#like no one gets internalized fatphobia more than me

[astarioffsimpmain]

Unsolicited Affections (Part 2)

[Far Left & Right Screenshots + Tav by @brabblesblog & Center Screenshot by Raz]

Halsin x Plus Size F!Reader

Warnings: Body insecurity; internalized fatphobia; Halsin is a sweetheart

Synopsis: Halsin's cure for your ailments isn't exactly what you expected, but you're not exactly upset about it.

Author's Note: Thank you again to Ban and Raz for the wonderful screenshots! This one is where we dig really deep, everybody. Settle in with your comfort items and prepare for some Halsitherapy. <3 I hope you all enjoy, and get ready for some spice in Part 3!

Part 1 Here | Part 3 Here

Your hands shook as you made your way toward Halsin's tent near the edge of camp. He had insisted on being the first line of defense from any unwelcome visitors as a way to repay you all for saving his grove from the shadow curse, and while at first you had argued, you stopped short after witnessing the earnestness in those beautiful green eyes. He wanted to do this. He wanted to protect you all. So you had relented, and had found it nearly impossible to say no to him since.

You clamped your hands together and steadied your breaths. "Gods, get it together. He's just going to check over your cuts and bruises like always." You reasoned, chastising yourself for even taking your vampiric friend's words into consideration. "I'm nothing more than a good Samaritan to him. He is being kind in response to my kindness, nothing more." You reminded yourself, doing your best to ignore the way your heart ached sharply at the admonition. You wanted to hope, but you couldn’t afford it. Wrenching your hands with one another, you stepped up to Halsin's tent and awaited his appearance. 

"There you are." His soothing voice rumbled in your ear after several disarming seconds of silence and you would have toppled over in surprise had a strong arm not wrapped firmly around your waist to steady you. The Druid pulled you against his front and you nearly lost all of the breath in your lungs to the feeling of being tucked against him. He was solid, 7 feet of muscle mass, beautifully encased by the soft ripple of tanned skin that pillowed ever so slightly to accommodate you being pressed against it. You had never been this close to him before and your mind blanked as your heart hammered painfully against your ribcage. 

"Yep, here I am." You managed to sound playfully flippant, unable to reveal your true feelings, despite how desperately you wanted to jump into his arms. "I really do think I'm alright, Halsin. Nothing more than a scrape here or a bruise there."

"Physically, you seem well for wear, but I sense something bothering you, and I'd like to help, if you'll allow me. So please, follow me. I believe I have just the remedy." He smiled down at you, at last releasing you from his hold, which sent confusing waves of both relief and disappointment coursing through you. 

"Well… alright. I'll see what you have in mind." You mused, shrugging your shoulders and missing the way his eyes glinted in the light pulsing from the plants around you. You fell into step beside him, giddy at the prospect of spending more time with him. You figured this was as close to the Druid as you would ever get, so you relished each moment you spent by his side. You tried not to think about what would happen in the future. If you didn't end up the product of a non-consented ceremorphosis, what then? Where would you go? You knew it was likely that you'd never see Halsin again; that he'd return to the Grove to resume his position as Archdruid and that you'd end up somewhere far away, working some tavern job to survive. Hollowness carved its way through your chest, more painful than any knife, and you suddenly had to take a steadying breath to keep up with your companion's long strides. 

‘Don’t think on it now,’ you chastised yourself silently, instead forcing a glance to the towering man beside you. He was relaxed, walking in a gate slow enough for you to keep up without much effort. A soft smile decorated his beautiful lips and his green eyes reflected the serenity of the darkness surrounding them. There was not much peace in the Underdark, but what little there was, you found with Halsin. Soon, the path he led you on tapered into a clearing of stone and rocks, and in the very center, a small lake. A gasp escaped your lips at the sight. It was beautiful. The water hummed with the glow of bioluminescent lichen from beneath the surface, growing in scattered mounds at the bottom of the body of water. From the surrounding rocks and the looming trees hung glowing moss, their effervescence bathing you and Halsin in a soft blue light. 

"Halsin, this is stunning." You breathed out quietly, taking in the scene before you. 

"It is, is it not? Even here in the Underdark, a form of nature prevails and finds a way to create beauty. It inspired me when I found it. I have checked the water many times over, and it is safe for submersion." He replied, looking across the lake with a sense of pride that he could only find in what was natural. Several more seconds of awe passed through you before the implications of his words connected in your mind. 

"Oh, uhm…" you sputtered, your mind beginning to reel away from the scene before you and into your own insecurities. 'Oh gods, he's talking about swimming! I can't just swim in my clothes; can I? Maybe I can. He can't see me bare! Hells, he'd never look at me again!' Your thoughts ran away with you and you stood there, unmoving and unresponsive, and Halsin took notice. 

"My heart, please be silent no longer. What is it that troubles you?" He coaxed softly, fingers trailing over your arm with a gentleness that should not be possible from a man his size. When you did not react, he reached forward with the same fingers and curved them under your chin, turning your head to face him. Your eyes met his, wide and afraid, and his other hand came up to cup your cheek, his fingers wrapping around the back of your head as he settled into the hold. 

"Oh-" was all you managed to mumble before Halsin's lips were on yours; tender, loving. 'Gods..' your mind was racing.

You practically moaned into his mouth when he abandoned your chin to wrap his arm around your back, pulling you flush against him, the hard planes of his body sending electric shockwaves through you at an alarming rate. All thoughts from moments ago had scattered and you were awash with a feeling more overwhelming than anything you could ever remember experiencing. You weren't sure how your arms had made it around the Druid's neck, or when he had hoisted you into his arms, but when you finally parted for air, your ankles were crossed behind Halsin's back and he stood ankle deep in the lake, holding you in a vice grip against him. His eyes locked with yours and the green of his irises was overshadowed by how large his pupils were blown, staring at you like he held the world in his arms. You were made breathless all over again and felt your cheeks warm. 

"I- gods… Halsin, I-" you sputtered, your words still not having returned to you quite yet. 

"I do hope I have not been careless, my heart." He said lowly, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "If I have misconceived your heart, I deeply apologize."

"I- no! Halsin, I- it was incredible. It was… it was everything, I had no idea. I never thought you would feel that way about- about me." You shook your head in surprise, a breathless chuckle escaping you. "Of all people." You added, attempting to seem at least somewhat put together in front of this incredibly handsome man who had just kissed you senseless. 

A confused look passed across Halsin's features. "You speak as though you are disbelieving. You saved me. You saved my home, knowing I could do little to pay you back in return. You are incessantly kind to me, and understanding of my position, my condition-" He paused, his voice cracking with barely hidden emotion, and you reached a tentative hand to his cheek, brushing your fingertips across it gently in hopeful comfort. You let out a shaky exhale as he leaned almost desperately into your touch, his eyes having fallen closed. "You are a wonder, my heart. Nature could not possibly have made a more divine creature." 

Your heart swelled, and the thorny vines that had grown around it over time began to prick it painfully, letting it bleed into Halsin's. You sniffled as a tear escaped your eye and cascaded down your cheek, and green eyes met yours once more. It was time. He deserved to know. "I-" you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "It seems so foolish now, in the face of everything you've said to me."

"If it troubles you this deeply, it cannot be foolish." He corrected you gently, and you nodded, another tear falling down your face. He kissed them away like it was the most natural solution in the world and you giggled; a strained, breathless thing, riddled with leftover pain, shock, and love - gods, so much love. 

You curled your fingers into his chestnut brown locks and fiddled with his braids while you sorted out the correct way to begin. Halsin waited on you patiently, stroking the undersides of your thighs with his thumbs as he continued to hold you far above the water below. "I have never been perceived as beautiful. The- uhm… well, the world has decided on an idea of what beautiful is, and I simply don't fit. I never have. No matter what I tried or how hard I tried it… I never became that ideal. I've come to accept, at this point, that I was never meant to be that. I have always and will always take up more space than most people. I will always have trouble finding clothes. I will always be more difficult to pick up and swing around. I will always be too large, in all the wrong ways." Tears were streaming from your eyes now, vehicles of the pain you carried deep in your heart running out to join the water around you. "I have always been told that someone will find beauty in me eventually, that someone will find me worthy of love, but there's a hesitancy in their eyes; a question in their gaze. 'Should I tell her this? Should I raise her hopes like this?' But even with all of their good intentions, I have only ever been ignored, or used and tossed away." 

A little sob escaped you and you clapped a hand over your mouth to quiet it, but lips pressed firmly against your knuckles and you blinked through your tears to look at the Druid. "Do not hide your pain from me, my heart. I wish to see all of you, to love all of you. I wish for you to know my heart as well as my body, and I want the same from you." Your hand returned to his shoulder and he nuzzled your nose with his own. "You should never have had to know such heartache. You shine brighter than any sun, and had they not already been blind, perhaps they would have seen that." He murmured the words you had been longing to hear all your life into your mouth like a prayer, and then he kissed you with such earnestness that you thought you would melt away and become a part of the lake beneath you. 

You cried through the kiss, your tears wetting Halsin's cheeks along with your own, but he only held you tighter, his fingers finding purchase in the dips your thighs readily made for his grip. When your lips parted, only far enough for air to play across them, Halsin murmured, his voice low, "Let us bathe together, my sweet." 

fin

Tag List, Darlings: @thoughts-of-bear @knightofmight01 @snumlik @tifaria @listen-to-navi @greycloudsy @tiedyedghoulette @halsinsilverbough @nightlyrayne @the-library-of-the-smut @brabblesblog

(if your name isn't highlighted/underlined, I wasn't able to tag you!)

[icyg4l]

PAC: September 2024 Predictions

Hello beautiful people! I am finally back and I feel wonderful! I hope you all do too! I am just getting settled into school and I feel very confident about what's to come! It has been a long time coming but I feel ready to launch into this new fall era! I hope you all are too! My booking site is officially open so I will link it here in order for you all to have access to it. I will be taking readings starting Friday. So without further ado, please select the photo that aligns with you and don't forget to tell your friends about me! I hope that you all enjoy!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: You are in a bit of a pickle, I can tell. Just remember this: the choice is always yours. You can choose what reality you want to make yours. I am channeling the movie ‘Look Both Ways’ starring Lili Reinhart and Danny Ramirez. You will have difficulties coming to a decision. Watching this movie can help with your indecision quite a bit. It also feels as though you need to cut certain things out. I am especially picking up on overspending and overeating. You also need to cut down on screen time and any other distractions that may be capturing your attention. For those of you that are attracted to men, you should stop hooking up with them. A potential pregnancy/STD scare could occur. Overall, it seems that you should be working on improving your health. Virgo energy is significant. By the end of October, you should see the results that you want to see. I am also channeling the movie ‘The Princess Diaries’ starring Anne Hathaway. You are on the brink of transformation. There is a reason why your body is not digesting foods properly at this time. There is a reason why you feel out of place at the moment socially. Your body is rejecting your current environment because you are being prepared for a new one. You may meet someone who you aspire to be like. They will help you get aligned with your goals (personal, career, financial, etc). Do not be afraid to use your connections. Networking will be helpful for you to do. Remember, a closed mouth never gets fed and plan accordingly for your upcoming journey. You know what to do. 

Cards Used: Page of Swords, 7 of Cups, 2 of Discs, The Hanged Man, Queen of Swords, 9 of Swords, The Magician, The Chariot, Princess of Discs 

extras: cutting out certain foods. resisting temptation. random dancing. struggling with internalized fatphobia/homophobia. halloween costume. myriad.

PIle Two: I feel like this pile works with older women or have the tendency to surround themselves with older women. Perhaps, you get along with them better? You are wise beyond your years. Seeking knowledge from them about a situation that deeply concerns you will not hurt. This month will be all about retribution. Some of you want to learn more about casting spells. Others of you could be trying to seek justice in the courts. Some of you want to perform street justice. However, you should weigh out the pros and cons. Does your idea of punishment match the actions of the person that has harmed you? This is exactly why you will need to reach out to someone older than you. This month, you may be spending more time with a mother figure especially if she is sick. During this time, you may find that your support system isn’t as supportive as you thought they were. It’s time to cut them loose. Also, if you’ve been lurking on their page hoping for an apology, you will not get it. It is best that you move forward so that you do not go crazy. Be prepared to take extra precautions this month so that you don’t get sick. Hydrate and moisturize. Take Vitamin C. Go for a light jog or a walk after you eat so that you can avoid throwing up. Also, you should go out to the city more often to admire the sights. Lastly, some of you will be getting pulled over by the police this month. I also heard “search warrant”. If you’re doing something that is questionable, nothing will be found. If you just get pulled over, you will be free to go. I suggest paying off any parking tickets like now though, just to be safe. 

Cards Used: The Empress, 10 of Cups, The Moon, The Hermit, 6 of Discs, 8 of Cups, Princess of Swords, 6 of Cups, 4 of Discs 

extras: fast track. appreciation day. MLK boulevard. sweet sixteen. i declare thumb war. swear jar. every kiss begins with kay. beauty queen. travesty. marshawn lynch. salty cravings. that time of the month.

Pile Three: Smiling through the pain, huh, lovely? You might not understand the significance of what you’re going through right now but you will get it later. For those of you who are in on/off again situations/romantic relationships in general, you need to know that communication is key! It’s so cliche to say but knowing that you have someone to depend on when things get rough can be what grounds us. You need to trust that whatever you are going through, you will get through this; the both of you. For those of you that are single, you have to be open to the process of getting to know other people. You are about to be in a soulmate connection but in order for you to meet them, you have to let them in! There is a reason why you are meeting them now. They will serve their purpose. No time will be wasted here. You are a very logical/analytical person, but there is no reason why you should be locking yourself in your room all the time. You need to be out with other humans. It’s a very good time for you to go out to clubs, restaurants, bars, clubs, jazz lounges, sip and paints, speakeasies, poetry slams, etc. Allow yourself to exist in the moment so that you don’t have to think about your problems. Be an escapist for once, and this brings me to my last point! You need to balance out your realism and your imagination. There is something that you have wanted since you were a child, but you are suppressing it. It could be wanting to try out a certain food, wanting to go to a different country, wanting to go to a specific artist’s concert, but you have been too busy to do so. You need to spoil yourself! Allow your inner child to be healed by actually listening to them. You can get your work done while also being fun! What’s the point in living if you don’t actually live, babe?

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, 3 of Cups, The Tower, The Lovers, The Star, The Hierophant, The Hanged Man, The Chariot, 8 of Pentacles 

extras: kitchen salon. ass-kisser. por favor. typing up papers. graphs. mathematics major. public health/public relations/humanities major. sour candy.

Pile Four: There are so many opportunities for you to market yourself, Pile Four. If you’ve been trying to expand your market/business, there will be plenty of opportunities coming toward you. If you have been trying to get a fellowship/grant/scholarship/loan, there will be an opportunity that fits you perfectly. But before you get involved with anyone, be sure that you read any contracts fully before signing so that you do not get involved in anything you don’t want to. I feel like right now, you may be experiencing boredom or a “cool down” period. That is fine, but prepare yourself to actually get up and take action. You will not be sitting for much longer. If there is a situation where you are looking for the resolution to play out in your favor, it will. It could be a familial/friend fight. It could be someone admitting to their wrongdoings. It could be a simple miscommunication being resolved in person instead of over the phone. Make sure that you have all of your ducks in a row so that no one can call you out on being neglectful. I feel like this pile needs to spend more time with their family members as well, lol. September will be the month for you to do that especially if it’s Grandma’s birthday. If you wish to quit your job, don’t. It will set you up for the future. You could potentially meet a client or a business partner at your job, so don’t blow it off just yet. You could also connect with someone who you will look forward to seeing everyday as well very soon. 

Cards Used: The Magician, 2 of Wands, 10 of Discs, Princess of Discs, 4 of Cups, Justice, Temperance, 8 of Wands, King of Cups, The Hermit.

extras: resistance. princess diana. dragonfruit. time tables. shifting gears. gta 6. pomegranate. pizza. oopsie daisy. thin veil. rising gas prices. california.

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon commission for anon

Request: I was thinking a fem!vampire reader that works at a coffee shop and she has fallen in love with a werewolf customer, but he’s kinda oblivious and a bit of a himbo, and when she finally confesses he’s like…completely taken aback but not in a bad way? And if you feel like it sexy times, but I’m also open to serious fluffy stuff too…ummm the reader is chubby tho, like…I would really appreciate it if you keep it either neutral or make it apparent that the reader is short and chubs.

“You know I don’t like coffee?”

Werewolf (name: Toby) x fem!vampire chubby reader || heavy make out, fluff, pretty much SFW || TW: internalized fatphobia (very light9

“Order for Toby!” You try not to get amused by his taken aback stand as he approaches you.

He always looks so confused when you call his name that you don’t even know why he comes here in the first place. You always have to bite down on your lip to avoid giggling when he takes the first sniff of his coffee. Coffee black, two sugars, one vanilla. Every evening he comes and asks for that, even though he clearly doesn’t like it. It amuses you how he clearly wants to order something else but ends up ordering “the same” everyday.

“Tha- thanks,” Toby’s stutter makes you smile at him, your fangs glistening under the fluorescent and catching his eye. He licks his lips predatory, like he’s savoring your smell in the air, but once again he doesn’t say anything, he just leaves.

You grunt at the next customer, getting angry at yourself for being hopeful that such a cute werewolf would give you the time of the day.

That’s why after a couple weeks writing down your number on his cup and not hearing back from him, you had enough and start getting your break when you know he’s going to show up. The first day you almost give up and get back to work when his soft tone asks for you. But you endure. He didn’t call you. He didn’t show interest in you. Maybe he just likes the way you make coffee (even though he frowns every time he picks it up).

