never indulge in such a fantasy, of course, liking your men docile, as they were less likely to cheat and screw up your five-year plan. But you could allow yourself this one forbidden thought. Just for a second longer.

“There’s nothing to tell. Give it to me and I’ll bump your meeting with Crosby to tomorrow instead of Friday. Heard you need a sign-off… urgently.” You try smirking. “Something about a Cali operation and a chicken van.”

His own grin falters. Huh…he must really need the ambassador’s approval.

But he tries to play it off. “It’s alright, these things can’t be rushed. I think I’ll hold onto this a little longer.”

“What do you want, Javier?” You ask, your voice unimpressed and impatient.

“Tell me. Tell me that you actually plan when you get laid. Then you can have this back.” He holds the planner above his head, and when you reach for it again, he snatches it back behind him.

“Come on…” You groan.

He moves closer to the door, daring you to let him leave with your most prized possession. But you’re running out of plays, you’re getting tired, and you remind yourself that Javier’s most likely going to get screwed later on, in some way or another, by the Colombian government, and that thought alone brings you comfort. Enough comfort, that it outweighs the distaste of having to give in to him.

Stepping closer, you huff out. “Okay! Fine! … I follow what Vogue magazine suggests. Orgasms at least every two days, and-”

“And what?” He taunts.

“Eating saffron regularly, a-and drinking red wine, too. Aphrodisiacs … you know?”

Javier��s grin is smug as shit, after drawing out your admission, and you want nothing more than to wipe it off his face. But right now, you just want him gone. Somewhere where he can’t see the blush flourishing in your cheeks.

“Are you done?” You ask, arms crossed against your chest in an attempt to regain the appearance of power. Something you had forfeited whilst chasing the DEA Country Attaché, who held your planner hostage, around your office like a child chasing a butterfly.

The man in front of you softens at your tone, understanding that he’d pushed you quite far, and that he quite possibly got carried away. He couldn’t resist the way it felt; getting swept up in teasing each other, evoking a lightness in his chest that doesn’t come around often.

“Do you ever do anything simply because you want to? When you want to?” He asks you. “Impulsively?”

All you can say to usher him out of your space is his name. “Javier.” You call, until you somehow manage to form a few more words. “Time’s up. Out, please.”

Sensing you’re at the end of your thread, he stalks towards the door. But when he reaches for the handle, he turns back to look at you. And the look on his face is unlike any of the ones he’s sported around you previously. It’s genuine.

He calls out to you, voice almost quiet enough to sound sincere. “Hey, uh- if you ever wanna ditch the planner and let loose sometime, let me know, yeah.”

And with that, he’s gone. Leaving you reeling from the implications of his parting words.

***

The following day, Javier seeks you out on his lunch break, hoping to ask for another favour. But you’re not there.

When he asks around in the break room for you, he finds out that you’d gone out for lunch today. Avoiding him, perhaps?

Now left with twenty-five minutes of free time, and a reluctance to head back upstairs and do some actual work, Javier goes snooping. He already had his excuse, having brought down another form for you to sign off on, so he’s not worried about looking out of place. But still, he’s considered a hero nowadays; a reputation to uphold, so he quickly checks for prying eyes before he pushes open the door to your office.

That’s when he sees it.

Your planner. Sitting pretty, waiting for someone to come along and peek inside. Well, today, that someone was Javier Peña. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a huge violation of your privacy, and if you found out, you’d surely have Crosby fire him. But as his feet carry him forward, he tells himself it’s harmless.

You work in an embassy, and you weren’t the type of person to have anything incriminating on your person whilst in a building filled with the top brass, not to mention various military and police officials, so there couldn’t be anything too intimate in there.

He picks it up, and as soon as his fingers touch the first page, he becomes frantic; possessed by the need to soak up as much of you as he can through these slightly worn pages, before he gets caught.

Javier studies your schedule like a classified file. He tells himself he’s searching for some dirt on you, something juicy that will become ammunition for his future torment. But that’s not the whole truth. At least, the fondness in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Mondays: no caffeine until 12 pm… Wednesdays: senator’s conference, dinner with Damon, laundry (whites) … Saturdays: allowance of 500ml wine …

The last one causes his eyebrows to raise, though the discipline it showed was certainly true to what he knew about your character.

However, as he’s about to investigate what you had planned for this Saturday night in particular, he hears the click of your heels getting closer, followed by your laughter. There you were, on your way back to the office, Crosby close behind as the two of you partake in light-hearted conversation. Huh, so that’s what you look like when you’re happy.

Luckily, for Javier, the ladies from your floor latch on to you, dragging you into their conversation and buying him some valuable time whilst you discuss last week’s department meeting.

It all happens so fast. He darts out of your office and makes a beeline to the elevator, his shoulders slacking only when he’s back in the sanctuary of his own workspace.

Pulling open his desk drawer on the right side, he shoves your planner inside and almost slams it shut; the closure somewhat symbolic of his hesitancy to confront what he’s just done.

Oops.

***

It was when he saw you working late one evening, on a Friday nonetheless, that Javier considered it might be time for him to return your planner. He hadn’t looked inside again, not since that day in your office when he’d come looking for you during lunch, but there was a reason he didn’t want to give it back just yet.

The planner tied him to you. It gave him a reason to not have to leave you alone. Of course, you weren’t aware that he had it; as far as he could tell, but for as long as he held it, he’d matter to you. This little piece of stationery gave him a place in your world. Just for now, but now was enough for Javier, at least until he could make sense of these incomprehensible feelings you were eliciting from him.

Feelings that were causing his stomach to churn, currently, as he observes the way your hair falls in your face, whilst your hand moves elegantly over the page. However, he notices that the usual swiftness of your writing is absent. It appears as though you’re tired; wrist flexing far too often, and the strokes of your pen somewhat sluggish at this time of night. And to top it all off, there was a cup of coffee beside you; the rim kissed by the pink of your lipstick, teasing him with phantom sensations of what your lips would taste like.

Javier got the sense that for you, drinking coffee after 7 pm was practically illegal, and yet the proof was right in front of him. It must’ve been a tough day if you were willing to disrupt your immaculate sleep schedule.

He steps inside, and you’re not even alarmed by him violating your privacy again. At this point, you’d come to expect his presence, despite how troublesome it always seemed to be for you.

“Sweetheart…”

Devoid of the energy needed to accost him for his choice of words, you settle for a scowl. But it’s a tired scowl, and he can tell you’re most likely not in the mood to bicker with him like you usually are.

You don’t lift your eyes when he sits down in front of you, but you should’ve done. Because if you did, you’d have seen the unmistakable furrow of concern on his face. You would have seen his empathy. Unadulterated, earnest and afflicted. It was the kind of expression one can only offer to another when they’ve experienced it themselves.

After all, Javier had plenty of experience in overworking himself to the point of physical and mental burnout. Unable to ever switch off, even, and rather than fall deeper into his vices, he considered it better to channel the ambivalence he often felt into more work; that way he’d feel like he was doing something good. Even if all he was doing was searching for minor leads; needles in a haystack that Uncle Sam didn’t have the funds to clean up.

Hoping to obtain more of your attention, he lets out a rough cough to stir you from your tired musings.

When that doesn’t work, he asks. “What are you still doing here?”

“It’s fine.” You tell him. “It’s not that unusual.”

“For you, it is. Trust me, I do this often and I never see you here. What is it?” He questions, gesturing to the forms you’re working on.

“Crosby needs all this done. He’s headed back to Oklahoma for the weekend to see his family, and well, there are four networking events next week, and it’s down to me to organise it all. Nothing I can’t handle, but he only dropped this on me when he called earlier, at 4.30 pm.”

Javier knows that by the way you punctuate the time, you’re not a happy bunny for having your schedule thrown into disarray. Like clockwork, you left the office at exactly 5 pm every day, so at 8.53 pm, you’ve had almost four hours off track.

“So what … you’re gonna sleep here for the weekend until it’s done?”

Exasperated, you say his name in a warning. “I’m not in the mood for your-”

“I’m not in the mood for you, right now.” You tell him, wanting it to come across with absolute finality. But there’s no certainty in your voice, and it pains Javier to see you like this.

He knows it’s not his fault - the cause of your stress - but the way you’re trying to exile him sends an anxious quiver through his veins. A part of him longed for you, and hearing that you wanted him to leave caused an uncomfortable urge to fight; to prove to you that he could fix it all for you.

He calls your name in a plea to get you to stop, just for a moment. Perhaps so he can talk you round? Fuck knows. He doesn’t know what to do, but he figures he’ll try to buy himself some more time.

You look up, and he can see the whites of your eyes are tinged red; strained. The way you look so unsure of yourself has him crippled. Never, had he ever anticipated seeing you like this, as you were always so driven, confident in the trajectory you were following for yourself.

He says your name again. And it’s a white flag; a temporary truce whilst he helps you through this stump.

“What?” You ask. You’re not annoyed, however, as there’s a trace of laughter in your voice; the kind of laughter that comes when something slips. It wasn’t exactly a facade, but you’d definitely loosened up now that you had gone past your “working hours”. To Javier, it seemed as though you’d given up on trying to impress others. Trying to please everyone, as you did constantly throughout each day at the embassy. And shit. Javier liked the way it looked on you.

Authenticity.

“You should head home, it’s late. Crosby would never get rid of you if you didn’t finish all this shit.” He says with a soft smile.

“Well…” You huff. “It’s easier said than done. Besides, you said it yourself. You’re always here late.”

Of course, he was the pot calling the kettle black, but this was you. And you didn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t have an answer to that. “Yeah, well …”

“What about this?” He says, picking up your stress ball from your desk. He holds up the squishy cat, before holding it out to you.

“Here. Give it a squeeze … Problem solved.” He jokes.