But the third day he shows up in a different time, making you prepare his order the same way you always do, writing your number one last time on the bottom, always hopeful that this time would be the time. When he grabs his coffee, you tell your coworker you are taking a break, wanting to get far for him. He doesn’t let you. He follows you to the back room, your coworker not even caring that he does that.

He crowds against you in the tiny room, he’s so much taller than you that you have to look up when he asks: “Why are you avoiding me?” His tone is a bit hurt and you have to swallow your regrets, because this is his fault.

You press a finger against his chest, accusatory, when you ask back: “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What?” He looks completely confused, and you want to kiss his stupid face so much you have to press your long nails into your palms, the little pain bringing you back to reality.

“I’ve been leaving my number on your cup for weeks and you never called, but then you show up here everyday even though you don’t like coffee just to see me. I don’t get it. I don’t understand it,” you explain. You try not to sound hurt, but it permeates your voice either way. It did hurt, it hurt so much that he didn’t call any of the times you left him your phone number.

“You know I don’t like coffee?” He deadpans, making you even more angry at him, forgetting your pain at his rejection in order to look at him. If you were a cartoon character you’d have smoke coming out of your ears.

“That’s what you wanna focus on?!” You whisper-shout to him. He steps back, completely taken aback by your tone.

“I- Sorry. What?” He questions again, his puppy eyes making you want to melt.

You want to be mad at him, you want to be furious, but when you open your mouth what comes out is: “You don’t... You don’t like big girls, is that it?” You hate yourself a tiny bit for letting your insecurities get the best of you.

Toby’s face contorts in what feels like a caricature. “What?! NO! I love your curves, I want to take a bite of every curve of your body, good goddess you look like my best fantasy came to life,” he says everything so fast that your brain is a bit dizzy by his confession.

When you fully register his words, you are even more confused than before. “Then why didn’t you call?” You are really missing something here. If what he says is true, and what you say is true… Why haven’t you been on a date or something?

“How would I?” His confusion is so clear in his tone, and his ears twitch so adorably when he tilts his head to the side that you want to squeeze him until he’s just a puddle of goo on the floor.

You take the coffee cup and turn it around, splashing some of the contents on the floor. You show him that there’s indeed a number written on the bottom. “My number. In your cup. Everyday,” you repeat.

His surprise is so evident that he gapes like a fish at the numbers and then back at you. Numbers. You. Numbers. You. “Wait. Wait. You like me? You gave me your number?” His question is followed by some mumbling that you don’t catch, like he’s talking to himself. Or more like cursing himself.

“Yes! I’ve been trying to get you to notice me since you first came in,” you confess. You are so glad you can’t blush, because if you could, you’d be as red as a tomato.

He repeats: “You have?” His surprise shouldn’t be as adorable as it is, and it shouldn’t make you want to kiss him senseless. It should make you mad at him that he’s been so obvious to your flirting.

“Yes!” You exclaim, throwing your arms up, exasperated.

“I- I… I didn’t know.” His tone is soft, almost a whisper, and his ears keep twitching over his head. He’s embarrassed, you realize. And that makes you want to coo at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he keeps chanting as he squeezes your body against his. Your face barely gets to his shoulders, but the way he squeezes you against him makes every worry you had about him disappear. He wasn’t rejecting you, he was just too dumb to realize you were into him. Stupid werewolf himbo.

Toby’s arms hold you so tightly against him that you fear he’s going to break you. “Dude, if I wasn’t a vampire you would break me,” you let out.

“Oops. Sorry.” He lets go of you and looks like you just gave him the best Christmas present ever. “Can… Can I kiss you?” He asks, his big paws holding your face tenderly.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull down with all your supernatural strength, giggling against his mouth when you hear the ripping sound. But you don’t care. And he doesn’t either.

Your lips are against his, and your fangs are pinching his lips as he whimpers. You deepen the kiss as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you up, your legs wrapping around his middle as you grind against his toned abdomen. His hands find your ass and he starts groping you, his tongue dancing against yours. You are in heaven. After so many weeks of pining, you can’t believe you are grinding against his body as he caresses yours. You’ve never been happier to be with a supernatural, his strength coming in handy to support your weight without any problem. It’s exhilarating.

You make out like horny teenagers for what feels like hours, but it’s probably no more than fifteen minutes. You are breathing heavily against his neck, your fangs gracing his artery without biting down, as he groans and moans, rocking his impressive erection up to meet your needy core. You want to bite him so bad, but you know it’s not the place. Your venom can induce some kind of frenzy in werewolves and you really can’t have him fucking you raw in the backroom of the cafeteria. You like this job.

“Your break is up,” a voice says behind you, making you let out a short scream as Toby giggles, his face buried in your neck and his hands still squeezing your ass like he’s kneading bread.

He lets you down and pats your ass once more, kissing the tip of your nose softly. “I’ll pick you up when your shift is done. I think we have things… to discuss.” The innuendo on his words and the way he looks up and down your body like you are his next snack is enough to make your non-existent pulse race.

You can’t wait for your shift to be over.

Reminder that you can commission me (info here) or suscribe to my Patreon (info here). And that my second account is @whiskis

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 8

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Jealousy, poor communication, arguing, poor decision making, violence, kidnapping, gun violence, murder, death. Summary: Upset with Javier and determined to do things your own way, the tension in the apartment propels you into a situation no one could have predicted. Notes: High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. Please be advised that this chapter does contain multiple instances of gun use and gun violence. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Because he asked you to keep an eye out, you don’t leave the apartment that day. Cooking in silence and sitting down with your notepad is the most you can manage for daily activity but it’s better than nothing. When you’re able to leave tonight you’ll be out there with fire in your heart.

Elisa hears you moving around in the kitchen, but when she comes out, you are already back in your bedroom. Unsure of why she feels a chill in the air, and wanting to apologize if she’s overstepping.

Chi-Chi hears her coming before you do, shifting over from her place on the bed to face the door when footsteps sound. “It’s not worth it, girl,” you murmur to the large dog. Even if you do appreciate the sentiment.

Biting her lip, Elisa reaches out to knock on the door before she pulls her hand back. Uncertain if she is imagining the frostiness. Or if it’s any of her business.

Can you keep an eye on her for me? Javier’s words ring in your head and almost make you so frustrated you decide to ignore the knock altogether, but you promised. You promised, and he’s…he is more to you than you are to him.

After a long moment of deliberation, you pat Chi-Chi’s back and get up.

She hears you move around and takes a step back from the doorway so she isn’t right in your face. Smiling politely when you open the door.

“Hi.” What else are you supposed to say to the woman unknowingly fucking your soulmate?

“Hi.” She is kind of stuck now and she gestures towards the kitchen. “I, uh, I didn’t know if you had anything in there that I shouldn’t touch?”

“No. Groceries are for everyone.” Everyone is really just two of you and one very spoiled dog, but you’re not about to get into semantics with her. All you’ll say, to keep further guilt at bay, is what’s necessary. “I promised Javier we would stay inside today. The only time I’ll leave is to walk the dog and even then I’ll stay right outside the windows.”

“Okay.” She nods, wondering when you two talked, but that’s not her business. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“You surprised me last night.” It comes out of your mouth unbidden, blurted out into the tense silence between you almost like sick. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

“I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and looks down the hallway uncomfortably. “It was sudden. I had to be taken somewhere safe and Connie suggested Javier. Since he works with Steve.”

“You know Connie and Steve?” That is news to you — Javier has never once offered for you to spend time with his partner and his wife, although you know their names from the embassy and stories. Then again, why would he offer?

She nods. “I worked with Connie at the clinic.” She admits. “That’s how we met.”

"That explains the scrubs." She's dressed in what must be her own clothes today. Presumably they were either washed and dried here in the apartment, or she hadn't been wearing them long enough yesterday for anything to get dirty.

“Yeah.” She looks down at her clothes and chuckles. “I didn’t have time to get anything.” She admits. “Connie said she would get me something to wear so I don’t have to just wear this.”

"She sounds like a nice woman." As opposed to you – even if this woman wouldn't be swimming in your clothes, you still wouldn't offer. Purely out of bitter jealousy.

“She is.” There’s something brittle in your tone and Elisa decides it’s best to end the conversation. “I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you are doing.” She offers. “Uh, thanks for the information.”

"Help yourself to something to eat." There just isn't much else to say to her. If you let yourself say whatever pops into your head you might end up yelling and there's just no point in that. It's not her fault that you went and developed feelings for your soulmate. It's not her fault that you let your heart get in the way. "Javier usually works late, but he'll probably come back sooner since you're here."

“I doubt it.” She snorts and shrugs. “He’s not one to really be tied down, is he? He’s nice enough, but he’s not really a homebody, right?” She’s sure that plenty of women have paraded in and out of here.

"Not really." Not that you are, either. You wouldn't go so far as to claim that. But you wonder if she's fishing for reassurance, and can't stomach the idea of Javier deciding that she is worth coming home to instead of you. He might, though. He really might. "I'm sure once he finds the right person, that's all it will take."

She shrugs, knowing that it won’t be her. “Hopefully I’ll only be in your way for a few days.” She tells you.

"It will be whatever it will be." It isn't your call, after all. Whatever she's really doing here and whatever she is to Javier? Those things are between them. You're just his roommate. And that has never stung more than it does right now.

“That’s a nice outlook.” She licks her lips and wipes her hands on her pants. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat.”

"Okay." Considering this conversation has gone on far longer than you prefer, that is perfectly fine with you. "Just..." You may not like this woman, or the fact of her being here, but you're not cruel. "Don't eat what's in the white plastic container. That's Chi-Chi's food. You wouldn't like it very much."

She laughs, waving her hand appreciatively as she turns to walk down the hall. “Thanks!” She calls back.

“Sure.” You murmur at her back, thudding the door shut behind her, wishing you could have just ignored her existence altogether.

There’s something there. Elisa mulls it over as she goes through the cabinets and figures out something to eat. She just doesn’t know exactly what.

******

Chi-Chi is the first to sound the alarm when the front door opens in the late afternoon, though her barking turns to happy howls and a vibrant wagging of her tail when she sees Javier walk through the door instead of an intruder. The alert had brought you out of your bedroom though – with a paperweight in your hand to lob at any intruder who might dare to invade your space.

Instead, the sight of your soulmate makes your stomach turn. "You're home early."

Javi turns when he hears you, seeing the expression on your face and the paperweight in your hand. “Yeah.” He turns back to the door and locks it securely before looking back at you again. “Steve sent me home. Figured you’d babysat enough.”

"Good." Normally having some extra time in the apartment together would be cause for a homemade dinner and maybe even a movie, but you're loathe to suggest spending time together tonight. It simply isn't even worth considering. Instead, you shift the paperweight in your hands and your own weight from foot to foot. "I'll get ready and go work, then." You huff quietly, mostly at yourself. "Shift change."

“I don’t think you should go out tonight.” Javi has thought about how to approach it all day and he knows you won’t be happy about it. “But, if you have to go, let me send on of the SearchBloc with you.” It seemed like a good compromise, and since he couldn’t leave Elisa home alone, it was better than not having anyone with you. “Trujillo said he wouldn’t mind.”

While he isn't necessarily wrong to be concerned about safety in most of the city, the way your hackles raise at something you would otherwise consider a kind gesture is just...it is so indicative of your stubborn nature as much as your current heartache. "I don't need a babysitter," you tell him unilaterally. "That's apparently a service I provide, not something I need. Besides, I never even told you where I'm going tonight. For all you know I'm interviewing the ambassador in her ridiculous mansion."

He doesn’t know what burr is up your ass and he says as much. “Why are you being fucking difficult?” He hisses, narrowing his eyes at you in annoyance.

"Me?" That earns him a deep eye roll. "You're the one begging for favors and then trying to hinder my work with an asshole in a uniform. Do you know how hard it is to do my job with a cop standing over my shoulder? No one will talk to me."

“He can be discreet.” Javi tells you, knowing that the younger man would wear regular clothes if he told him too. “I would go myself, but-“ he gestures down the hall towards his room where Elisa most likely is.

"What makes you think I would bring you with me, either?" The paperweight in your hand thunks on the nearest flat surface with determination. "All of a sudden you give a shit what happens to me?"

He frowns at your venom, the bile that he hears. “What the hell is your problem?” He demands, getting pissed and glaring at you.

The truth of it is far too cutting, and the heat blasting in your fury keeps you from holding your tongue. "You." You spit back at him, before stalking down the hall and back into your room. There is goddamn work to do and you can't go out into Bogotá at night with tear streaks down your face looking like a mopey schlub. You have to get yourself the fuck together, and you definitely can't do that around Javier.

Javi stares after you, jumping slightly when you slam the door shut and blows out a frustrated sigh. You two had been getting along and now you had come back from your night out with an attitude that was almost worst than the one you had when you first met him. “Fuck.” He hisses under his breath.

"Javi?" Elisa is standing in the doorway of his room, having heard the commotion and stayed well out of harm's way.

“Hey.” He frowns, knowing that she had to have heard and he doesn’t have one damn clue on how to explain that. “Connie gave a bag of clothes to Steve.” He tells her, motioning to the bag he had dropped by the door.

"Thank you." The coast seems to be clear, and she comes out into the living room to retrieve the bag – but also you say hello. "Your roommate is..." She frowns, considering what words to use. "It seems safe to guess that she dislikes me."

“She was rude to you?” He frowns even more, sure you would have at least taken to her and interviewed her. You always ask about anyone involved in the case against Escobar and now you seem practically apathetic towards the best witness he has.

"No." Elisa shakes her head. Once she has picked up the duffel bag from the door, she leans into his side and presses a kiss to his cheek. "But being overly polite is sometimes worse and has more tension than anything else. We only spoke this morning."

He grunts and shakes his head. “She is being stubborn about something.” He doesn’t understand it, but you are a grown ass woman.

"I'm sorry if my being here has caused tension," she offers, not really sure what else to say.

“It’s not you.” He assures her, although he has no proof of that. But this isn’t her fault, no matter what. “Have you had dinner?”

"Not yet." Truth be told, she was waiting for him. For a touch of comfort and companionship. Fresh clothes, a good meal, and Javi will take care of all of those needs.

“Okay.” He nods. “I can order something to be delivered.” He orders with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Ah." She nods in understanding. "It's her cooking in the refrigerator. Not yours."

“Yeah.” He admits with a grin. “I can make you some eggs and toast. That’s about it. Or slap a sandwich together.”

"There is nothing wrong with a sandwich." Far be it from her to turn her nose up at any kind of food, really. She isn't a fussy or picky kind of woman. "What did your ambassador say?"

"It's going to take a day or so to get clearance," Javi admits. "But with the attack on the Palace, they want to get you to a safe location. One where you can't be touched by Escobar." He doesn't mention that the military is demanding to know who she is and interrogate her.

“I wish I could go back for some of my things,” Elisa admits, but she knows it isn’t possible. The target on her back is too large and too clear. “But thank you. When it is finally safe to come home again I might to thank you for that, as well.”

He knows what she means by thanking him and his cock twitches in his jeans, even as he is glancing down the hallway towards your room. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

"Or perhaps when your roommate leaves." Elisa shrugs, not wanting to get into the complications of it. She will not be here for long and it is not her life. "You wanted dinner, I think?"

Grateful that the other woman in his life isn’t trying to argue with him, he nods. “Do you have something specific you want?” He offers, pulling out the take out menus.

"No, I'm flexible." She pauses, smirking at that, and catches Javi's eye to have him smirking, too. They had tested that fact very well yesterday.

He almost comments, but you open the door to the bedroom and come marching out. Javi looks down at the menus and grabs the one off the top. The Indian restaurant. “How about here?”

"Sure." She really doesn't mind much and it's clear that the tension in the apartment extends to him and doesn't simply emanate from you.

"I'm leaving." Wearing slightly more revealing clothing that you normally would and checking the purse you have stashed your notebook and a pen into along with your essentials, you breeze straight past them without looking around. "I might stay with Inez tonight." There are no more courtesies than that, no other explanations about where you're going or what you expect to do. Things that you might have told him if you weren't so pissed at yourself for expecting him to simply intuit the change in your feelings.

“Okay.” Javi frowns, wishing you would stop and talk to him, or at least take him up on his offer of Trujillo, but you just walk out the door. The silence lingers for a moment and Javi clears his throat. “Pour us a drink while I order, hm?”

"Sure." Elisa nods again and moves to the bar cart that Javi keeps in his living room. She has a feeling that he will need more than one, but that is up to him. "Whiskey?"

“Yeah.” He answers, picking up the receiver from the hook in the kitchen and dialing the restaurant. He doesn’t know what exactly to do, but he can only handle one problem at the time right now.

******

The night is oppressively hot and sticky, not yet cool enough to have brought the temperature down in the city and the warmth of so many people swirling through the busy streets as people go about their evening plans. Powered by frustration as much as anything else, you make your way through the streets on foot to catch a cab to your old neighborhood.

The cab driver asks if that is where you really want to go, shaking his head and sighing when you say yes and starts to drive cautiously towards the area of town that has grown increasingly violent.

The man you’re going to interview was displaced by the raid on the club just like you and Inez, with a similar situation of a landlord evicting their tenants and selling the property to get away from sicarios invading the neighborhood. He has promised a full interview with both him and his brother as anonymous sources, and suggested a semi-public place to meet. There are dangers, of course, there always are, but if you’re normally stubborn about things…Right now you’re downright blind to them.

The small café is around the corner from the old building the club used to be housed in. Rundown, one of the widows is boarded up from being shot out just two days ago. The waitress gives you a nervous look when you walk in the door.

“I’m meeting some friends,” you tell her politely, trying not to fidget in the clothes you picked for tonight. They’re not really not revealing but they’re more fashionable than you normally choose so you feel a bit like you’re on display. “Could I have a coffee please?”