You take the toy from him before giving it a few good squeezes in your hand, and Javier can see some of the tension in your muscles evaporate at that.

And he’s almost floored when you smile sheepishly at him. Do it again, he begs in his head, wanting - no, needing - to see this purer side of you.

Standing from his chair, he coaxes you up too. “Come on … pack up your shit and you can let me give you a ride home.”

You shake your head almost instantly. “I’m good. I can call a friend.”

Javier sighs and perches on the corner of your desk. Leaning down closer, he tries again. “Well, Brenda left hours ago. You caught a lift in her with her, right? Come on, it will save you and your friend the hassle.”

He’s greeted by your vacant expression. Well, this is going great for him.

After a pause of deliberation, you try to get your words out. “But-” Is all you manage.

Sensing your concern at this new advancement in your working relationship, he tries to reassure you.

“What, huh? Your planner won’t let you?”

And as soon as Javier mentions the planner, he regrets it. Considering it was currently in his possession, and he had planned to return it to you tonight, he probably shouldn’t be putting the thought of it in your head. Thankfully, you’re too exhausted to pick up on it.

“Come on …” He groans. “Be a little spontaneous for a change. Who knows? You might like it.”

“I don’t wanna owe you any favours, Javier.”

“No favours …” He assures you. “I’ll even do you one. If you let me drive you home, I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

You pretend to believe him. “Right. It’s not like you haven’t told me that several times already. I’ll believe it when I see it, Agent.”

Fuck, why does the thought of that hurt him?

“This time I mean it.” He announces.

And in that moment, a pool of unease treads between the two of you.

You should be glad of his promise to leave you be. Perhaps, you are. But you love routines and consistency, so you can’t deny that the thought of such a change unsettles you deeply.

Feeling both anxious and safe with Javier in this moment, you accept his offer.

***

Riding in Javier Peña’s car was not where you thought you’d be on Friday night. And you’re sure he can tell by how strangely you’re acting.

You’ve got your knees locked together tightly, with your hands resting in your lap. Whilst you tense and flex your fingers repeatedly, Javier’s trying his best to keep his eyes on the road. But at the stop lights, he’s able to get a proper read on you, and once again, he’s bemused by what he sees.

It’s awkward. Or at least, you’re behaving awkwardly. There’s no sass, no feisty determination …

Just you, not knowing how to act around him now you’re alone together.

“Lighten up, would you?” He says. “You look like you’re riding in a funeral car.”

And that snaps you out of it. Slightly.

You swallow and unclasp your hands before you speak next. “Sorry, I’m not used to this.”

“What, you don’t take DEA agents home often?” He teases.

Javier predicts your eye roll before it comes. “What do you think?”

He looks away from you then, but you spot his grin in your peripheral vision.

It’s silent for a short while, until the man beside you can’t help but speak his mind.

“Look, I uh- I completely get it, you know. Not trusting people, not wanting to let them in. But it’s not all bad. Having someone to talk to, someone to have fun with, someone to touch. I meant it when I said it’s stress relief. And you deserve to have that.” He says with utter sincerity.

“With whoever you consider worthy, of course. If anyone can even make it that far, right?” He jokes.

And you can’t help but laugh at his teasing this time, but the awkwardness is still very much present in your body.

“Thanks …“ You mutter, voice trailing off in uncertainty.

Javier uses the lull to change the subject. “So how long have you been living at your place?”

“Around two years. Not all of us got upgraded to the premium apartments. We can’t all be heroes, you know.”

Your pitch rises at the end to convey your amusement, and Javier finds himself mirroring your soft smile.

“Don’t know about a hero, Princesa. But I’m El Jefe now … guess they needed to give me a swanky new apartment to distract from the fact I’m pretty fucking useless these days.”

Princesa.

That one was new. But for some reason, it was fitting.

And it doesn’t even bother you, right now. You know Javier Peña is a notorious womanizer. But just for a moment, you let yourself indulge in it. The moment that feels so much like a fantasy; you’re alone with him, in his car, and he’s calling you Princesa. It’s the funniest thing, how exhaustion has completely unravelled all your judgements.

“Wh- what do you mean? Crosby wouldn’t keep you around if you were useless, Javier.”

Fuck. The way you say his name like that, so hopeful, and without a trace of expectation. It makes him want to tell you everything; all of his fears, regrets and deepest insecurities.

Some were rooted so deeply they almost felt physiological, and perhaps, they’re what cause him to say. “Every lead’s always one step ahead of you, and by the time you manage to get somewhere, someone’s already dead. When it matters, the people in charge won’t do shit, not until the narcos embarrass them enough to knock them off their asses.”

Your heart flutters at his raw admission.

“Fuck, and when things are good. When people aren’t getting killed, it’s because the government’s in bed with the fucking bad guys, paying them off with Uncle Sam’s money. Meanwhile, the narcos are raking in more cash than ever before.”

“Javier…” You exhale.

Unsure of what to say, you try to reassure the troubled man beside you.

“It’s enough. What you’re doing is enough. That’s all you can do. The system isn’t changing anytime soon.” You tell him.

The question is on the tip of your tongue. “I’ve heard things, and well … there will always be people like Stechner, pulling the wrong strings. Why put yourself through all the pain, when it’s never going to change? What’s in it for you, Javier?”

Does he even know why?

“One less body. One less overdose. One less finca destroyed … I hope to God that somehow, the scales are tipping. Even if it’s only a little. I hope something good comes out of it all, once in a while.” He says.

Silence soon comes to feel like a friend. At this moment, neither you or Javier know what to say, but you don’t feel the need to fill the quiet just yet. After all, that would mean acknowledging the prominent development in your relationship, and you were both too afraid to call it what it was. Afraid that acknowledgment would cause everything to dissipate all at once.

“Thanks for lending me your ear … uh, I guess it’s a good thing I said I’d leave you alone. Means you won’t have to hear me whine like that again.” Javier tells you, his apprehension somewhat obvious to an outsider. But not to you.

“Yeah … it’s a good thing, huh.”

Nothing else is said for the remainder of the journey. The day had ground the two of you down, and you had collectively reached your limit.

As you enter your apartment, you can’t help but replay the drive over in your head. Dropping your heels on the way to the living room, you curl up on the couch, processing. Would Javier really leave you alone?

Yet the most pressing question remained unanswered. Is that what you wanted?

***

When Javier vowed to leave you alone, you expected it would bring relief.

However, you haven’t seen the man for five days now, and you can’t shake the sense that something is missing.

His daily annoyances had become a part of your routine, and without them, your office felt a little too quiet. Ghastly, almost. It was devoid of the warmth his mirth would bring, as he’d saunter in bargaining for favours with that artful charm of his.

Files he needed you to fast-track. Stationery he’d tamper with on your desk. His legs crossed in your chair. Even the curls of his cigarette smoke filling your office. All these things were simply no more.

To the best of your understanding, you’d always thought you hated him. He was everything you were not. Scared of commitment, brazen and sometimes rogue, Javier was a lone wolf.

Whereas you were reserved, organised, rigid in your ways and a pathological people pleaser. A goody two shoes, to be frank.

He was everything you thought you hated, but perhaps, he reflected everything you were scared to be.

For the longest time, you believed you needed someone just like you. A mirror, to be exact. Someone who validated your existence, because they lived in the same skin as you.

And now, you’re not so sure anymore.

Having somehow misplaced your planner, time had seemed quite blurry, lately. You made a mental note to buy another when you head into town at the weekend, yet part of you wondered what it would be like to be without it. After all, you’d survived the last week. Would it be a disaster? Or would it be freeing?

There was a deep yearning within you to break the monotony and try something new. You longed for the taste of spontaneity and recklessness that Javier had fed you; bit by bit until you’d become addicted to the thought of it.

You weren’t naive. This didn’t mean you wanted to run away with him, ask to go steady, and pray he’ll change his biology. Pray he’ll commit to you, and you only.

No. The thought of that made you feel sick, even. You’d never want to be the sacrificial lamb who tries to change the wolf, all because she thought there was a chance he could love her, in a different life.

Rather, you longed to give up control to him. You longed to have him knock you down a peg, make you question everything you ever knew about yourself. You longed to see the version of you that complimented him; all rough edges and dark clouds.

But a leopard can’t change its spots - not overnight, anyway - and you didn’t possess the courage needed to make a move. So, ultimately, you got back to work, allowing these new desires to fade into the background.

Perhaps, in the need to catch another kingpin, desperation alone would bring him to your desk, and he’d sweet talk you round to get things moving faster. And you’d flirt back with him, or at least try to, and he’d be surprised; eyes wide and smirk strong.

Such a thought sent a shudder through your body. Perhaps.

***

Javier Peña couldn’t remember the last time he went over to a woman’s place, without the intention of sleeping with them.

But here he is, standing outside your door.

He hasn’t seen you in a while, having stood by his word to leave you alone. And although he tells himself he’s just here to return your planner, at last, that doesn’t explain why he decided 9.27 pm would be the best time to come over.

It also doesn’t explain why he wore that same leather jacket from the night at the bar, when he’d ruined your chances with another guy. Or why he made sure to lock all the car doors and windows, as though he expected to stay awhile.

He knows his chances are slim. But Javier wants to test the odds.

His knock startles you, and you scramble to fix your appearance, not having expected any visitors this late in the evening.

When you open the door, you’re met with the last person you expected to find there. He’s uncertain, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. But Javier Peña doesn’t do shy. Reckless and haphazard, perhaps, but not shy. Not like this.

Why is he here? Did Crosby die, or something? You couldn’t imagine why else he’d be here right now.

“W-What happened? Is he alright?” You ask, stuttering in your panic.