“Sure.” She motions towards the empty tables, the seating area empty besides you. She can tell you are American and that makes her even more uncomfortable.

Convincing yourself that the tension in the air is you projecting your own emotions on the place, you sit and sip your coffee with one eye on the door. Everything is fine. You’re just upset and it’s making you prickly.

The cook in the back slips outside, unobserved by you and the waitress taps nervously on the counter as she waits for something to happen.

Five minutes click by. Then ten. Your coffee wasn’t the best but you know you’re a snob about it so you don’t say anything to the anxious-looking waitress. It isn’t until the door open again and a short man with thick, dark hair walks in wearing the promised blue linen shirt and denim jacket that you show any interest in anything whatsoever.

His eyes find you in the corner with your back to the kitchen and he plasters a smile on his face as he walks over to you. Saying your name for confirmation, to make sure that it’s you. As though there is anyone else in this seedy little café to be confused for.

“Is your brother not able to join us?” Enrique has turned up alone with a cigarette behind his ear and a friendly smile. “Join me. Have a seat.”

“He will be here.” Enrique promises, smirking slightly as he pulls out a chair and flops down into it opposite you. “Had to do something first.” He looks around and notices that you don’t seem to have anyone with you. “You came alone?”

“The nature of what we have to talk about is relatively private.” Hence the cafe — deserted aside from its employees, although you were bolstered to see the large window through to the kitchen, ensuring more than just the waitress for witnesses.

He nods and plucks the cigarette out from behind his ear and produces a lighter from a pocket of his jacket. “Figured you would have that DEA agent with you.” He comments as he blows out the first puff of smoke.

“…What DEA agent?” You hadn’t said a word about Javier in your phone call with this man, and suddenly the tense air in the cafe goes from thick to oppressive. All it takes is an instant and you’re wondering if you can get to the door before the man twice your height can block the way.

“The one who has been passing the word that the American woman journalist looking for an apartment is under his protection.” He continues conversationally and points at you with the cigarette between his fingers. “That is you, no?”

You’re going to fucking kill him. You’re going to tear Javier Peña a new asshole the second you get home tomorrow. He blew your fucking credibility that bastard! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You manage to lie without stammering or sounding fearful. For that, you will reward yourself later. With rum. “I have a place and I certainly don’t work with the DEA.”

“Yes, you do.” He smiles, a thin stretch of his lips that has lost the charm from earlier. “Someone wants to meet you.”

The front door is probably no more than twelve feet away. The door to the kitchen is only five or six, but you would have to wind through the whole thing blindly to find the exit, and potentially give this stranger the opportunity of pick up a weapon. The front door is the cleanest choice. You remember the way to the nearest busy neighborhood center from here and at this time of day you can blend into the crowds making their way into bars and clubs. That will give you enough time to duck into a bathroom and get another cab.

In the split second it takes you to make all of these plans, you wrap your wrist in the chain of your purse under the table and move your feet as subtly as you possibly can. Using the bottom of the booth to push off like a runner in the Olympics, you sprint for the door.

Only to find the way blocked as soon as you reach the frame.

Grabbing your arms, his ‘brother’ grins as you as he holds you. “You don’t want to leave, do you?” He tsks and Enrique laughs. “Pablo would be so disappointed.”

Pablo.

“I can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know.” That, at least, is true. Your job is only to gather information and report. The information that he is putting out into the world. Him and his sicarios — the misery and mayhem that they reap.

“He can be the one who decides that.” You are turned from the door, a gun in Enrique’s hand now. Pointed at you. “Let’s go. Out the back.”

You don’t need to glance at the bar to know the waitress is gone, and you don’t need to even think twice to know that you are not going home or to Inez’s tonight. In fact, you’re probably not going home ever again. If you’re lucky, they’ll just kill you outright is all you can think, with the imagine of Helena’s nearly comatose body in your head.

One foot in front of the other, you are marched through the abandoned coffee shop and out through the kitchen, where the only employee pays you no mind whatsoever and another man is sitting in the driver’s seat of a car. The puddle of white fabric in the dirt might be an apron, you can’t tell.

“The trunk.” The motion of the gun guides you to the back of the car and he smirks when you try to push back against the man behind you. “Don’t make it harder. He said we had to get you to him, not what condition you had to be in.”

“There’s no reason for him to waste so much effort on me,” you repeat, annoyed when your own not inconsiderable strength does nothing to help you.

Both men chuckle and your hands are bound behind your back. “It’s no effort at all.” Enrique taunts. “You came like a lamb to the slaughter.”

It's insulting how true that assessment is, and even more insulting when the two men shove you into the trunk of the car and slam it shut while laughing to each other in Spanish, as if you don't understand them perfectly. The slamming doors rock the car, and the movement of the two large men settling into seats shifts you back and forth even more, but it doesn't matter.

Your hands have been duct taped so thoroughly that even your fingers are bunched together and your eyes aren't adjusting to the darkness of the trunk like you expected them to. Trying to compensate for your lost and muddled senses makes paying attention to the car's twists and turns very difficult, and even though you know this neighborhood you lose track of the route you've driven after about ten minutes.

That would be bad enough on its own, but then the driving doesn't stop. Deep potholes jolt you violently hour after hour until you've managed to bite your lip and tongue bloody from the way the car bounces and your head has hit the top or bottom of the trunk just hard enough that you're wondering if you might have a slight concussion from it.

But hour after hour, it never stops and the car never slows.

It’s only when you’ve completely lost track of what time it is, and fell asleep a few times that the car stars to slow down. Creeping along for a few minutes before finally stopping. Arriving at your destination.

The stopping is what wakes you, as cars open and close and the vehicle jostles multiple times. Voices raise outside the trunk, muffled but audible. When the key turns in the lock and the trunk is flung open, your intention to throw yourself off the floor of the thing and lash out with feet if nothing else, is abruptly squashed by the fist that comes down on your cheek. You see the outside world just long enough to know that it's near sunrise when a cloth bag is put over your head and you're manhandled out of the trunk back onto your feet.

Two different pairs of hands grab at you. Shoving you along and when you struggle, one of them punches you in the stomach and makes you double over, gasping for air. “Move, bitch!” It’s not Enrique’s voice this time, but the tone is evil. The voice of a man who has no sympathy in his entire body for anyone.

It feels like they intentionally trip you on a short flight of stairs, pulling you up again by your armpits when you stumble and fall, landing on stone not just once or twice but three times. From the way your shins sting and ache, you've got a few cuts and will have throbbing muscles in no longer than an hour from now. If you even make it another hour. The possibility that you won't is unnervingly real.

“Sit her down.” The voice comes from your left, the order in Spanish and there is the slight sound of a disappointed sigh. “What have I told you about kidnapping women?” The voice says. “You treat them with respect.”

"American pig." Sneers one of the other voices that you don't recognize. If you can figure out who it is later on – and if your mouth is ever untaped – you'll spit right in his eye.

“But a valuable one.” There’s the sound of footsteps and the scrapping of a chair as one is dragged closer to where you are standing. “Remove the bag.”

The fabric is ripped from your head, definitely taking some hair with it, and suddenly you become sharply aware that you're facing east. Sunrise is blinding you so badly that you have to flinch away and let your eyes adjust. Which means it's almost a full minute of standing there before you realize that Pablo Escobar is the figure outlined by the rising run.

Your full, government name is said, leaving no doubt that the biggest drug lord in Colombia knows who you are. They had gone through your purse on the way here, but that’s not the point. “Please, sit.” Pablo offers, motioning to the chair in front of you.

For the rest of your life, regardless of how long that is, you're going to be proud of yourself for not immediately pissing yourself in fear at the sight of him. He's nothing special. Not really. A mid-height chubby man with curly hair and an unfortunate mustache. He looks very...disarmingly...normal. But this ruthless murderer is not to be underestimated.

So you sit.

“Ah.” Pablo smiles, the gesture meant to be disarming and charming. “And they say Americans are stubborn.” The men around him chuckle but he keeps his eyes on you. “Forgive our manners.” He tells you, not really meaning it. “I’m afraid that it has become harder to talk to the people I need to now.”

The irony does not escape you, and you shoot him a look that says I can't talk to anyone at all right now while momentarily slipping your grip on the fact that this situation is deadly serious. Thankfully, the man laughs and waves one hand, which one of his armed flunkies takes as a direction to come over and rip the duct tape off of your mouth.

Pablo watches as you hiss in pain and move your jaw around. “There. Now we can talk.” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “What is your connection to the DEA?”

"I have none." That hasn't stopped being true – or mostly true – just because they drove you out of the city and out to what looks like one of Pablo's mansions.

“Then why was a DEA agent saying he as protecting you?” He snaps his fingers at one of this men. “What was the asshole’s name?”

"Peña." Supplies Enrique. Or, the man who told you that his name was Enrique.

Fucking hell. Why did soulmate have to be such a meddler?

"I don't know why he said that," you answer honestly. Mostly because it doesn't make any fucking sense to you but also because you really don't know his logic.

“Is he fucking you?” Pablo drags his eyes up and down your body. You aren’t bad, but you are thicker than he likes. Tata would like you though.

"No." To date, Javier Peña has never even hugged you or any much physical contact with you at all. Which is what makes his claims of protection so aggravating. It's like it's a performance on his part.

“And you are a journalist?” He asks, tilting his head as he wonders why the DEA agent is interested in protecting someone that he isn’t fucking.

"Yes." If he knows your name and he knows who Javier is, then he already knows that. There's no point is denying it when he basically catfished you with a phony story for your column.

He takes another drag off his cigarette and slowly exhales the smoke. Considering his options and then nodding. “You will interview me.” He decides, smirking slightly at his genius idea.

"Excuse me?" The idea of it takes you so off guard that you just stare at him for a moment, but he looks so fucking pleased with himself and is already motioning around to his men and issuing rapid fire orders. Someone is to bring him a chair. Someone else a drink. A third person is sent to fetch his breakfast. Still another is waved inside to check on Tata. You're fairly certain he didn't even hear your confusion over his own self-satisfaction, but you manage to cut through the noise of movement with your second thought. "I'll need my hands for that. To take notes."

“Bring a notepad and a pencil!” Pablo shouts after the men, cursing when he realizes that no one else is here to cut you loose. “You try to run and I will put a bullet in your head.” He tells you casually as he pulls out his gun and shows it to you. “Then I will have my men in America kill your family. Understand?”

Your family. The thought of Escobar sending goons to carry out hits on your mother and your brothers terrifies you far more than anything he could do to you, and you nod once. "I understand."

“Good.” He gives you that charming smile again, but his eyes are watchful, calculating. “Then you will write the story and tell the real truth about what is happening here.”

It's an odd and sickening guarantee. You will live long enough to write your article. To carry his words to the world. Whether or not they let you live longer is up in the air and highly improbable – but if you can drag this out a little you might be able to figure out how to survive. Attempting an escape seems like a surefire way to get his sicarios sent after your family, and you aren't willing to take the chance he may not be bluffing about having that ability.

The men return, another chair and a table being brought in. Notepad with several sharpened pencils are slapped down on it. One cold coke in a glass bottle, obviously not for you, and then a bottle of water that might be for you are also added.

You're careful not to look anywhere but at your hands in front of you, somehow convinced that making eye contact with any of these people will end in violence. On Escobar's orders your legs are tightly tied to the chair and the tape is cut from your hands. There is no way you're going anywhere, but at least you can flex your fingers and feel the blood flow return to them.

"Where do you want to be begin?" Pablo asks curiously before he turns in his own seat and berates one of his sicarios for not bringing an ashtray to the table.

"Well..." Reaching for the notepad and a pencil with tentative hands, you flip open to the first page and instinctively date the top line. Swallowing is a dry and hazy endeavor but you manage to remind yourself to breathe. "Let's start with your full name and where we are." The more corroborating information that you can get, the better. Maybe after the article is done and Escobar inevitably has you shot, the work will still help convict him somehow.

"Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria." He announces his name dramatically and with a slight hint of theatrical flair. He is vain enough to know that most people, even Americans, recognize his name. What he craves is respectability. "We are in—" He tilts his head and smirks slightly at the attempt to get information from him on your location. "Colombia."

"You don't have to give me the longitude and latitude." You're not dumb enough to think wherever you are actually has an address. "But...in general. Are we at your home? A safe house? The home of a business associate?"

His brows furrow in anger, his jaw tightening. "In hiding." He spits, sneering at the mere thought of the indignity. "Because of your fucking DEA."

"That must be very hard for you." The top of the page is marked out with the date and the name of your subject, and from there your pencil flies across the pages. Taking down direct quotes from both Escobar and you – questions and answers exactly as they're said. Your training is kicking in despite the fear. Writing in shorthand ensures that you can actually get everything down without having to pause in the conversation and ruin the flow. "To have to hide with your family when you are also working to be a community leader?" He did run for office, after all. You aren't leading him fruitlessly.

"Why does America care about me?" Pablo demands. "I am a businessman." He stresses, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray and shaking his head. "I care about Colombia. But you are here, for me. Your DEA is here, for me." He shrugs. "Why do you care?"

"Your business has made it all the way to America." Calling it a business makes your skin crawl, but following his proverbial scent and the thread of the narrative he wants you to tell for him matters. "We are always interested to know about the people who bring their business to our country."

"Then ask me what you want to know." He offers.

The situation is so loaded from every angle that you almost don't know where to start. The drugs, the smuggling, the international reach of his enormous illicit business dealings. His family. His public image. You might be the only American reporter to ever get to sit down with the world's most infamous drug lord and squandering that opportunity is basically a waste of the end of your life – since you really are sure you won't make it out of this place alive.

"Start at the beginning," you offer, starting a new line in the notebook you've been given. It's a miracle that your hand isn't shaking too badly to write, but you're not going to question it. "When you started this business, what did you hope to achieve?"

“Support my family.” Pablo tilts his head, surprised by the question. “My mamá had this couch. Worn, broken.” He snorts. “It was a piece of shit. I wanted to buy her a new couch. To buy her things she sacrificed having raising me.”

“With a worldwide business, would you say that you have now achieved that goal?” The longer you can keep him talking, you decide, the better. The more he will feel you have become sympathetic to him. The more likely he is to perceive you as friendly and slip on something. Something seemingly insignificant that can be used against him somehow. You have to try. You have to try.

“Perhaps.” Pablo shrugs slightly. “Visions change. Goals broaden.” He crushes out the cigarette and picks up the Coke bottle to twist the lid off the drink to take a swallow.

“You have goals for more than just your family now?” He must, considering her ran for office, but you’re willing to pick up any thread he gives you.

“I want to be involved in politics.” Pablo admits, his expression tight. “I would be good at it.”

“Tell me what happened,” you prompt. Just breathe. Keep him talking. You’ll find the angle eventually and some tidbits along the way. “In your own words.”

Pablo starts to weave a tale of honorable intentions derailed by jealousy and a corrupt system that would not let him come to power. Finishing his coke during the long-winded story as you write notes.

If you had been asked what you expected to hear, this would be something close to it. A man who saw himself as a savior being thwarted at every turn, his good intentions stagnated time and time again. He truly must have no idea how bloviated with arrogance he sounds. How self-absorbed and self-righteous. How delusional.

The article he wants you to write and the one that you’ll print if you ever survive this horror show are two very different beasts.

“We should have a recorder.” Pablo frowns as he thinks of it, snapping his fingers at the man that is guarding the door.

Anything he wants is available to him at the snap of two fingers from either a man who looks terrified to misstep, or a man who looks smugly confident of his own self-importance. The juxtaposition is stark, but the ones who do the scurrying and fetching are the terrified ones.

“Thank you.” Even in your own anxieties and fears, somewhere in your mind you’re convinced that good manners might buy you a little more time. “This will be very helpful.”

“I would hate for the story to be misquoted.” Pablo muses, although his brow arches up. “Smoke?” He offers, holding out the pack as he waits for the machine to be brought in.

The idea of accepting anything from this absolute insect of a human being is repulsive and you almost can't even stomach it. But there is a solid chance that if you don't take the offering he'll be offended, and that could end in your end. More plainly put? You're not going to take the chance that Escobar will be so mad you rejected his 'gift' that he kills you for it. So you say yes and manage to even sound grateful through the strain of a dry throat and however many hours you were jostling around in that car.

He shakes out a cigarette for you to take and even pulls out his own zippo to light it. Flicking the striker even as he growls to the other man about what is taking so fucking long with the recorder.

For the first time in all of this, the thought in your head is wondering what Javier would think if he could see this now – and not in an angry and cursing sort of way. Just in the way where you are absolutely bewildered with every new moment of this.

And then suddenly, as Escobar is cursing out his men for taking too long, you know exactly what you're going to do. The chances of your surviving this are low. Infinitesimally low. And the notebook that you're writing in is entirely in shorthand. Unless one of Escobar's henchmen has studied to be a secretary at an American college, they're not going to be able to read your notes. Maybe that was folly, maybe it was just ingrained habit.

Either way, it is going to let you fill this notebook full. Two articles – one that Escobar will approve of and one that tells the entire truth of your kidnapping and everything you witness while in this compound.

So even though you won't make it out, there is at least a chance that the truth will survive you.

Waiting makes Pablo Escobar angry. He’s not a man who enjoys waiting for things. Especially when it appears to make him lose face in front of an American Journalist. Picking up the water bottle, he hurls it at the other man in the room. “Hurry the fuck up!”

A man skitters into view a minute later with a tape recorder in his hands, begging forgiveness and practically tripping over his own two feet to place the recorder on the table. A split second before it is fully set down, you realize with horror that there is no cassette tape inside.

It takes him two seconds, two bone chilling- heart stopping seconds. The fierce glare on his face is cruel, almost demonic. Pablo pulls out his gun as the man starts to back up, holding his hands in front of him. “Boss- boss, please-“ Escobar doesn’t give mercy, pulling the trigger three times and shooting the man down right in front of you.

Your heart stops. Breath catching in your lungs and blood running cold in your veins. And then your stomach lurches, revolting on you, and the only saving grace of the moment as you fall forward and dry heave in your seat is that there is nothing left in your stomach to actually empty out.

Pablo watches you retch as he puts his gun away. “He was disappointing.” He explains casually, not mentioning that the man had fucked up numerous times before.

Another man appears moments later with a new bottle of cold water to replace the broken one, and a fresh tape. He unwraps it from its plastic and plunks it down beside the machine without sparing you even a glance, but you don't care. You can't even process anything else. You had managed to make it this far in life without seeing anyone die, let alone be murdered in cold blood. But you can't say that anymore.

"I hope," you manage, feeling your throat croak and ache. "For everyone's sake, that no one else disappoints you."

Your pencil flies automatically, like some kind of ingrained reflex or biological imperative that operates entirely outside of your personal horror at the situation. It helps ground you, reminding you of the unyielding truth of this moment: that these horrors are, at their core, so deeply and terribly human. When you can breathe another steady breath, you reach for the tape recorder to hit the record and play buttons. “Let’s continue,” you manage, knowing how shaky your voice will sound on that tape.

“Perhaps I should start again?” Pablo asks, watching dispassionately as another couple of his men come into the room to drag out the body.

“For the record.” Speaking as clearly as you can into the tape recorder, you state your name — No use in pretending he doesn’t know it, he’s said it before. Even your middle name. — and the date. “Interview conducted in private at subject’s request.” It’s pure professionalism. Every single step meant to ensure that he believes you are taking him seriously. “The first part of this interview was taken by shorthand notes by the reporter.” Polite. Always polite. Looking back up at him and somehow managing not to flinch, you motion to the recorder. “Please state your name for the tape, as you have already done for my notes, and anything you would like to repeat. Then we will continue.”

He goes through the major points again, sending you a pleased smile when he comes back to the point where you had left off. “Now. We will talk business.” He nods.

“What kind of business would you like to talk?” He’s in the driver’s seat of this interview, after all. You’re just holding on for dear life.

“The kind that brought you to Colombia to write about me.” He smirks and picks up another cigarette.

******

It is a whole twenty-four hours after you are supposed to arrive at her apartment that Inez decides to call. She would have sooner but – as you always say – life happens and she just assumed that you had decided to go home again despite being annoyed with your Javier. Now that she is finally able to pick up the phone and call your apartment, she's wondering how you are feeling after your interview. If you got anything worth while out of the brothers who had contacted you.

Javi had been expecting a phone call from Steve, staying with Elisa today since you had decided not to come home. So when the phone rings in the apartment, he picks it up. “What have you learned?” He asks immediately.

"Um...hello?" Inez's voice fills with a frown. "Is this Javier?"

A woman’s voice. Javi rolls his eyes slightly as he tries not to sigh. He feels like he’s in a version of hell concerning the opposite sex. “Yes?” He asks, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Who is this?”

“My name is Inez.” In an instant she understands why you’re constantly so annoyed with this guy. He’s snappy and huffy on the phone, which means he probably doesn’t have much better manners in person. But the warm depth of his voice is nice. “I was calling for your roommate,” she tells him, adding your name in case he doesn’t remember who mentioning her to him in the past.

Javi pauses, frowning and his brow furrowing together. “You’re the bartender from where she used to live?” He asks, prompting her to confirm. “She’s not home. I guess she hasn’t made it back from your place.” He twists his head to look at the clock on the wall. “I’ll let her know when she gets in.” He doesn’t even want to unpack why it was so easy to say ‘home’ where you are concerned.

“She didn’t come home last night?” Inez’s voice is immediately tense.

“She….said she was staying at your place.” Javi’s gut curls, the warning bells starting to ring in the back of his mind. “What time did she leave?” You were angry enough that you might have gone to a bar and went home with someone, or went to the brothel. So the panic starting to creep into his veins could be completely unwarranted.

“She…never came over.” The sickening feeling of panic in her chest tightens and makes her stomach flip.

“What the fuck do you mean she never came over?” Javi growls, gripping the receiver tight in his fist.

“I figured she went home after the interview!” Inez defends, startled by his tone. “I was calling to check on her!”

“She hasn’t been back.” Javi breaks off in a string of curses. “Give me your number, I’ll call you back.”

Quickly rattling off a string of numbers, Inez takes no offense when he slams down the receiver afterward without saying goodbye. She’s shaken and fearful, left sitting on her couch wondering what the fuck happened, and wondering if she should call Vanessa.

As soon as Javi slams down the phone, he is picking it up again, calling Vanessa. Trying to ignore the way his fingers shake as he punches the buttons.

“Hello?” Vanessa’s voice is bright and cheery when she picks up her private line.

“Vanessa, please tell me that—” Javi says your name almost desperately, “came over and is still with you or Freckles? Or fuck, any of the girls?”

“What?” Vanessa frowns immediately. Javi never sounds scared or panicked unless there is a very good reason. And right now he sounds both. “No. I don’t think so? Hold on.” Freckles is there in the room with her, having just finished with a particularly irksome client. “You haven’t seen our girl lately, have you?” She asks over the receiver.

“No.” Freckles shakes her head, barely glancing up from her magazine. “Not for a little while now.” She tilts her chin at the phone. “Is that Javi?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa nods while her own frown forms and she readjusts the phone on her shoulder. “She’s not here, Javi.”

“Goddamnit.” Javi hisses, shoving a hand through his hair. “If she shows up, call me!” He demands before he is slamming the phone down so he can call Steve. You’re missing and there’s the small issue of the fact that you are his fucking soulmate.

The phone line rings twice before it’s picked up, making the world feel like it’s moving in slow motion around him. “Murphy.” His partner drawls on the other end by way of greeting.

“I’ve got a problem.” Javi spits out.

“So do we all, Peña.” Steve chuckles on his end of the call. “Something new, I take it?”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” Javi hisses and says your name. “The journalist? The one that lives with me? She’s fucking missing.”

“Shit.” Steve sits up in his seat, alarmed at Javi’s tone. “How long?” An American tourist going missing in Bogotá is bad enough — but one living with a DEA agent? That shit would be like catnip to sicarios.

“She left last night to go interview someone, I don’t know if she ever made it there.” Javi admits, blowing out a sigh. “I tried to get her to take Trujillo but she wouldn’t.”

“Where was the interview?” Steve asks, pulling out a notebook to start taking notes.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Javi should have asked Inez if she knew anything more, but he had been frazzled and not thinking. “I’m assuming her old neighborhood.”

“Shit.” More emphatic this time, Steve rubs His hand across his forehead and reaches to grab his jacket. This has officially become a situation. “Is there someone she would have told? Or does she keep notes somewhere in the apartment?”

“I don’t know.” Javi shakes his head. “She has a friend. Inez. She was supposed to meet her after and she had told me she was going to stay with her last night. Inez called me just a few minutes ago asking about her.” He rattles off the phone number. “Get her in to go over any fucking detail she can remember. I’m going to search her room.”

"Copy that." Steve hangs up without preamble and then immediately picks up his phone again. It's a whirl of activity as he drops his jacket, dials the number he wrote down – all the while wondering what it is about this woman that has his partner so knotted up as to actually sound scared on the phone.

Javi hangs up and immediately bolts down the hall to your bedroom. The panic he’s swallowing covers up any hesitation for imposing on your private space. He starts at the shelf closest to your door and starts searching methodically.

Things are fairly well organized in your room. The small closet is full of clothes with shoes lined up in a row on the floor and your suitcase stashed up on the top shelf. Two other, clearly empty bags are beside it and even though those bags are all empty, they're still the first things he goes through. The shoe box on the end of the shelf comes down with a clatter, revealing nothing more consequential than a collection of knick-knacks all tagged with the date and location of your purchase, and a name – small mementos of Colombia that are meant to be brought home with you later as gifts.

If he was trying to get a sense of you as a person, this would be a treasure trove of information. But none of this helps him find you. Not until he finds the matchbook for a small café. It’s one he swears that you’ve mentioned several times and there’s a good chance that you might have stopped by there or maybe even tried to set up your interview there as a neutral setting. It’s better than nothing and he shoves the matches in his pocket as he continues to search.

The small table at your bedside holds a leather notebook and a copy of Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, stacked one on top of the other beside the photo of your family and a half-drunk glass of water. Even the bureau on the wall opposite your bed is tidy, with a tray of makeup and other beauty products laid out carefully beside your small jewelry box.

Surrounded by your belongings, those things most intimate to you, Javi starts to panic. The fear started to set in, as he reaches for the hairbrush that you have lying on the dresser. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly picking it up and throwing it through the mirror, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t do this right now. Not when you could be in danger and every minute that passes without knowing where you are, that possibility increases one hundred fold.

"Javier?" Elisa's voice comes from the hallway, nervous and quiet but still loud enough for him to hear. "What happened?"

Turning his head where he was staring at your make up, he sees Elisa hovering in the doorway. “I’ve got to go.” Javi decides, unable to stay here and wait. Not when you might be in trouble. “Stay here. Lock the fucking door.” He tells her and pushes away from the dresser to get the backup gun out for her. “Shoot anyone who doesn’t belong if they come through that door.”

"Be safe." She says after a moment's pause. Whatever is going on, it is clearly dire and he is upset, so she simply takes the gun and bolts the door behind him when he bolts out of it like a rocket.

He had his cell phone and he’s immediately calling Steve back, rushing to his vehicle. “I’ve got a possible lead.” He tells him. “Café near the nightclub.”

"Address?" Steve stands and grabs his jacket, ripped his note page off of the pad he had been scribbling on while talking to Inez. "The bartender didn't know a location but had the names of the men she was meeting with. Might be pseudonyms but it's a start."

“Goddamnit.” Javi slams the door of the jeep and slaps the steering wheel. “I don’t fucking like this!” He hisses. “She needs to be found right now!”

Steve smothers a groan, hightailing it through the halls of the embassy on his way out the door. "I know she's a missing civilian but I always thought this woman pissed you off to no end. You're acting like the sky is falling."

Javi doesn’t have an answer for him right now. Growling down the line. “Hurry the fuck up.” He snarls before he ends the call and peels away from the curb.

******

The cafe is just as decrepit as he feared it would be, and while the block is deserted that could either be a good thing or a very bad one. The only person in sight is the woman in all black wearing a half apron smoking a cigarette by the front door, but that's a start.

Javi walks up to the woman and pulls out a pack of cigarettes to take one out. She seems like she’s someone who’s seen plenty. “Busy day?” The fact that he’s as calm as he is remains a surprising miracle, but he’s hoping he might get some information out of her casually.

She snorts, exhaling smoke from her last drag and waving her hand dismissively. “Never.”

Javi hums, flicking open his lighter and bringing the flame to the end of the cigarette. “How about last night?” He asks after the first puff, slipping the zippo into his pocket and watching her carefully.

“Never.” She repeats, but mostly in a bored way. Most of the men who come through here on business aren’t nearly this handsome, and she’s bored to tears. She doesn’t mind having a chat. Just as long as he doesn’t ask too many questions.

Javi pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks the ashes away from her. “Friend of mine told me about this place.” He lies. “Said she was coming here last night.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” She lies, just as easily. Though her lips flatten and she takes a longer drag from the cigarette to finish it faster. The only woman who came through last night was the one Esteban and Manuel came for.

“I’m sure she said this was the place.” He looks around the front again and then back at her. “American, curvy.”

The woman’s shoulders tense and her stomach revolts, and she quickly stubs out her cigarette. “No Americans.” She insists, as though she were stating a policy and not panicking. This man knows something.

She springs up from her perch on the stoop and Javi lunges forward, grabbing her arms and spinning her around to face the wall and yanking her arms behind her back. “Where is she?” He shouts.

“Who?!” The waitress cries out, shoulder pushed firm against the stone building. She’s been warned to keep her mouth shut enough times that she is going to play dumb with this Americano. The sicarios who own her apartment building have made it clear that her daughter’s life is at stake if she doesn’t. “I don’t know what you mean!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Javi hisses, pulling back slightly and pushing her up against the building harder. He pins her with his weight and reaches for the cuffs tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. “The journalist! She was here!”

The sound of car tires screeching to a halt only adds to the chaotic atmosphere, and Steve Murphy is jumping out of his car practically before it has come to a complete stop. “What the fuck is going on?” He demands, seeing Javi about ready to drag this woman off to prison. “You find something out?”

Steve’s talking in English, and this woman doesn’t seem to understand him. “She’s lying. She knows something!” Javi tells Steve as he slams her against the wall again. “Tell me!” He roars in Spanish at her and spins her around to see the fury in his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve hisses, pulling his partner back from the woman he has slammed against the wall. Javier’s managed to get the cuffs on her and she looks as confused and terrified as he does furious. “She told you she doesn’t know shit and you’re mad about it? Is that what’s going on here?”

“She’s fucking lying!” Javi growls as he pushes back, getting up in Steve’s face. Glaring at him before he turns back to the woman and switches back to Spanish. “I will kill you before the sicario’s can touch you.” He warns her. “She’s a DEA agent’s soulmate.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” The hammer of understanding lands swiftly on Steve’s brow, and he’s not proud of the extra two seconds it takes him to collect his jaw off the ground before he can step in to pry Peña’s hands off the woman. He knows the word for soulmate in Spanish. Connie had learned it and was starting to use it as a cute pet name. “I’m putting her in the fucking car and you’re going calm the fuck down!” He orders his partner, pointing one finger firmly in Javi’s direction as he shoves the suspect in the direction of his car.

Javi doesn’t want to let her go, but he doesn’t have much of a choice when Steve pushes him off again. Swiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a breath as he paces on the sidewalk.

In the time it takes Steve to wrestle the woman into the backseat of his car in her handcuffs and lock her in, Javi is prowling the sidewalk like a caged panther. “Your fucking soulmate?” Steve asks, the second he’s up on the pavement with his partner again. “That’s why you’ve lost your goddamn mind?”

“Don’t you even fucking lecture me.” Javi grabs Steve’s jacket and shakes him slightly. “You would tear Colombia apart if something happened to Connie.”

“Of course I would!” There is no doubt about that and Steve doesn’t even try to deny it for a moment. “But if you had told me who the fuck were we looking for we would have been out here straight a-fucking-way!”

Javi pauses, clarity breaking through his anger. He had never told Steve what you were - are - to him. That’s his fault. He lets go of him and frowns. “She needs to talk.” He tells him. “She was here, I know it.” He doesn’t know how he knows it, but it was the exactly type of place you would have set up an interview.

Steve searches his face, looking for signs of anything besides the obvious fear and concern, and when he comes up short he nods. “Okay.” He agrees, still standing between his partner and the car. “But after we interrogate her you’re telling me everything, got it? Otherwise I’m not gonna be any good to you on this search.”

“You won’t like it.” Javi promises, looking back at woman in the car. “I’m calling Carillo.”

“Let’s get the band back together.” Steve agrees. This just became about a hell of a lot more than a missing journalist.

______

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[farfromstrange]

Just Let Me Love You | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (f!Reader heavily implied)

Summary: You're struggling with your body image and Matt notices

Warnings: Angst, TW: allusions to an ED, self-deprecating talk (Reader has internalized fatphobia toward herself), not proof red (I was too emotional for that)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: So, my body is changing and I hate it. As someone who was the Fat Funny Friend growing up, I got inspired by the song. Now I wasn't sure if to tag for a plus-sized reader because when I wrote this, I had myself in mind, and I'm not even sure what "category" I fall into, so this is pretty universal and I think any of you who are struggling with body dysmorphia might appreciate this. Heed the warnings before proceeding and don't forget to eat if you haven't already! (Also, I used my tag list to tag for this, but don't read it if this triggers you, please!)

Our brains are wired to function in a certain way. But not every brain is balanced in chemistry. 

For the longest time, she thought there was something seriously wrong with her. She never fit in anywhere, so she tried to make herself fit. Change her attitude, change her behavior, change her hobbies, and change the way she looks. She did it so many times, she lost count. 

She relied on humor, telling funny little anecdotes to make whatever friend group she was a part of at the time laugh at her. But that was all she could do. Make them laugh. She lit up the mood, lit up the room, but she seemingly never lit up anyone’s heart the way her friends did. 

They talked about their relationships, talked about their families and friends, and she played along. She listened. When she talked about her likes, they pretended to care, but within minutes, they lost interest. She thought it just wasn’t that important. Not as important as how beautiful they all were, anyway. And they were striking, she thought. That’s why everyone always chose them and never approached her. But she swallowed it to at least be a part of something. 

She always helped everyone but herself. She was there when no one else was, but even when she was a part of something, she never fully fit in. There was an impossible standard looming over her head, and she couldn’t possibly reach it. 

Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too silly. Don’t say no. Don’t talk about your problems, only listen to everyone else’s. Don’t believe that he wants you because he is too good for you, and all he wants is your best friend who is ten times prettier than you. And don’t believe that personality and humor will get you anywhere; you will end up miserably alone the same way people who look like you always will. 

The same voice, over and over again. Word turning into knives. It was exhausting to fight against the demons within her because they just sounded so damn convincing. 

When she met him, the man who stole her heart, she never thought he would ask her out. When he did, she was dumbfounded. In every possible situation, he found himself assuring her that he wouldn’t drop her for the pretty blonde in the office, or his psychotic ex-girlfriend who just happened to have the most beautiful body known to man. To her, at least. Everyone around him was just so beautiful, and he was even more so–he was the prettiest specimen in the world, and everyone desired him. Of course, she grew insecure. She couldn’t help it. It was a reflex.