He holds his hand out to steady you, firm fingers clasped firmly around your delicate wrist. “Everything’s fine, don’t worry. I just came to return this. I uh- found it in the break room, beneath a pile of magazines.”

He holds up your planner. But he doesn’t hold it out to you, too scared of you kicking him to the curb once you’ve got it. Before he even has a chance to figure out why he’s here.

“Oh my God! Really? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.” You say, shaking your head in disbelief, still coming down from your earlier panic.

“Yeah.”

He looks up to the ceiling, not quite sure how to handle the fact you’re quite underdressed; the top buttons of your blouse are undone, revealing the way your breasts are barely contained by the thin satin adorning them. And underneath your skirt, your legs are bare too, a sight that had haunted Javier’s dirty dreams since he first saw them that night with your friends.

When you’d opened the door, your sweet little gasp of surprise caused his cock to stir in his jeans, and now he’d set his sights on your body, he wanted to hear it again, as he held your thigh against his chest whilst he fucked you deep into the bed.

Shit. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to feel you; feel what it’s like to hold your attention completely for a while. Feel you clamping down on him as you said fuck expectations and succumbed to the chaos of carnal pleasure. Pleasure that he was desperate to give you.

You weren’t a conquest. Not at all. It was just that Javier knew how much you were holding back and holding out on yourself, and he wanted to be the one to show you what it could be like to let loose. To let go and be a little kinder to yourself.

Leaning in closer, he coerces your eyes to meet his, and the intensity of his stare has slick pooling between your thighs. He didn’t even need to touch you. You’d give him anything he asked for.

“So, uh … what’s on the agenda for tonight, then?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Nothing.”

Your eyes peer up at him. Your want, need and craving staring back at him. It has to be now, he thinks.

“Fuck!” He curses, before his body’s moving yours, walking you back into your apartment with his hands on your hips.

“Javier! W-what?” You ask, but you don’t get the chance to reply when his lips on yours successfully quiets you.

“Javier! We should … We should- shouldn’t be-”

“Shouldn’t be doing what, huh?” He counters, his tone laced with amusement.

You don’t have an answer for him, instead your hand grips the back of his neck to pull his mouth back to yours, and in return, you feel him smile through his kisses.

When you reach your bedroom, you situate yourself on the bed whilst pawing at Javier desperately. His belt. His hair. The leather covering his broad shoulders. Your hands reach for whatever they can get.

“Sweetheart.” He exhales, his voice trying its best to hide his impatience.

His eyes unable to get enough of you like this, you watch as they roam up along your bare legs, taking in the rare sight of you sans stockings as you lay back on the bed, your supple skin the perfect contrast to the crisp white sheets beneath you.

His gaze having soaked up enough of your body to drive himself crazy, he eventually moves it upwards to admire your face; the innocence mixed with pent-up frustration divulging how much you need to be touched. How much you need someone to unravel you from head to toe.

“I need-” You begin. “I need it, Javier.” It being every unspoken desire you harbour for this man. Everything you want him to do to you, but you’re too scared to admit.

“I need more than that. Words, baby. What do you need?”

“I-I need you to show me. Show me what it’s like to let loose … like you said.” Your voice trembles slightly, not used to acting on your wants.

That’s all Javier needs to hear to give him the green light. Then, he’s back on you, mouth latching to any inch of skin he can reach. Trailing kisses down the v of your cleavage, stopping only when your blouse cuts off his access to the heaven below, he moves off the bed to stand beside it.

“Take your clothes off. I need to see you.” He tells you.

“Are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” Your voice is hesitant, worried you’re not going to match up to his other girls if that’s the level of sexy he expected from you. “Is this what it’s always like?” You ask. “With the others?”

“No, fuck I- … I’ll mess up the buttons on your pretty shirt if I try. Maybe you should-”

You cut him off. “Yeah, that’s good.”

He watches you unfasten each button, one by one, and you’re taking too long for his liking. It’s not deliberate on your part, it’s just that you’re wearing satin and the garment had to be handled delicately. By the time he’s removed his leather jacket and his shirt, you haven’t even made it past your tits.

It’s not enough. There are still too many parts of you concealed from him, and Javier decides that messing up the buttons wouldn’t be that bad after all, as he replaces your nimble fingers with his own rough hands, opening your shirt with a few harsh tugs before wrangling it over your head.

When he’s gotten it off, he tosses the somewhat wrecked garment aside before hiking your skirt up to pool around your tummy, and his rough touch has you moaning loudly.

“Javier…” You whine.

“Javi, baby. You call me Javier when I’m getting on your nerves at work.” He gives you a cheeky smile, relaxing you. “This is different.”

You try it out, the name tasting unfamiliar on your tongue. “J-Javi …” You moan, deciding it tastes good in your mouth.

“There you go, baby.” He praises, his face lighting up at your submission, but also at the fact you seem to be enjoying yourself, as that’s all he wants out of this; for you to feel good.