She fell in love with a man who finally saw her for who she was and he loved her despite—no, he loved her regardless. For who she was. He took her, accepted her, and began seeing her as the most beautiful person in the world. For the first time, she felt appreciated, loved, and not so miserably alone. 

Yet, the fear continued to linger. The fear that one day, he would notice that perhaps, a woman of average looks wouldn’t be enough for him anymore. That she was, indeed, as unconventionally unattractive as everyone said she was from the first day she actually understood what was being said to her. She was just a child then. 

The funny friend. The awkward friend. The weird one. The girl without real friends. The girl with the silly clothes, the silly smile, the slightly crooked teeth, the belly pouch… The girl who lost weight, the girl who gained weight, and the girl who shouldn’t be so proud of herself because she had nothing to be proud of. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked her, yanking her out of the downward spiral that only continued to get worse over time. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”

He stood in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched around his elbow. It was hot outside, too hot for her liking, and even his clothes were slightly stained with sweat. 

She looked up from the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket despite the high temperatures, a book resting on her thighs. He met her eyes with a smile. 

“I noticed your leftovers are still in the fridge. Could smell them,” he clarified. “I was just wondering whether that was on purpose or not.”

Worrying fit it better, she thought to herself. He always worried too much. 

She closed her book. “I might’ve forgotten,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “You forgot?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it never reached his eyes. 

“Yeah. I probably got too caught up reading or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll eat later. Or drink another latte.”

He hummed. “You know, iced coffee is not considered a healthy diet. Your body needs fuel.”

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she raised her voice, “I’m okay!”

“You don’t look okay,” he stated as a matter of fact. 

“And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

He approached, his muscles straining against his shirt. It wasn’t fair, how good he looked. How well he carried himself. And he still had the audacity to look at her and tell her she had much more going for herself than just her humor. That she was beautiful. Pretty enough. 

“Hey,” Matt lowered himself on the couch beside her, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

“I forgot to eat, I told you,” she said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Not if you did it on purpose.”

The book landed on the coffee table and she got up, pacing the small space of their shared apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He could hear her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage, the pent-up tears, and the tension, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out. But he waited. He gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.

“I forgot,” she repeated. “At first. And then I just happened to pass by a mirror and…and I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself.”

“Oh–” He sighed. “Baby…”

“I’m smaller when my stomach is empty, you know. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to, uh…cut back a little?”

He was about to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean that I’m starving myself. I just…I forgot to eat, and then, when I remembered, I remembered what I saw and I was just…I’m not hungry anymore. I…I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m just…”

She stopped pacing. She met his unfocused hazel eyes that held so much pain when he looked at her. He reached out, not saying a word, and she extended her shaky fingers toward the lifeline he was throwing. 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. She realized then why he looked so hurt. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

The question hung in the room as he pulled her toward himself. 

She didn’t protest when he pulled her back onto the couch, his arms engulfing her and pulling her back against his sturdy chest.

“What makes you think that you need to hurt yourself to fit some unrealistic beauty standard?” he asked softly, his voice merely a breath tickling her ear. 

She whimpered, not wanting to answer. 

“What makes you think that not being healthy is the solution to the way you see yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“I just…” She took a deep breath. “I just… I just want to be enough.”

“But you are enough,” he answered in a heartbeat, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face to him. He missed her face with his gaze, but she could still feel him in every fiber of her being as he sat there and felt her pulse, and she matched her breathing to his. 

A tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she whispered back. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be only seen as the comedic relief in every relationship you have ever been in while your friends pulled the guys you wanted. Because they never wanted you, and they never saw competition in you either because you were just never the center of anyone’s attention.”

He was silent for a moment. The taste of her tears reached his tongue, and he visibly recoiled at the pain she held inside of her. Matt pulled her closer, holding her a little tighter. She melted. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of leaving her to deal with her thoughts, he placed his lips against her ear again. “You’re the center of my attention,” he said. “Of my world. My universe. And I couldn’t care less about the way you look.”

“That’s because you’re blind,” she shot back, a sob rippling through her body. 

He shook his head. “No. Those who reduce you to your looks are blind, and they don’t even deserve you in the first place. What matters most is this–” his large hand found its way onto the left side of her chest, above her heart. “What’s in here is what makes you beautiful, not what covers the outside.”

“But that’s not enough, is it?”

“To me, it is.”

“Not to me, Matthew. Like I said, you don’t get it.”

She struggled against his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Then let me rephrase it,” he tried again, pressing his hand further against her chest. “I care more about who you are inside because I love you. But I don’t need sight to appreciate your physical beauty along with the sound of your heartbeat. Your breathing. Your touch. You know why?”

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“Because I can feel you, sweetheart, and you are the most breathtaking human being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my hands on.”

If words were enough to make a person pass out, this would surely have been her breaking point. 

“You mean that?” She turned around, her tears now glistening with a taste of hope. 

He brushed them away with his thumb and nodded. “Every last word.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the ghost of his touch. “I don’t like my body,” the admission came quietly.

In response, Matt nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. That body deserves to be loved. You deserve to be loved.”

“I feel like…like I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to leave me for…for Karen.”

The mention of her name caused him to frown. “Karen?” he asked. She nodded. He sighed, forcing her head to his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat the same way he always did to her. “Don’t even think like that,” he told her. “I would never leave you for someone else. For no one, for nothing. I need you to stop assuming that, sweetheart. It’s not true.”

“It feels true,” she cried. 

His lips brushed the crown of her head. “But it isn’t.”

“But–”

“I love you,” he said, a bit more insistent this time. “Only you. I would rather die than never be with you again. And I mean that. Bring me the poison and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on if that’ll make you believe me, but I won’t leave you.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt. Matt shushed her, his fingers brushing through her hair. The rhythm was soothing. 

She sobbed until she had nothing left to give. She cried because she knew he was right. She knew she was overthinking, but she was powerless to fight it. He was the only one who could open her eyes, and even then, she more often than not slipped away. She hated it. She hated the way her brain was wired, the things she was taught, and the things she continuously and wrongly kept teaching herself. 

Eventually, though, she slacked in his arms. 

“I don’t really like myself right now,” she confessed. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”

Matt chuckled softly, his chest rumbling. He tilted her chin up. “Then let me help you,” he said. 

“How?” she asked. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. “Just let me love you.” 

Tagging from Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @ravenclaw617 @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

UHHH UHH UHHHHH MPREG NIKTO BE UPON YOU 💥💥💥💥.

NSFW FOR A BIT, LIKE ONE PARAGRAPH. ALSO INTERNALIZED FATPHOBIA AND HATE AND IDK NIKTO CALLING HIMSELF AN UGLY BASTARD BUT ALSO WANTING TO BE YOUR HOUSEWIFE IF THAT MAKES SENSE IDK ALSO SOME LACTATION. BECAUSE Y'KNOW. AWOOGA HONKERS MOMMY MILKERS??? BUT ALSO SAD EMOTIONAL NIKTO CAUSE I LOVE HIM.

Mpreg Nikto who gets even more chubby during pregnancy and is just so soft :(. Thighs and chest filling out more while he complains about his tits leaking into his clothes :((.

Nikto who barely even goes out when his body gets so hormonal, just grinding himself over and between your thighs, hands pulling at your scalp while you suck at his tits. Whining harshly through pained breaths whenever you spell out your name on his tits :((.

Clawing at your back whenever he comes, drenching your pants even more than his arousal already has.

Nails leaving small marks of his across your neck, being hormonal enough to weep softly at his own actions while he helps you clean up and dress the wounds. :(.

"We apologize", but he's sobbing so softly and sadly you can't even be mad at him. Only hugging him close and tighter while he silently cries into your shoulder :(.

—

Nikto who will never get used to being taken care of even as much as his body needs it, only tolerating it as much as he is soft for your touch.

"Ah I can-"

"Nonsense, let me do it."

"If you don't let me, I am going to yell."

"Understandable."

Happy and content that he is to fold the clothes. Letting himself turn into your housewife while you work just to keep himself calm and stable, at least he's found a few hobbies in his once in a lifetime break, what a relief.

Though he's much more relaxed while he is at home it doesn't mean he's sane, he tells you what he does in his day but he doesn't tell you how much he misses you outside of the normal emotions he deals with.

"I have missed you", but he doesn't mention how he almost threw up because you weren't there and you weren't ever going to return because he is an ugly fat bastard-

"I love you", but he doesn't mention how his heart rips up the inside of his cage just to try and get to you. Bloody and ravenous in all his ways while he holds you as tight as he can without hurting the baby, chest to chest and he breathes that he'll be okay.

"I've made dinner", and he'll scream inside his head how much he hates that you've made him into what he is. Soft, desperate and dependant on you, as if any second without your mere presence drives him crazy and it does. But at least he has someone to talk to while you're away. The meds will hurt the child eitherway.

"Thank you", but he'll never say how much it feels right for you to milk him dry, drinking him out like he was your only source of water. He'll never say how right it felt to feed you every day of every night, just your sweet little housewife to provide and take care for you.

—

Nikto who likes it when you put a hand on his belly before you sleep. Resting your head on his shoulder and another around his back. Legs intertwined and just nestled up and wrapped around you. Sleeping comfortably for the first time in a long time, tilting his head purposefully just to connect with yours. Pulling you closer by your back just enough so your chests connect.

××××××××××××××××××××××x x××××××××××××××××××××××

Masterlist

[feederandfeedee]

I’ve seen negative comments in the community on describing gaining as “ruining” one’s skinny body, becoming “weak”, or “destroying” yourself because it contributes to the general fatphobic beliefs that society has. I see where they’re coming from fully, but there are so many creators (like you) who use that terminology as part of the kink…idk I guess I was just wondering what you think about it? Do you find that having a degradation kink affects your self image at all or that it maybe plays on internalized fatphobia?

I think any sexual/fetish/kink experience has the ability to harm anyone who doesn’t have their mental health and self image in line. That being said- no it doesn’t affect my self image at all. I can happily say I love my body the way it is.

Does it play on internalized fatphobia? In my experience? No. Maybe externalized fatphobia. I personally get far more enjoyment out of someone else saying those things about me than I do saying them about myself.

I was fat shamed as a literal child. Before I knew I had a weight gain kink. For me- using term’s like that is empowering. To draw such pleasure from words that used to harm me is freeing. I like to think that using those terms to describe myself is a way of me reclaiming them from those that use them to harm themselves and others. Can I speak for the entire community that we are collectively reclaiming fatphobic phrases? No. But I reserve the right to speak about myself and my experiences however I want. And I would never use such language to describe anyone else but me!

[enbycrip]

I keep seeing and hearing things from friends and other folks I hugely respect who work in really *important* professions and areas of life - science, museums, art, education, care and nursing, medicine - beating themselves up as they are fucked around and treated badly. And one of the things I keep hearing is “I’m such a fool, I made a really stupid choice of career, I’m clearly not good enough for this”.

And I need to say this:

Mate, you did *not* make a bad decision re your career.

You made the decision based on your passion and ability for something that is *incredibly important*.

The fact that you did so in fucking end stage capitalism when industries, professions and areas of work we should be investing in heavily are being gutted because capitalism doesn’t value vital things is *not your fault*.

And trust me, as a person who has a pretty severe energy-limiting illness; it’s *not* a moral failure to be burned out. It’s actually a really normal human response to *things being hard* and being overwhelmed by things that are not your fault.

You are accomplishing things, and pretty awesome things at that. But it’s also worth bearing in mind that you actually have worth as a human that isn’t tied to a job or career, or to the art of whatever medium you produce, or in being smiley and upbeat for your mates.

*You matter regardless of what you produce.*

And every time that feels inadequate, or like an excuse, remember how much effort capitalism and capitalist institutions put into convincing you of that, and that these things are *your individual failures* and *not* systemic problems caused by social failures to value what actually matters in the world.

I sit here and tell myself this all the damn time because it was literally the only way to survive in a world that wants me to believe that my life as a disabled person with limited capacities and a lot of need for rest is meaningless, and that that fact is my own fault. I’m getting better at internalising it now, but it means it hurts even damn more when I see wonderful people who are doing important work being beaten up by the same things I was, and to an extent still am.

I also have to tell you; as a disabled person with a *very* limited ability for paid work, or for a huge amount of unpaid work I desperately want to do, it is *really* difficult to hear much more abled people denigrating their achievements that feel far far more than I will very likely ever be able to do.

Please do think about the impact your words have when you broadcast your internal self-loathing out there. There *will* be people you care about dying a little bit more inside every time you denigrate stuff you have achieved that they have been holding as a distant goal.

I am not trying to guilt anyone by saying this; I am saying it because hearing about how my internalised fatphobia and letting out my self-loathing over my relatively thin body was harming fat folk I cared about was one of the things that helped me get a good bit of the way over some crippling body image stuff.

Valuing yourself and what you actually do, are, and contribute is *hard* work, and it’s so worth doing.

It is not “losing your standards” or “becoming complacent” to recognise how much of what you struggle with is systemic and *not* your individual failures. It is realising the amount of work an unequal and abusive system puts in to stop people from resisting it and turning our energies from beating ourselves up in self-hatred to *working for change*.

[sixofpomegranates]

♜ Sunrise ♜ — S.R.

Request 1: Can you do one where spencer comes home from a tough case & he just wants to cuddle with his girlfriend & is clingy?? (preferably written as plus size but it works either way!)

Request 2: hey so i was thinking about showering with spence. not even in like a sexual way. i feel like he’s just the type to beg you to get out of bed and come shower with him because he just always has to be close to you.

Pairing: Spencer x Plus-Size!Girlfriend!Reader

CW: Fluff, Comfort | No Use of Y/N, tooth-rotting fluff, body confidence/internalized fatphobia (reader), loving yourself, showering together, one mention of a case with children that couldn't be saved, a proposal

I am half-asleep on the couch. I have stumbled across a re-run marathon of old Sex and the City episodes, and those women talking about why their relationships don't work have become my white noise. I love spending my vacation days in too-big joggers and shirts and falling asleep on the couch.

I hear the door getting unlocked and somebody sneaking in since it's 1 in the morning. The key goes into the bowl next to the door, the gun is safely put into the safe, shoes are kicked off the feet, and the go-bag is placed on top of the washing machine so we don't forget to wash its contents.

Spencer is home.

I hear him shuffling to the couch and leaning over its back. He chuckles almost inaudibly before walking around and crawling onto me.

"Hey," I mumble, not opening my eyes.

"Hey, love."

He kisses my cheeks, kisses down my neck, and then takes place between my legs, laying down on me like a weighted blanket. Nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, I feel his hot breath on my skin as he sighs.

"Didn't think you'd be home so soon," I murmur.

"Case ended badly. Children. Couldn't save them."

I open my eyes. Spencer and I talk a lot about his job since I moved in. Imagine keeping all that trauma inside you, just not to bother your girlfriend...I couldn't live with myself, knowing Spencer would do that.

We are a couple, which means we are a team. We buy groceries together, cook, and try to fix the goddamn kitchen sink together. Spencer is there when I have cramps, feel insecure about my weight and looks, and listens when I had a bad day at work. I do the same for him (of course in the ways he needs me).

Sharing the nightmares, even if I only get the tame versions of circumstances from him, is what he needs. Me, wrapping my hands around my handsome boyfriend and gently scratching his scalp when he needs to relax. Simply being there.

"I'm crushing you, aren't I?" he asks.

I only shrug. It's okay if he does; I like him this close. Still, he moves further down. Continuing to lay between my legs, he rests his head on my stomach.

I used to be so insecure about my body, but since Spencer, since I know just how much he loves me... It would be downright disrespectful, wouldn't I love myself at least half as much as he does. I'm not saying I am completely over my internalized fatphobia, which only ever acts up for me and myself, and some days are rougher than others, but I'm working on it.

"I love you," he mutters, looking at the TV. "Hey, isn't that Sarah from Hocus Pocus?"

I giggle softly, making him laugh because the chuckles have him getting shaken. "Yeah," I say. "I love you too, by the way."

"As if I don't know it."

Spencer presses a kiss on my soft stomach, then focuses back on TV. With time, his breathing becomes more shallow, and his features begin to relax as he falls asleep. My hands still stroke through his curls as I close my eyes. And just like that, I, too, have fallen asleep.

*****

I wake up due to butterfly kisses being placed all over my face. I open my eyes to Spencer's pretty hazel ones and a soft, boyish grin on his lips.

Fuck, I'm so lucky.

"Hey, Spence."

After all this time, I am still love-drunk as fuck.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He shakes his head. "Just woke up... Wanna take a shower, wash off yesterday. Maybe drive out to the cabin for a couple of days. I have the week off because of the case."

Gideon's Cabin. Spencer inherited it after his death and remodeled parts of it. We spend a lot of time there. Especially since Spence made sure I have Wi-Fi and created the "No Spiders or Insects" initiative.

I nod sleepily, the sun isn't even out yet, and let him pull me off the couch and lead me into the bathroom.

Showering together. Before Spencer, I would've rather dropped dead instead of showering with somebody... But with the right person, that has you learn your own value... Yeah, we love showering together. Sexually and non-sexually.

It being sexual is nice (really nice), but there just being the two of us, being there, together, the moment filled with intimacy and vulnerability... You just can't compare it to anything else. It is perfect.

I win the love lottery, and I continue to win it.

Feels good being god's favorite – If he exists. Or she... Or they.

Our shared shower takes time. There is some sort of ritual that has embedded itself in this activity. I first wash Spencer's hair carefully and gently.

All the time, we touch each other and place kisses on the other's skin. We say no words; our love is solely expressed by touches.

When it is my turn, Spencer takes extra care when handling my hair. He knows my routine to a T, is so gentle it feels like being bathed by butterflies... Whatever that feels like.

As my back turns to him, he kisses my shoulder several times. "I love you so, so much," he tells me, so profoundly loving it sounds like it hurts.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" I offer.

He works the leave-in conditioner into my hair. "No, baby. I just wanna be with you... makes everything better."

"Suck up," I snicker as he washes the conditioner from his hands.

"Just being honest," he chuckles.

We get out of the shower, and Spencer grabs the big fluffy towel in which he wraps me up.

He first kisses my nose, then my lips. Resting his forehead against mine, he sighs contented. "You're the most beautiful thing in my life."

"You're one to talk, Spence," I laugh, smacking his naked butt.

He kisses me again. "I'm gonna get dressed and pack our things."

"I can help."

"No, baby. Just take your time getting ready."

Spencer kisses me again and again, then presses a kiss against my neck and leaves me to blow dry my hair and follow through with my morning routine. After face cleanser, I put on some moisturizers with SPF, some mascara, and tinted lip balm.

Why should I go all out with my makeup? It is summer, the weather is too hot to have foundation stay on my face, and near the cabin is a lake I plan on swimming in today anyway. I love makeup and have fun dressing up, but I achieved enough confidence to no longer have to use it as a mask to feel beautiful.

In our bedroom, I grab some underwear and my favorite summer dress; then I put on some slip-on shoes. Spencer is already waiting for me in the living room, two bags on the couch filled with our clothes.

"Hey, pretty girl. Ready to go?"

I nod. "Yeah. Have you packed my-"

"Kindle?" he interrupts, chuckling. "Of course. Also, all the chargers and the tablet."

"My hero," I exclaim, grabbing both of the bags, just to have Spencer take the heavier one from me, and we leave for our favorite place of refuge if our batteries are drained and we need to relax.

*****

We arrive at Gideon's Cabin as the sun rises. Spencer has brought one of his cameras, talking about taking some photos of the lake while the golden hour presents him with the perfect lighting.

I follow him after bringing our bags in. He looks so beautiful when he is encaptured by one of his interests, for once seeing beauty and not horror. It is one of the best forms of self-therapy.

Having heard me, he spins around, not stopping taking pictures. He always photographs me, and it made me lose my fear of bad pictures of myself. Some of my prettiest ones are my boyfriend's candid works.

I walk over to the wooden steps leading to the water and sit down. Spencer lays his camera on his jacket next to me and sits behind me, pulling me between his legs. He presses a couple of kisses against my temple and cheeks, then rests his head on my shoulder.

We sit there for a while, watching the forest come alive and the sunrise bathing the world in golden warmth. The world can be so peaceful.

Spencer shifts a little behind me, whispering my name. I look at him, waiting for him to carry on with his train of thought.

An arm reaches over my shoulder, holding a little box he flips open with his thumb, revealing a beautiful engagement ring.

Tears immediately shoot into my eyes, and my mouth falls open as I look at my boyfriend in utter surprise. "Spence..."

"I am well aware this isn't the world-changing, movie-like proposal you deserve. Ipromisethat it only takes one word from you, and I will go all out and propose to you like I'm the prince in a fairytale... but this just feels right," he rambles, giving me enough time to decide for myself if I want this moment to be the one we'll forever remember.

I nod, biting my bottom lip. "Go on," I whisper, urging.

He smiles as though I hung the stars in the sky for him and pulls me closer. His arms around me, he holds the ring in front of us, letting the light play with the diamond on top. "Will you marry me, sweetheart? Do me the honor and spend the rest of our days as my wife?"

I feel a tear running down my cheek and nod. "Yes, Spence. Nothing I would love more."

He takes my hand, puts the ring on my finger, and then brings my hand to his lips, kissing its back.

I now turn to him, seeing that he is just as unraveled as I, with pink cheeks, glassy eyes, and a lovesick smile on his lips. I close the distance between us and kiss him.

As we pull apart, I whisper, "I love you."

He chuckles, "I love you."

"Did you decide on proposing on our way here?"

He shakes his head. "I carried the ring around for months, and all of a sudden, we sat here, and I just knew I couldn't wait any longer."

"Glad you didn't."

I rest my head against his chest, and we sit there in comfortable silence until the sunrise has faded into the day.

At some point, we get up, walk back to the cabin and fall into bed. We merely send a quick text to our friends and family, a photo of my now beringed hand in Spencer's.

Then we cuddle up in bed, Spencer's head resting on my chest, my hand in his hair, playing with his curls. He has fallen asleep, catching up with the hours of sleep missing, and the longer I lay there, listening to his calm breathing and the birds outside our windows, I as well drift away for a well-needed nap.

[scoops-aboy86]

Not Dating, part 2

part 1, part 3, parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 - also on ao3

This is 1949 words and it was excruciating to write because, like. That internal struggle of how to bring up an out-of-the-ordinary kink with a partner is, uh, yeah. Hm. So, here it is.

cw: panic attack, robin worrying about internalized homophobia, steve worrying about internalized fatphobia

Robin flings her front door open to stop the frantic pounding on it. “Jesus Christ, what—Shit, what’s wrong?”

Steve pushes past her on the right and into the house, swiping his left shoulder against his cheek to buy another few seconds of pretending he even kind of has his shit together. He’d been practically shrieking through the door though, and he’s still breathing hard. “Your, ah. Your parents are still visiting your aunt, right?”

“Yeah—Why? Steve, what’s happening!?”

She’s practically running to keep up with him as he charges up the stairs to her room. It’s not until he’s reached it that he turns around, both hands scrubbing over his damp, reddened face and up into his hair. “It’s not a code red, I just… Fuck, I fucked up, Robs!” 

Robin finally catches up and grips his shoulders, peering hard into his puffy eyes. “Dingus, breathe. You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

“Of course I’m having a panic attack, I fucked! Up!”

She’s never seen him like this before, not even after nightmares about being trapped back under Starcourt listening to Dustin get tortured. 

Steve almost never cries—it’s like his parents had berated it out of him at a young age, which personally she thinks is short-sighted and dumb and one of the many, many things wrong with the patriarchy. But he’s crying now, tears running down his cheeks as he blinks furiously and paces and kicks at the carpet every few steps. He winds his hands into his hair and tugs on it so hard she’s almost worried it’ll come out. And his lips keep moving like he’s trying to work something out, or berating himself, or both on top of heavy, too-fast breaths. 

“Steve, can you talk to me? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

He glances at her, then drags his hands down his face and throws himself down onto her mostly-made bed with a muffled scream into the nearest pillow. Which is probably as close to a ‘Okay, just give me another minute and I’ll tell you everything Robs’ as she’s going to get. So she sits cross-legged on the bed next to him, passes him one of her childhood teddy bears because he likes soft things when he’s upset, and waits. 

After a while, he lifts his head, says, “Eddie,” and drops his face back down. 

Ah. 

Robin has been trying to gently prod Steve into talking about the way he and Eddie have been dancing around each other for months. She’d clocked Eddie’s crush on her best friend all the way back in the Upside Down and silently empathized with the hopelessness of his position, knowing well the pain of falling for a straight person. It was the way he and Steve had both gravitated to each other since Eddie’s release from the hospital, though, that had caught her by surprise. She’s witnessed them cuddling on the couch, for god’s sake. Multiple times! And that’s considered so much weirder between two guys than two girls. But Steve has always shied away from the topic… until now.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Did something happen with Eddie today?”

Steve shakes with something she first takes for more crying, but he peels himself up again with a peel of croaky, slightly hysterical laughter. “Yes and no. We were going to hook up, but… I didn’t say what he wanted me to, so I guess that’s done.”

“You were—” Robin rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Really? Wow, I didn’t realize you��”

“We’ve been hooking up for a couple weeks,” Steve interrupts bluntly, sounding absolutely wrecked to have to say it. 

… Last week she’d been trying to coax him towards realizing that draping himself all over Eddie or pulling Eddie half on top of him during movie nights had to mean something. When he hadn’t taken the bait, she’d made some comment about how they lived in each other's brains and were incapable of keeping secrets from her, “You know that, right Steve?” And he’d nodded and agreed. 

So. Wow. 

“Oh,” she says softly, and despite her best efforts some of the hurt creeps into her voice. It’s not like she doesn’t know how hard something like this can be to talk about, how saying the words can make it terrifyingly real. The only reason she’d told Steve had been the temporary death-defying insanity of both escaping actual, literal, pee-yourself-in-terror-a-little-bit torture and whatever lingering truth drugs said torturers had shot them up with; bringing it up a second time, after all that had worn off, had been scary even knowing he was safe. 

But he has to know that she would’ve understood, right? That she could have helped him figure things out so neither Eddie nor him would’ve ended up getting hurt?

And weeks. Steve is her soulmate, her other half, her Platonic with a Capital P, had been doing gay stuff with another boy and she’d had no idea! The guy she only has to look at to know when he’s hoarding the last of the Red Vines for himself, or that he did forget to rewind something before reshelving it, or that the kids put him up to something really stupid that’s going to take up half their day because it involves driving to the game store two towns over or something. How had he kept up that good of a poker face for so long?!

Robin takes a deep breath and tries again, because her best friend is upset and that’s way more important than feeling left out of the loop. 

“Steve, it’s okay.” She reaches out and starts rubbing his back the way he likes when he’s just thrown up from a migraine, in the hopes that will help now. “It’s okay if you like boys. Instead of or in addition to, whichever, both are totally fine and allowed and only make you a freak in the eyes of small-minded bigots who feel trapped in their own lives and hate joy!”

He rolls onto his side and stares at her with red, watery eyes with a little sniffle. “I know,” he says sadly. “I know, that’s… that’s that Eddie thinks the problem is, because I fucked up when he asked me. He asked what we were doing and I couldn’t… I couldn’t think of any words, Rob.”

She shuffles around to lie down facing him from the other pillow, and Steve automatically positions the teddy bear between their mouths because he knows she has this thing about feeling other people’s breath on her face. 

“I still like girls,” he continues while she’s still getting settled. “And guys, sometimes. Or maybe just Eddie, I don’t know. I know liking a guy doesn’t make me a freak, but I’m—Part of what I like about him isn’t—If I tell him, he might think it’s… weird. Or insulting, maybe.”

“Okay,” Robin says slowly, trying to think through the utter blank she is drawing. “Uh, do you wanna maybe walk me through exactly what you’re talking about? Tell me what we’re working with here.”

Steve hesitates, his gaze sliding away to fix blankly on a loose thread from her quilt that he’s fiddling with. “Yeah, uh…”

Maybe he still can’t think of any words to explain himself. Robin nudges the bear aside and pulls him into a hug, scooching up on the bed a little so he can tuck his head under her chin. “Hey, it’s okay Steve. I'm on your side no matter what, alright? I one thousand percent promise you that nothing you say will make me look at you any differently, no matter what, because you’re my dingus and we’re platonically bonded together by fate and that shit is forever.”

A weak, muffled laugh tickles wetly at her neck. “What if I killed a guy and cannibalized him to hide the body?”

“I’d get you mouthwash and an antacid,” she replies promptly. “Your alibi is that we were watching Flashdance again and I had to wrestle the scissors away from you before you made irreversible surgical corrections to your own sweatshirt.”

Steve snorts. “Fuck, okay. But stop trying to tell people I did that, I was joking about that.” He pulls back, chewing on his bottom lip, and then takes a deep breath. “You know how Eddie’s… gained weight since he got out of the hospital?”

“Yeah?” She does, because at first everyone in their monster hunter club had been worried about how stick-thin the bat attack and subsequent coma had left him. Since then he’s filled back out at then some, definitely no longer underweight and with a good amount of color finally back in his cheeks. 

“I like it,” Steve admits in a small voice. “I like touching him where he’s… soft. I don’t know how to tell him that without calling him fat, though. No one likes to be told they’re fat, right? I don’t really like someone telling me I’ve gained weight, because most of the time people only say that when they’re being critical assholes. But… he looks so happy when he’s eating, you know? All relaxed, and he deserves that after everything he went through. And we get high together and I can’t stop touching him, I… I see skin where his shirt rides up I want to bite it. And I actually have! I’ve been freaking out that he’s going to notice and call me on it, but instead he said he doesn’t want to be ‘just’ anything with me and I choked. Bad!”

“Oh,” Robin says, understanding dawning. Not that she gets the appeal of what Steve is talking about, but she doesn’t get the appeal of guys in general so it kind of falls in the same category… And she could’ve done without that fun biting fact. “Oh, Steve…”

She can definitely agree, though, that after a town-wide manhunt and helping to save the world, Eddie Munson deserves to relax and unwind however he wants. They all fucking do, but Eddie nearly died. 

The way Steve’s face crumples up hurts her heart to see. “H-he asked me what we were doing and all I could think about was what I was doing and I just… sat there. I fucked it up.”

She hugs him tightly again. “No no no, this is fixable. We’ll come up with a way for you to tell him, okay? It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s nobody’s fault.”

“We’ve been hooking up for weeks and I’ve kissed him everywhere but the mouth,” Steve mutters miserably into her shoulder. 

“…Okay, that bumps it up to like, sixty percent your fault,” Robin admits, frowning. That doesn’t sound like the Steve she knows. The Steve she knows loves kissing, he’d literally been known for that back in school; everyone had always gotten to see him and his girl of the week (or Nancy, during the twelve or so months they’d dated) sucking face in the hallways between classes, by their lockers, in the parking lot before and after school. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I was already being weird about it, kissing him felt like it’d be… Fuck, what’s that big word Dustin likes to use? Oh, presumptuous. And… he didn’t try to kiss me either, so I wasn’t sure…”

“Dingus,” she sighs, and hugs him tighter. Then—knowing that when Steve gets going about his trysts he does so comprehensively, no detail spared, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but she mentally braces herself to hear more talk about penises in the next hour or so than she has before in her entire life—she says, “Alright, from the top. Tell me everything so we can figure out how to get you your man.”

Part 3, parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Tag list: @steviewashere (since your ask kicked this off in the first place 😘), @hotluncheddie

[naughtynoodle056]

Im not gonna pretend I don't think it's hot as hell when I'm In the Mood™, but when I am not and people come at me with no warning teasing me about how fat I am now I really wanna start throwing shit with my fucking mind. It's one thing when I'm blinded by the horny, but it feels so GROSS when people insist I'm fat or call me obese even if I know they don't mean it to be vicious because it's just like. I'm a size 2 at most. Slightly over 100 pounds. That being called 'obese' just takes me out of the fucking moment so so hard a lot of the times because it's just like a BIIIIIG Internalized Fatphobic Slap to the face. How are people that are bigger than I am by a Substantial Amount supposed to feel when they see people half their size getting fatshamed??? Not to mention that sometimes at my Worst, those sorts of things can and will trigger my own disordered eating problems and make me feel guilty about enjoying food...😐.

Sometimes I just feel too well versed in how fatphobia genuinely affects people on a real level to enjoy some of the stuff I see and deal with in this community, I guess. Calling someone that's not even 105lbs fat or overweight or obese reeks of 90s/2000s diet culture where it was only acceptable to be rail thin, not EVEN slim with a big butt. I definitely don't think every person guilty of this is bad at heart, not by a long shot. Most of it feels like ignorance and being blinded by horniness in the moment to think rationally, I just really wish some of them were a little more aware of how like... Loaded some of their comments can be, cuz I never wanna rip someone's head off if they just innocently think we're playing around.

I guess I just wish there was more nuance about it? IDK, a warning before jumping into that sort of thing??? xD IDK even a "hey are you in the mood for some Not So Soft Feedism" would go a long way cuz sometimes the playful teasing is fun!! But other times it just makes me feel gross. It's like a yucky reminder of "oh... you think any visible fat on someone's body = THEY'RE fat on some 90s/Y2K shit ... Ew...." and like I'm contributing to the "skinny people takin over the Feedism community " phenomenon just by existing and I dO NOOOOOTTTTT wanna do that at ALL. I'll ruin a whole vibe in a conversation and get serious before I start taking credit from the ACTUAL fat people in the community 😭

[elacular-kink]

Poly-Techhic 4: Dinner date

Popping back to the present (3.5 B, oops all hiccups, will happen someday, but apparently not today), we will now see Kiran and Susanna go on their first date, for good and for ill.

Character Sheet

TW: Anxiety, Dysphoria (MtF), hunger, Internalized fatphobia, Body Issues, Embarrassment, Snobbish asshole, Emotional breakdown

Kinks: Hiccups, Embarrassment, Hunger, Stomach noises, hurt/comfort?

I was so nervous.

I was so unbelievably, unbearably, incredibly, unimaginably nervous.

Was my dress alright? It didn't look stupid, did it? Did I look feminine enough in it? Had I shaved well enough? Was I growing any stubble? Were my shoes okay? I knew we'd need to walk, so I'd chosen flats, but would they still be painful? Was the restaurant I'd chosen an acceptable distance away? Would it be a good restaurant? Would the food be good? How much should I eat? I wouldn't want to look like a pig in front of her, absolutely not, but I was hungry since I hadn't been able to stomach eating lunch today and—

Breathe. I tried to force myself to breathe.

My stomach growled. That didn't help.

I repeated Olivia's words in my head. "You don't have to be afraid of her. Susanna will tell you if she doesn't like something." And she hadn't told me she didn't like me. She'd communicated that on more than one occasion to people she actually didn't like, so I knew she was capable of it and willing to do it. So if she didn't like the restaurant, she'd say so and then we'd

We would...

Before I could think of an answer to that, I heard her voice. "Hey, Kiran." When I looked, Susanna was approaching me, wearing one of her usual cool black hoodies and a set of loose-fitting khakis. Did this mean I was overdressed? How formal was a strapless pink dress and a white loose-knit cardigan? Especially when that dress was supposed to be a midi but looked more like a mini because I was too tall and too fat and clothes were impossible to find and—"Fuck, you look really cute in that."