He kisses and nips at the soft skin of your belly whilst he tugs your panties down your legs. They stick to your pussy, at first, due to how much slick has gathered within them, but you lift your hips eagerly to help him, and Javier’s taken aback by just how vocal you’re proving to be. How pretty the sounds you’re making are.

However, he doesn’t know that you’ve already written this off as being a one-time thing. You figured that If you were only going to be able to have him once, you might as well go all in and enjoy yourself. Right?

Having stripped you of your panties, he quickly pockets them in his jeans, but not quick enough for it to escape your notice.

“What are you going to do with those?”

Your expression is guarded, concern causing you to shift back up the bed slightly. Javier’s stomach drops as he sees you slip away from him slightly, and he’s consumed by the need to reassure you.

“Nothing you don’t want me to do.” He says, hand gently working your calf to relax you. “Do you trust me?”

You probably shouldn’t, but you do. “Yes.”

“Good.” He taps his pocket with your underwear inside. “A precaution. You’ll have to speak to me again after this. If you want these back, of course.”

It’s the way that even his filth is somehow laced with sweetness that comforts you, and you settle closer to him on the bed, allowing his hands access to your body again. His experience now blatantly obvious to you, Javier swiftly slips your bra off, mouth instantly latching on to your nipple as he teases it with his tongue.

“Javiiii … “ You whine, writhing under his touch. Hand caught in his soft curls, your fingers press his head closer to you, which is frankly impossible, but still, you try; unable to get enough of him.

“What, baby? What is it, huh?”

Arching your back as his tongue swipes at a particularly sensitive spot, you mewl. “Touch me, please.”

He lifts his mouth from your tit with a wet pop. “What do you mean?” He asks with a smirk. “Looks like I’m already doing that, no?”

Javier’s greeted with a cute, yet frustrated grumble from you. “Touch me there.”

“Where?” He knows you won’t explicitly tell him where, but he continues to tease it out of you.

“You want me to touch your pretty cunt?”

“Oh my God …” You cry out. “You’re so dirty.”

Taking your words as praise, he finds himself needing to prove to you how dirty he can be.

He flips you onto your belly, and as you go to raise yourself up on your forearms, he beats you to it, pulling your ass up and causing your back to arch. Shoving your skirt out of the way, he leans over you for a moment, tangling his hand in your hair as he massages your scalp, subtly pushing your head further into the pillows. It’s a signal. It says relax, I’ve got you. But it also says don’t move, this is exactly how I want you.

You lose it when his mouth latches onto your pussy, tongue licking thick stripes through your folds as you open up for him.

“Fuuuck!” His lips suckle and kiss your hole in a wet frenzy, as you squeal before quietly cursing yourself for being so noisy.

Javier watches you plant your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He reaches a big hand back into your hair to turn your head sideways, as he urges you. “Don’t hide from me, baby. This sweet little pussy deserves to feel good.”

His words are made even filthier by the sounds of him mouthing kisses on your cunt. You moan for him, louder this time. “It tastes so good, too, just like honey. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” You beg.

Javier stops. He lifts his mouth from your centre, only to spit on it. A mixture of your slick and his spit runs down, past your hole and onto the sheets below you; the lewd sound of his fingers toying with your combined juices has your shoulders digging further into the bed. He’s driving you wild.

His fingers nudging at your entrance, you call out to him. “Javi … m-maybe we should slow down, we’re getting the bed all wet.” Your hands fist the sheets, hoping to draw his attention to the soaked fabric as your eyes plead with him.

Pausing the exploration of his fingers, Javier moves his head to the side to check your expression. You look embarrassed. Ashamed of feeling this good, and he can’t have that. He’s not used to women who are so stubborn in receiving pleasure.

But then again, you weren’t most women, and that’s what drew him to you in the first place.

“Sweetheart, you say the word and we’ll stop.” He reassures you, and you shoot him a grateful, yet timid smile in return.

“But you shouldn’t ever feel embarrassed about this.” His thumb finds a pearl of wetness pooling at your entrance and he drags it up, smearing it everywhere, and you feel it too, as the cool air hits the slick now covering your ass cheeks.

“This, is so fucking sexy, princesa. And it’s going to get messier, still, when you come on my mouth.”

Princess, he calls you again. And the way your pussy clamps down on nothing tells him you like this pet name, after all.

“Ah!”

“You good?” He asks, his concern genuine.

“G-Good.” You squeak in reply, before stretching out on the bed again.

And with your affirmation, he ducks his head down to bury his face in your pussy, again. But this time, he’s increased his force; his tongue darting inside your hole whilst one hand grips your thigh tightly. The other finds its way back into your hair, caressing your scalp and gently tugging to coax you further out of your shell.

“J-Javi!” You moan his name again, liking the way the sound of it moves through your body. Like it was yours to keep, for just one night.

“Yeah, you like that baby?” He goads, mouth never leaving the paradise between your legs as his nose nudges your swollen clit. You feel every syllable vibrate through you. “You like getting your cunt eaten?”

“Javi, please.” You whine, volume no longer a concern of yours.