"A-ah!" I looked down and saw a soft smile underneath her hood. When she looked up at me I also saw that she had put on some eyeliner (crap, I was barely wearing any makeup, did I look okay?). "Th-thank you!" My stupid hands wouldn't stop flapping. "Y-you look, um—"

Susanna chuckled. "Don't worry. I know I'm not exactly Prince Charming over here. I'm actually dressed a little better than I look right now, but it's fuckin' cold out." Her eyes went down me and I followed them. When I looked down lower, I saw that she was actually wearing dark brown dress shoes. "Speaking of which, I'm amazed you're not freezing your ass off. Let's get a move on." She tilted her head in the direction of the restaurant and I squeaked and nodded. God, how was I supposed to handle a date with someone so cool?

We were walking. I'd walked this path to the restaurant a few times before to prepare, but it still felt like it'd fallen out of my brain. It felt even more like that when Susanna reached over and grabbed my hand. "I have a little trouble keeping pace with other people when we're walking together. Mind if I hang on?" I shook my head, nodded, then decided to communicate that I meant yes by intertwining my fingers with hers as best I could. She smiled at me again. "Cool. Sorry I couldn't get a ride, but Maya'd wanna come in with us, and I love her, but I'm trying to have a date with you here. And there's no way I'm making you sit in Olivia's deathtrap of a car." I'd seen said deathtrap and I agreed that I would prefer to never even touch it, much less enter it, though I certainly wouldn't be saying as much out loud.

"I-it's perfectly fine!" I shook my head. "I really should take more walks anyway. I could really stand to lose some weight."

Susanna frowned at me, her lips pursed. "Nah. Walking's good and all, but not because you need to lose weight. Your body's fine just the way it is."

I couldn't bear to look at her. "You don't need to say that."

"Yeah, I don't need to. But I'm gonna anyway. 'Cause I feel like it."

A little laugh worked its way out of me, and I was able to stop flapping my free hand long enough to brush my hair back. "Well...I suppose that I can't stop you in that case."

"Damn right you can't." For the remainder of the walk, Susanna filled the air between us with talk about her class on sound mixing. The combination of computers and music was something we could both have educated input on, and that helped me pay attention and stay engaged. Eventually, though, we arrived at the restaurant, whose name was something French that neither of us could quite pronounce. Susanna glanced through the windows at the white-sheeted tables within. "Uh...not to be a mooch or anything, but you're paying, right?"

"N-naturally, naturally." That had always been the plan, and I could imagine very few scenarios where I'd want any date to pay for our various activities rather than myself doing so. I may not have had much to offer, but as long as money still mattered, that was something I could treat people with.

"Cool. Then after you." Susanna pulled the door open and gestured for me to enter, and I couldn't help but giggle.

Once I had shaken my laughter away, I took a deep breath and walked up to the maître d'. This was where I had to be the social one, and I'd seen it done enough times to copy the behavior myself. "Mandal, party of two."

The man in the tuxedo looked past me at Susanna as she entered. "We don't wear hoods in this establishment, sir."

"M-ma'am!" I corrected him, blushing.

"It's cool, Kiran," Susanna pulled her hood down and I saw that, rather than laying flat or being mussed like it usually was, her hair looked like it had been styled with gel or spray, a perfect gently punkish messy spikiness to it. As she unzipped her hoodie, I saw that she was wearing a white button-up shirt underneath, the arms having been cuffed up past her elbows in an imitation of short sleeves, and the bottom tucked into her khakis and strapped down with a leather belt. Oh god, she looked so dapper. How was I supposed to cope? "I don't mind what people call me, and I figu—uh..." She'd started tying her hoodie around her waist when the maître d' took it from her and hung it up on a coat rack instead alongside mostly suit jackets. "Uh...yeah. Okay. That works."

The tuxedoed man sniffed and turned. "This way, ma'am and ma'am." He showed us to a small table and placed a set of black leather-bound menus in front of us. "I'll need to see ID if you intend to drink."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just take water."

"Hmph." He took a note.

My stomach growled. I hoped to god it wasn't audible. The idea of ordering soda in a place like this made my stomach hurt even more. "I-I'll take water as well, please!" The maître d' made a noise I didn't know how to interpret and walked away.

Susanna sighed and flopped against the back of her chair. "Damn. You get taken to intimidating-ass places like this a lot?"

"A-ah...occasionally, yes. L-less often than other members of my family go to them." I kept a death grip on my menu so my hands couldn't flap.

"Man. I dunno how I'd handle it. I feel like the air in here hasn't been circulated since the 70s." She opened her own menu, then squinted down at it. "Uh...okay, do you know what the fu—uuuhhh...the heck any of these are?" Hearing her nearly swear, I choked back a laugh.

When I actually looked at my own menu, I saw that they had, in fact, only included the names and prices of various appetizers, entrees, and desserts. Luckily, I knew what they were, and I forced her to ignore the numbers as we considered the less intimidating spread of appetizers. Once I convinced her money was no object, she ordered canapés and I ordered a salad (hoping I'd grown into enough of an adult to actually eat it).

I particularly hoped I'd be able to eat my salad when my stomach growled very audibly. A small twinge of pain went through it, and I couldn't help but cringe for multiple reasons. "You good, Kiran?" Susanna asked. I nodded, but I couldn't bear to look her in the face. "Right. 'Scuse me, sir." My heart fell into my empty stomach as I saw her call over a waiter. I had no idea how to read the man's face as she requested our appetizers. Our water hadn't even arrived yet. "Right," she turned back to me once she was done. "Hopefully that'll—shit. You okay?" I wasn't sure. Was that polite enough? Had she offended someone? Why did she do that? "Hey. Take a breath, Kiran." Susanna audibly inhaled, then exhaled the same way. When she'd done that a few times, I was able to join her. "Yeah. There you go. Is that, uh..." She glanced back towards the waiter she'd summoned. "Is that a thing I shouldn't do?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"'Kay. I won't do it again. Sorry about that." She put a hand on mine and I saw that she'd painted her nails dark blue. It looked really cute. I wondered if I should try painting my nails.

After a bit too long, I managed to initiate a conversation about that. She told me she'd gone to a friend from one of her music courses for help with it. I was surprised to learn that she actually did used to paint her nails fairly often, but now that she roomed with Olivia, the smells of the polish and remover were too offensive for her to ever use them in their dorm, so she'd given up on it outside of special occasions. I managed to suggest that she could teach me and do her own nails at the same time in my building from time to time, and the smile she gave me absolutely filled my stomach with butterflies.

It was unfortunate that it was only butterflies and not anything else filling it because it kept growling. I felt ridiculous, and it felt like everyone in the restaurant must be staring at me. Why didn't I force myself to eat something? I knew my body got noisy when I was hungry. At least I could take some comfort in knowing that it could be worse.

I then immediately lost all of that comfort when a particularly loud growl was followed by an even louder "*HEEK!*"

Susanna's eyes were on me. I could feel them. I couldn't bear to look at her, but I could feel them. "Whoa. You okay, Kiran?" I didn't dare open my mouth to answer. Please be a "single", please please please please please be a "single".

Of course I wasn't that lucky. My body rocked with a barely muffled "*EEP*" that felt ear-splitting even as I slapped both hands down over my mouth. Fuck, how could my body be doing this to me? God dammit, why couldn't it ever do anything right? "*MMP!*" Even with my mouth completely covered, it was still so loud.

"Oh shit." Her voice was soft, and I heard her get up from her chair. Before I knew what was happening, I felt her presence beside me, her hand hovering over my back for a moment before carefully landing on it and beginning to rub it. "Hey. It's okay. You're okay, Kiran. Do you wanna try drinking some water?" God, did I? Would it help? I had no idea. "You don't have to." I couldn't just sit here and keep making these noises. I at least had to try. So I nodded. "Okay. I can hold your glass up for you, so you don't have to keep your mouth uncovered for too long." 

How could she be so considerate? I opened my eyes back up and saw her lift my glass with one hand. I removed one of my own and helped with it, waited until my next "*MNK!*" hiccup had passed, then put my lips to the water as quickly as I could and drank. I drained my glass as fast as possible, half holding my breath and desperately hoping that my body would shut up and let me continue having this date. But no. As soon as I put the glass down and opened my mouth to breathe, another deafening "*HIUK!*" forced itself out of me. I covered my face, hearing my voice whining with horror. Worse still, even though I managed to muffle my next "*HMK!*" I felt my stomach jolt and heard all of the water sloshing inside of it. God, what was wrong with me? How could my body be so obstructive and gross?"

"Shit. It's okay, Kiran. It's okay." I had no idea how it could possibly be okay, but the gentleness of Susanna's voice and the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down my back made it seem the tiniest bit more believable. "It, uh..." her voice paused in an odd way. "This is happening because you're hungry, right?" I nodded. "You think eating would help?" I nodded again. "Okay. Hopefully your salad'll get here soon. Think about what kind of main thing you'll wanna order, we should tell the waiter about that the next time he comes around."

How could she be so calm? I looked up and saw that her face was actually flushed bright red. When she saw I was looking at her, she quickly turned away. Fuck, she wasn't calm. She was embarrassed too. Of course she was. How couldn't she be?

"Ma'am, you're distracting other diners. Please sit back down in your chair." I heard the maître d''s voice behind us.

"Shi—uh, sure. Yeah, sorry about that." I felt her move away from me and missed her hand on my back, though she gently pulled one of my hands away from my mouth so that she could hold it from across the table.

"I'm sure that your fellow patrons would appreciate it if you would keep quiet as well, ma'am." I couldn't even bear to open my eyes.

"Hey. She can't help it." There was a slight growl to Susanna's voice, and her fingers gripped the top of my hand more firmly.

"Of course." Even I could hear the contempt in his voice as he walked away.

"...asshole. Don't worry about him, Kiran. Fuck that guy." Susanna kept her voice low as she swore, and I couldn't help but laugh. That almost made a louder hiccup come out of me, and even through my hand, I couldn't silence them. Not completely. And I could still hear my stomach sloshing. God, the chair might have even been creaking every time I moved.

Excruciating minutes passed with Susanna gently rubbing my hand, speaking softly to me about random, unthreatening topics, like video games that she was enjoying, or the less raunchy escapades Maya had dragged her and Olivia into. I appreciated it so much, but it didn't do anything for the fact that I just kept hiccupping every few seconds. Not to mention my stomach was growling...everything about me was so big and loud and obnoxious. I hated it so much. Why couldn't I be small enough to just disappear like she was?

"Madams?"

"Uh, hey, cool," I heard the voice of the waiter that Susanna had accosted earlier. "Do you know how long the salad's gonna take? Oh, also, I wanna order for her. Which one of these will take the least time to—"

"I-I'm sorry, madams, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." My eyes shot open and I looked at our waiter. Unlike the maître d', he looked apologetic enough that even I could see it.

"'Scuse me?" Susanna's voice hardened again, and her hand firmly gripped onto mine.

"Erm, other customers have been complaini—"

"What other customers? This place is mostly empty. If someone's really been complaining, can't you just move us further towards—"

"Other customers have been complaining, and I'm afraid that unless you're able to be less disruptive, we'll have to request that you leave." The waiter's voice sounded nearly pained as he said that.

"Look, if you could bring out her salad or some other food, that should help and she'll—" I couldn't help it. I sobbed. Then I hiccupped. I could feel the eyes of the waiter and Susanna on me, and I felt so humiliated that I couldn't even think. I had no idea whether to cover my mouth or my eyes, and the hand that had been under Susanna's was uselessly flapping instead of doing either of those things. "...fine. Okay, come on, Kiran." I forced my eyes open and saw Susanna, slightly blurry, take a wallet out of her pocket. She glanced at the menu, cringed, then pulled out a few bills and placed them on the table. "Change is a tip for you." 

Susanna grabbed my flapping hand and started dragging me away, pausing for a second to glare at the maître d'. I could hear him sniff as we left. "Don't forget your...jacket."

"...thanks." Susanna paused long enough to grab her hoodie, then dragged me the rest of the way out. "Okay, fuck that place. There's a Wawa just a block away, we'll get you something there, then I'll see if there's any better restaurants nearby where I can get you some real food."

"I'm–*HIUK!*" I choked out more sobs and I could feel tears rolling down my face. Pathetic. "I'm sorr–*EEK!*"

"Don't be." We reached the convenience store. I wasn't sure I'd ever been inside of one. "Okay, think about what kind of sandwich you might want. I'll grab you something quicker." I forced my eyes open and looked around. There were a few people here, and they glanced at me when I hiccuped, but then looked back away. The middle-aged woman behind the counter looked particularly unbothered by me...unbothered by anything, really. And unemotive about anything. Possibly chemically so. "You don't eat meat, right?" I nodded at Susanna. "Got it. Kinda, uh, limits our options, but..." She went to the counter and, before I could stop her, paid for an apple fritter, a fruit cup, and some sort of...bag of pickle slices? How did she know that I'd been craving pickles lately?

However she knew it, when she gave them to me, I immediately started eating, hoping to god that it would make my body stop making sounds. I was still crying, but at least I was doing so mostly silently. When she confirmed that I would be able to eat it, Susanna bought me a large sandwich with cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce. I felt absurd for making her have to order and pay for me, but the fluorescent lights were making my head ache. "Hey. There's a park-type thing a couple blocks from here. It'd be pretty quiet, so you can take a minute and rest. That sound good?" I nodded, and she smiled up at me. "Cool. Come with me."

Susanna didn't hold my hand this time, just because both of mine were full with the sandwich and snacks she had bought me. I was still crying and hiccupping, and it made me feel so ridiculous. My attempts to eat weren't helping. And my feet ached. It was such a relief when we reached the park and she showed me to a bench. There was nobody there, and the street lamps were warm and unthreatening. "Okay. You don't have to try and hold back or hide, Kiran. We're alone here. You won't bother anyone."

Feeling her sit next to me and hearing her say that made me sob again, which didn't help my stupid hiccups. "I'm sorr–*HEEK!*"

"You shouldn't be. You didn't do anything wrong." I did, but I wasn't able to explain that to her right now. Whether or not I did, though, Susanna was rubbing my back again, not seeming bothered at all by the way I would jolt into her over and over. "Hey, I'm gonna call my mom for a minute, okay? Don't worry about being quiet or anything, this won't take long." I nodded. I doubted I even could be quiet, no matter how much I might have wanted to. I heard the sound of Susanna's phone and glanced at her. She'd ended up tying her hoodie around her waist, so she'd unrolled her shirtsleeves, which were now just barely avoiding covering her hands. Her face looked a little flushed, but the lack of light made it hard to be sure. "Yeah. Hey Mom. I need to borrow the Yelp account." She paused and rolled her eyes. "Yes yes, how are you, I'm great thanks, look, can we keep it short right now? I'm on a date...yeah, she's great, Mom." Susanna scowled and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Fine, I'll call you on Saturday, you can hold me to that. But I need the Yelp account now...because I'm gonna go nuclear Karen on someone's ass and you're the one who actually reviews things...No, I'm not overreacting, they made my date cry!" The genuine anger in her voice was a little scary, and I must have audibly gasped, because she turned towards me and stopped rubbing my back for a moment to gently pat my shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what I thought...God—...bless it, Mom, you really need to change that password...Well, I ask every time because I'm very polite and respectful." I couldn't help it. I laughed. I laughed and I hiccuped, and Susanna smiled at me. And my heart fluttered. "Okay. No, I don't need your help, I learned from the best...I know, I know, I won't use any profanity. I'll be good...yeah yeah, love you too. Bye." She hung up and exhaled. "Mom says hi. And...I only just now realized that I should ask you about this, so...are you okay with me being a bitch to that French place on Yelp?"

I looked down. "You...*HMK* You shouldn't be. They di–*IC* they didn't do anythi–*INK*–i-ing wrong."

"Bullshit. You're the one who didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did! *HIUK!*" Yelling was a terrible idea, but that didn't stop me from doing it, and my stupid eyes were tearing up again. "I didn't ea–*EEK* eat lunch today becau–*UCK* because I was nervous, but I kn–*HEEP* know that being hungr–*EEK* hungry makes my stomach gr–*UCK* growl and gives me th–*IC* the hic–*CUPS!* I ruined our d–*HUP* our date!"

"Bullshit!" It caught me off guard just how quickly she repeated herself, and she grabbed both of my hands. "You didn't ruin anything, Kiran. Your body did normal human things and that dickhead in the tux was a piece of shit about it. He sucks, that place sucks, fuck both of them. I didn't see any of the other patrons complaining, so I'm pretty sure it was just that prick. And even if it wasn't, fuck anyone who tried to give you shit about it." Susanna closed her eyes and took a slow breath. "You're allowed to take up space, Kiran. You're allowed to be a person and experience the shit that humans experience. You shouldn't have to be perfect. I mean, you'd think they were being assholes if they kicked Olivia out for the same reason, right?"

I blinked. "W...well yes, b–*UK* but...she can't he–*ULK* help it."

"And you can't either. Not right now at least. I don't care if you could have somehow avoided it earlier; the past is the past, now is now. And right now you can't help it." Her face was definitely strangely flushed right now, and she was avoiding eye contact too. "It's not your fault. You've just...you've just got the h-hiccups. That's all."

"Yeah. *HMK*. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." After a moment of hesitant hovering, Susanna got up and hugged me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she leaned over, so her front was pressed against mine. My stomach jolted with a hiccup and it shook her whole body, and I heard her let out an odd little giggle at that. Somehow, that made me giggle too. "Don't be sorry. You don't huh--have to be." When another hiccup bounced her, it interrupted her voice. "And I don't mind. I'm frie—uh, friends with Oliv---via. Of course I do--on't."