He knows you’re close, can feel you throb against his tongue, and your thigh shakes underneath his hand. He moves both hands to spread your cheeks, allowing him to dive even deeper and tongue-fuck you even harder.

“That’s it princesa. Sweet girl. I’ve got you. Give it all to me.” He coos, lapping at your clit to draw out your orgasm.

You come in a symphony of whines, mewls and cries. Your pussy soaking his face, as well as the sheets, just as he promised you.

And Javier works you through it, drinking up your nectar and prolonging your orgasm until your body falls flat on the bed in exhaustion. He figures it had been a while for you, so it was no surprise that you looked as though he’d just fucked you to sleep.

Now pliant in his arms, he moves his hand back to your head, petting you as you come down. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good for me. You did so well, huh?”

“Javi … “ You groan, voice hoarse from all the noise you made. His grip on your hair is firm enough that you feel yourself leaking again, already, and you reach behind yourself to feel him.

“Shhhh, baby. I’m right here. What do you want?”

Everything you have.

Such a thought scares you, and so you turn onto your back to tell him. “It’s fine, I-I’m all good now … you should-.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what you want.” So stubborn, he thinks. Can’t you see he needs you just as bad?

The sound that comes out of your mouth is just above a whisper. “You, Javi. I want you.”

You sound so sweet, beckoning him to you like that, and he pushes your legs apart before pushing a finger into your sopping heat, soon adding another when you purr for him.

“Well, you’ve got me, alright. You didn’t even need to ask nicely.” He smirks at you, and you would’ve rolled your eyes had he not been taking you apart with his fingers so good.

Reaching for his belt, you coo to him. “I want to touch you, s’not fair …”

And, well, Javier would be a fool to deny you. He makes quick work of his belt and zipper before pulling his jeans off, and then he’s kneeling on the bed. Right in front of you, where you can see him; throbbing, the tip flushed red, aching for the touch of a woman.

He gives himself a few firm tugs, before groaning out as his strokes get faster. His gaze locks on you. Your eyes blown wide, lips parted and tongue peeking out in thirst, as you arch your hips up towards him.

“Fuck.” He leans forward to capture your lips, but your hand on his chest stops him halfway.

You look up at him in expectation, your eyes unsure of what it is you’re asking for.

“What is it? Are you okay?” He asks in earnest.

“I … I want to see you … touch it.” You say, voice as soft as a kitten.

And Javier groans. He settles his legs on either side of you as his hand returns to his cock. You can see that he’s teasing himself, playing with the tip and smearing his precum down the underside. Is that for your benefit? It’s somehow become more than a little friendly stress relief between colleagues; he’s showing off for you.

“Baby!” You whine, hands grabbing at his forearms to stop him.

Well that was unexpected. But he liked it. Liked the way you were getting into it enough to call him baby. Releasing his cock from his grip, he looks at you. You reach for his soft brown curls again, pulling him down to your lips.

Between kisses, he taunts. “Thought you wanted to watch, princesa. Huh?”

“I’ve seen enough. I need you to … “

“Need me to what?” His expression plays at being serious, but his tone tells you he’s teasing.

He knows you don’t want to say it, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“I need you to … “ You begin, but you can’t say it. “I need you …” You beg, instead, wrapping a leg around his lower back in an attempt to get his cock inside of you.

Javier chuckles at this. He should’ve known you wouldn’t be willing to admit what you’re about to do. With a wrecked sigh, he grabs your thighs and pulls your sweet cunt onto his cock.

The sounds you both let out excite each other further, and as Javier opens you up on his hardness, you mewl at the stretch. It stings perfectly, reminding you, once again, that your experience is no match for his. You squirm on the bed desperately as he gives you more of himself.

“So tight.” He grits. “Doing so good, princesa. Taking me so well. Look at that … “ He marvels, looking down to where your pussy is stretched out around him. He pulls out slightly to show you how your juices have soaked him. “Already, huh?”

You let out a high pitch, girlish sound at the depraved sight. There couldn’t be any doubt. That was you. Your body taking his, and it fills you with a peculiar sense of pride.

He pulls out again, teasing your clit with the tip; tapping it against your nub until he’s satisfied that you’ll have to throw these sheets out with how wet you’ve gotten them. It catches on the rim of your hole a few times as he pushes it back inside, eventually getting tired of his own teasing and pushing in all the way.

“Fuck, yesss.” You praise, your hand fumbling to hold his. Javier gives you one of his hands and you intertwine it with your own, resting it atop your hip. His other hand, however, holds your leg, spreading it wide as he fucks into you deeply.

He’s on his knees, his back straight as he drives forward, and your hips are raised, almost as if you’re perched on his legs. Javier fucks you until you’re both spent, and as you both near your peaks, he crawls up to lean over you; mouth pressed to your ear, tongue licking at your skin whilst he fills your ear with pure filth.

His change of position has you practically bent in half, your hips lifting off the bed as he pounds you down into the mattress.

“Princesa …” He rasps. “Need you to come on my cock … show me how much you like it.”

“J-Javi … “ Your hands tug at his hair roughly, cunt clenching down on his thickness.

His thumb rubs your clit faster now, as you get louder. “How much you like the way I fuck this sweet little pussy like it’s mine. Always so uptight, huh? Turns out you just needed to get fucked like one of my girls-”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you, and as you come all over him, Javier talks you through it. His thrusts now slower, but deeper.

Again, you roll your head to the side, hoping to drown your cries in the pillow, but Javier quickly sets it back in place, needing to hear it all come out.

“That’s it. There’s my feisty princesa … let it all out.” He coos.

And he wants to sneak a glance at where you’re soaking him, but he’s taken by the innocent look in your eyes as you let go for him.

Forehead now pressed against yours, he kisses your face whilst soothing you with his soft gaze. And the way you’re looking back at him reassures Javier that his last comment didn’t offend you.

Who knew you secretly liked his filthiness?

Satisfied you’re finished cumming, he pulls out and begins jerking himself over you.

“Javi, baby.” You coo. “I want to see you. Want to feel you on my skin.”

It’s the gentleness within your voice that sends him over the edge and Javier comes in spurts, painting the skin above your mound with his seed. Some of it spills onto your pussy, too, and he feels another wave rush over him as he watches his cum coat your puffy hole.

“Fuck.” He curses, nose nuzzling your throat before he collapses beside you.

“Yeah … “

He places a quick kiss on your lips. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You nod, trying to curb your enthusiasm by biting your lip. But Javier can see through it, considering he’s an agent.

Or was it because he’d gotten better at reading you?

“Thanks.” You offer awkwardly.

“Jesus Christ … “ A large hand palms his face. “Please tell me you didn’t just thank me. I’m not an escort, no matter what you might think.”

That has you giggling, quietly.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Javier.”

Javier.

So you were back to that, huh? Javier feels himself tense at the change of address.

Deciding to give himself a moment, he tells you. “I’ll be right back.” Before getting up and heading into the bathroom.

He returns a moment later with something to clean you up. As he softly swipes the cloth over your sensitive folds, he searches for something in your expression. Something he can’t seem to define.

Leave it alone, he reminds himself as he settles back on the bed, next to you. You feel his chest press against your side as he hovers over you, hand caressing your hip, whilst his eyes avoid yours.

“Well, um … I guess that’s it. Wow … “ You say, dazed, as though you’d never truly experienced pleasure before.

Without asking you, of course, he lights a cigarette. “Well, you know where to find me … “ He says, voice trailing off in implication.

“That won’t be necessary.” You chuckle.

“I should probably get back to searching for a husband.”

“You know, I’ve got a five-year plan waiting on me.” You breathe, and Javier notices that you almost look unsure. “What about Van Ness? He’s one of your agents, right?”

“What about him?” He replies.

“I see him around the office … he’s cute. Is he single?”

“Princesa … “ He groans, and you cut him off.

“I thought we were done with that whole thing now.” Your eyes dart around the room, suddenly shy.

He hums in thought. “Never had a woman talk about another man whilst she’s in bed with me.” Tutting, he pretends to appear offended.

Yes. Pretends.

You give him another girlish giggle, and it warms his blood again.

“Well … Is he single?” You repeat, eyes alight with hope.

Huffing out, he reaches over to the ashtray on the nightstand. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“You haven’t thought it all through though. Not properly.” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, where do you want to live when you’re married? Colombia?”

You shake your head.

“Van Ness is DEA. We’re the kind of guys that find it hard to settle down in one place. I can’t see him leaving Colombia just yet, not whilst the action’s still here … “

He’s got a point, though you hate to admit it.

“Whatever.” You groan. “No DEA guys then.”

“Except me.” He interjects, smirking at you.

“Including you!”

Stubbing out his cigarette, Javier moves his body over yours, looking down at you with a gaze so intensely affectionate, it renders you speechless.

But then his signature, winning smile returns. “What I’m hearing … princesa. Is that your search is futile, right now. As long as you’re in Colombia, anyway.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you can’t help but open up for him. It seems as though he’s unlocked a new weapon to torment you with; his touch. As, currently, you’re unable to resist even the slightest sensation: a featherlight graze of his fingertips on your body.

“The way I see it. You might as well enjoy yourself some more. Marriage is always going to be there.”

He winks at you, and you want to throttle him. Like that day in your office, when he’d interrupted your call.

But you end up doing something else.

You close your lips around his thumb, sucking him further into your warmth, whilst simultaneously staring daggers into him.

Always so stubborn, Javier’s reminded.

“There’s my feisty girl, huh?”

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

Taglist for this fic: @gracieispunk @queerponcho @darkerskylines @soaringcloud @kirsteng42

Shoutout to the bestie, @gracieispunk for helping me out with this and for taking my initial ideas to the next level with your genius. Eternally grateful for your support! <3

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