That...made sense. I wrapped my arms around her too, and even though it was embarrassing to feel how my body shook and wobbled against hers, it felt good to have her small form pulled to me and feel how soft she really was. "Thank you. *HMK*"

"Of course."

I didn't really let go. And she didn't really either. So for a few minutes, we were just holding each other while I hiccupped, and....it was okay. It was okay. I apologized when I was loud next to her ear, and she told me it was fine. Eventually, she started wriggling and pulled back. I honestly could have stayed like that all night, but it wouldn't do either of us any good to be greedy. I went back to eating and she leaned against me, somehow managing to type on her phone while I kept shaking her. After a few minutes, she turned to me and showed me the review she'd typed out, which was the politest, most venomous thing I'd ever read in my life ("My mom's white. She taught me their secrets."). With a few small edits, I let her leave her one-star review, and she snickered to herself as she sent it before logging out.

As I was finishing up my sandwich, something occurred to me. "Susanna, *mnk* you didn't actually buy anyth–*IC* anything for yourself, did you?"

"Uh," she chuckled. "Nah. Guess I kind of forgot that."

"Mm. Did you find a re–*uck* restaurant nearby that lo–*HOOP*–nnnhf...excuse me, *mmk* looks good?"

Her lips pursed. "I mean, good to me or good to you? Because there's a diner-type place that I'm kinda curious about but—"

"Then let's go th---there. *mmk*"

She looked up at me. "You sure?"

"Well, my sug---gestion didn't exactly pan ou–*HUP* o-out, so...let's try your inst–*ic* instincts this time. You will be le–*HUP* letting me pay this time, though."

Susanna chuckled and scratched the back of her head. "S'long as you're sure, I guess. I want you to be comfortable."

"I want y–*HUP* you to be comfortable to–*HOOP*–oooohhh..." I rubbed my chest, a bit surprised they were still holding on. I still felt hungry, though. Which was...humiliating, given how many snacks I had just been given, but I did my best not to let it bother me. I decided to be gently self-deprecating instead of aggressively so for a change. "Besides, *hmk*, Olivia's not here to ge–*ulp* get them for you, so we would–*nnkt*–n't want you getting too hu–*UP*–ungry and catching the hi–*IC*–cups like me."

Instead of the soft laughter I expected, I was watching her close enough to see Susanna's face flush bright red. A second later, she laughed far louder than she usually did and scratched the back of her neck. "Y-yeah. Wouldn't want that, hahaha..."

That was...that was odd.

When we got to the diner the woman behind the counter glared at us and threw the menus aggressively on our table, then gave us both free hot chocolate because "it's cold out there, you goddamn kids." There were significantly more people in this restaurant, and I did get brief glances while I still had the hiccups, but only a few. Since we'd been seated at a booth more appropriate for four people, Susanna sat next to me, and I noticed that she leaned against me and took every opportunity to rub my back. Under the less aggressive fluorescent lights, I could see just how much more flushed her face was than normal, and see how it drained back to its usual color when the Portobello burger I ordered finally filled me up and chased my hiccups away. The whole time we talked about our classes, the music we listened to and played ("I used to play piano when I was young! Do you think you could teach me more?" "Maybe. I'm actually better at pipe organ, of all fucking things."), our families, our friends on the rugby teams, the friendships we were developing outside of them, and it was just...

It was just comfortable.

I just felt like myself.

I was a bit overfull by the time we left, and Susanna had poached what was left of my meal into a doggy bag that she would be keeping. As we were walking, I kept an eye on her, waiting for the inevitable as I felt that tiny tension in my chest that I always got after I ate a little too much, until eventually I—"*HEEK!*" hiccuped loudly again. Even though I'd been awaiting and anticipating it, I still felt myself blush bright red and automatically covered my mouth.

Under the street lights, I saw Susanna blush bright red too as she whipped around to stare at me. "Uh—" There was something tense about her voice, and she looked away faster than she normally would. "Y-you good?"

"Y-yes, excuse me." My little stutter matched hers. "I, um, had another one of those 'singles'."

She chuckled. She was bad at laughing on purpose. Even I could tell it wasn't quite right. And since she didn't have her hood on, when I leaned forward, even though she was facing away, I could see the tiny smile on her flushed face. "Don't worry about it, Kiran. I don't mind."

That seemed like it might not actually be true...or that it was, if anything, an understatement.

When we were in front of my house, it wasn't long after my "single", and Susanna was still a little unmoored. Even so, she smiled up at me. "Hey. I had fun tonight."

I could feel myself smiling and realized that my hands were flapping. I didn't have the energy to try and hold them back though. "I-I did too! Sincerely! The..." my hands stilled and I felt the shame of earlier crawl into the back of my throat. "The first restaurant was...bad. But everything else..." I laughed. "Everything else was really lovely. Even with the hiccups."

Red. Her face went red again. She fake-laughed again. She scratched the back of her neck again. "Glad to hear it. So, if we both had a good time..." she looked up. I dodged her eyes, but I already knew she didn't take offense to that. "Wanna try it again another week?"

My hands were flapping again. "Yes! Yes please!"

"Hehey, that works great!" Her smile was so wide. She then hesitated, lifted a hand, lowered it, then lifted it again and placed it on my cheek. I instinctively leaned into her touch. "Hey, Kiran. Think you could bend over a bit for me?"

My heart was pounding in my chest as I lowered myself. "Y...yes. Like this?"

"Yeah. Exactly like that." I felt the heat of her breath against my lips and my eyes shut without me before we touched. Hers were so chapped but so soft. I had no idea what I was doing. But she taught me. She taught me and I learned as best as I could. And we stayed together much longer than a second or two. When we finally pulled back, I was breathing heavily. So was she. Clouds of steam were forming between our lips. "...night, Kiran."

"Goodnight, Susanna."

Our faces were close enough that I felt her smile before I saw it. And then she walked away, only seeming to realize once I was behind her that she could put her hoodie back on.

I made my way back into the empty house, walking past the bedrooms where other students weren't and up the stairs to my own. And once I was curled up in my warm bed, I took out my phone and looked at my messages from what I was mostly sure was Maya.

Queen of Illusion: YOU BETTER TELL ME HOW THIS SHIT WENT WHEN YOU GET BACK PLEASE TELL ME YOU FUCKIN KISSED HER AND THEN KISS ME (IF YOU WANNA)

Kiran (Kiki): Hello Maya(?) Our date went wonderfully.

Queen of Illusion: Youre damn right it did! (And yup its me)

Kiran (Kiki): Before I get into that, though, may I ask you something that might seem a little ...strange?

Queen of Illusion: Bitch I might seem a little strange go 4 it

Kiran (Kiki): Alright.

Before I could bring myself to actually ask, I scrolled back a large number of messages until I found three spoilered ones. I finally clicked the spoilers of the last message.

3: Its something Liv does all the fuckin time

Alright. That made me significantly more confident in what I was about to type.

Kiran (Kiki): With regard to the missing context that you and Olivia have concerning Susanna Would that context possibly be that she has some sort of ...affinity? For hiccups?

Queen of Illusion: ...babe.

Kiran (Kiki): Did I say something wrong?

Queen of Illusion: Babe no You said everything fuckin right. And we are gonna have so much fuckin fun with this OPERATION "SEDUCE THAT BUTCH" IS A FUCKIN GO!

The mixture of excitement and terror in my stomach made me feel like I'd made the best decision of my life and a horrible mistake all at once.

[transtalesofdoom]

The Egg Years and being Cis-Adjacent

I originally made this blog to talk about my new and exciting trans experience, so let's go do that. Long post, obviously and I just figured out how to do the Keep Reading thing

I didn't have any inherent dysphoria growing up, I was just a bit of a not-like-other-girls tomboy. Jeans were comfier than dresses, boobs and bras were sooo inconvenient, make up just meant more effort. Books and video games were more fun than going out to party. I wasn't good at dancing anyway. And don't even get me started on shaving your legs.

It became obvious to me that I wasn't strictly cis pretty much as soon as I learned that gender wasn't binary. It was common sense, really. If gender is a spectrum, very few people would actually find themselves on the very end of either side. So most people were just close enough to either end of the spectrum to consider themselves cis. Including myself.

As my understanding of gender grew, it became more and more ridiculous to assume anyone was 100% cis. There's always some criterion you don't fully meet. Of course, people could still use and identify with the label of cis, clearly there was some sort of leeway. But calling myself cis started to feel wrong. It felt like I was ignoring the very nature of gender as a vast spectrum by picking a label rooted in the binary. I was cis, but in a queer way. I started calling myself cis-adjacent when talking to other queer people.

I never had a "problem" with my assigned gender at birth, outside of the patriarchy and sexism and periods, but those weren't trans reasons to resent being a woman. Being a woman suited me well enough. I wouldn't have cared if I wasn't, if I woke up one day without boobs, I'd just go on and fit into shirts much more easily. I considered "gender-apathetic" as a label, but ultimately it felt like too much hassle for something I was indifferent about.

Really, that was what it came down to. I was close enough to being cis, I didn't have any internal problems with calling myself a woman or living as one. Sure, there probably was something more accurate for me out there, but I knew about the struggles trans people faced. A good friend of mine had come out as trans and started his transition. I was happy for him, but I also got to see the difficulties it brought to update paperwork and book appointments and constantly emailing professors about your new name and pronouns. Not to mention the whole coming out to family thing. Or transphobia. There wasn't enough suffering in me to submit myself to this much effort and misery. Or force everyone in my life to learn a new set of pronouns and name for me, irrevocably changing every single relationship I had in the process. I didn't even want to be a man anyway. Just look a little more like one.

And I could easily present pretty masculine without transitioning. I only wore pants anyway. And hoodies were super comfy. I cut my hair short more than once. I considered buying a binder, just to see what that would do for me, but every time I tried looking into it, I just got overwhelmed and, like I said, there wasn't enough suffering to justify spending 50 bucks and at least one extensive research session on it. Ironically enough, during my last year as cis-adjacent, I finally reconnected with a part of my femininity and wore dresses to special occasions again.

However, a new problem had found my body: The unstoppable passage of time. I wasn't a perky teenager anymore. My body gained weight, my boobs succumbed to gravity, and I had very little in common with what was considered a beautiful woman. Even a beautiful butch woman didn't look like me. No one beautiful looked like me, really. I told myself that I had a lot of internalized misogyny and fatphobia to unlearn. That the reason I started disliking my reflection was social conditioning. I was right about that, of course. But there was more to it that I, in my self-righteous blaming of society, didn't acknowledge.

Until the last full moon night of 2023, when my mirror reflected a ghost back at me.

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 7

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues. Flirting, objectification, girl talk. Jealousy. Summary: Elisa needs help from Connie, you have a heart-to-heart with Inez, and Chi-Chi is done with all the humans' bullshit. Notes: The tension rises! Apologies for any errors I might have missed. Ya girl had a hell of a week this week.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

It wouldn't be another day in Bogotá without something unusual dropping directly into the lives of the Murphys or Javier Peña, but this is out of the ordinary even for them. Connie hustles Elisa down the hallway toward Javi's apartment, explaining that while Steve is already at work, there is a chance Javi isn't yet.

"I just hope he's here," she tells Elisa as she knocks on the door of Javi's apartment.

It's a rare morning that he has the apartment to himself. You had decided to get up early and run some errands before you work on your story. Not even telling him what this next piece is about, you had played things close to the vest. There had been a truce of sorts between you and him, an air of anticipation, as if both of you are waiting for some kind of sign. When someone knocks at the door, he sighs and crushes out his cigarette before getting off the couch and opening the door.

"Well, what have we here?" Javi drawls, looking between the two women when he opens the door.

Connie is too keyed up on the information that Lelisa has just given her to roll her eyes about his greeting. "I'll explain later," she assures him, knowing that Javi will trust her like he would trust Steve. Instead, she looks to Elisa. "I'll be right back. Go." Ushering Elisa inside, she doesn't even wait for the door to close before she takes off to call Steve at the office.

Javi frowns and turns back towards Elisa, wanting someone to tell him something about what the hell is going on. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“Not exactly,” Elisa admits, hustling inside when Connie urges her forward and only breathing again when Javi reluctantly shuts the door behind them.

“Fuck.” Javi huffs slightly and motions her farther inside the apartment, happy that you are out for the morning. “Want a drink?”

"Coffee?" It's a little too early for liquor, even for her. "I am sorry to barge in like this."

“Yeah, uh,” he had made an entire pot out of habit, even though you were already gone, so there’s plenty left. “Let me get you a cup. You like creamer? Sugar?”

"Black is fine." Her hands are in the pockets of her scrubs as she looks around the apartment, only to be immediately greeted by the penetrative glare of an enormous dog. It doesn't look dangerous, necessarily, but it doesn't look too happy to see her either.

“Okay.” He pours the cup and turns to hand it to her, watching her warily eye the dog. “That’s Chi Chi.” He tells her. “My- uh, roommate’s dog.” He flusters slightly because he doesn’t know if he should tell this woman your connection to him.

"Oh." Pointing out that she didn't know that Javi had a roommate feels useless since they barely know each other, but Elisa eyes the large dog back before gratefully accepting the coffee cup from Javi's hand. "Um...hi Chi-Chi." It's an attempt, cooing at the dog awkwardly in that high pitched voice that she knows people use with dogs and sometimes cats. She's really not a pet person at all and it probably shows.

The dog watches her for another moment before she hefts herself up off the ground where she had been laying to jump up on the couch and flop back down as if to tell her that she can’t sit there.

"She didn't bark." Elisa sighs in relief. "I'm taking that as a good sign."

He chuckles and doesn’t mention that the dog is basically ignoring her. “Come sit at the table and tell me what is going on.”

"I'm not entirely sure." Elisa admits. She sits down at the table with Javi but her leg begins to bounce with nerves, too jittery to sit still. "I know that Pablo Escobar is planning something with the communist group M-19. I do not know what it is, but I know it will be bad. I told Connie to warn her husband, and asked her to hide me. That is why she brought me to you."

His eyes narrow and he leans forward. “And how do you know what he has planned with M-19?” He demands.

What is the newspapers always say? She purses her lips together and holds the coffee mug between both hands as if she's willing herself to calm down. "A reliable source," she tells him firmly.

“Who is your source?” Javi asks, pressing the point and reaching for his cigarettes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know the information is good.”

Elisa sighs, frowning a little more deeply, and sips the scalding hot coffee. "My ex." She had ended things the second she found out that idiot was making deals with Escobar, so at least it was accurate.

He hums, shaking out a cigarette and offering her one. “What’s his name?”

"Iván Torres." Assuming that a DEA agent involved in things here will know who the members of M-19 are, Elisa knows he will put the pieces together. Realize that she, too, is a member of the group. But the group has changed. Their goals and their loyalties are no longer what she herself was fighting for.

Javi rocks his jaw and stares at her for a moment. If her boyfriend is the leader of M-19. She is involved. “Hell of a joke.” He muses, smirking slightly as he remembers her saying she was a communist.

"I thought it matched a DEA agent joking about being CIA," she admits, though it seems far less amusing now.

“Fair enough.” He knows everyone has their secrets and he’s not as hard to get communists as the Marines stationed at the embassy are. It’s not his place to really care about it. He’s here for the drugs. “Start from the beginning.”

"Last night I went to see Iván after work," Elisa explains, her fingers nervously but soundlessly tapping on the sides of the mug in her hands. "When I went to his house, a man with a gun opened the door. Which is...not unusual, I admit. But I didn't not recognize this one. He demanded to know what I wanted, and I explained that I was Iván's girlfriend. He let me in, but when I walked into the living room, Ivan was sitting on the couch with Escobar."

Javi reaches for the notepad that seems to a constant on the table since you’ve moved in and the pencil beside it. He will need to take notes.

"They shook hands, and said they had a deal," she goes on. "And then Escobar left with his men."

“Anything else? How did he act when Escobar left? What did he say?” He fires off the questions quickly.

"He was not exactly happy." Sipping the coffee simply to have something else to do, Elisa breathes deeply again. "He said that he would not tell me what they were planning unless I agreed to be a part of it, but I cannot do that." Her eyes flick up, finding Javi watching her intently. "He made the deal for money. To fund the revolution the way he wants it. But I joined the fight for the people. Not a drug trafficker."

“Noble.” He snorts, aware that M-19’s kidnappings had resulted in deaths.

"I don't claim to be perfect." Elisa bristles, and rightfully so. "No one is. Nothing can be."

“You’re right, but if your cause needs you to kidnapped people, maybe it’s not the right one.” He points out before he offers her a cigarette. “I’m not judging. You did what you thought was right at the time.”

The slight pause before she accepts the cigarette is time to consider, but she is not here to debate with him. Just to report what happened last night to someone who may be able to help her. "I have heard of the interrogation methods your agents and your friends in Search-Bloc use to get information." She inhales smoke from the cigarette after lighting it and sighs inwardly at the rush of nicotine. At the moment, it is more soothing than anything else. "It is not worth fighting for moral superiority. We can at least agree that Escobar is worse."

He mulls over the comment and concedes. “Do you know when this plan is going down?” He asks.

"Ivan is impatient," she tells him, taking another drag from the cigarette. "It will be soon."

He snorts and wishes that Escobar would be impatient. Impatient men make mistakes. “So what do you want from us?” He asks, coming to the real reason why Elisa is at his door and not going to the Embassy.

It's an uncomfortable question, but she deserves it. Nothing in this world is free. There is a price for everything and hers is crystal clear at this point. "Information in exchange for protection. I have told you what I know, and I have a target on my back now that I witnessed Ivan and Escobar together but refused to cooperate. I need protection."

He knew that was the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. To see the fear flash in her eyes and know that she understands the danger she has put herself in. “We’ll get you out.” He promises, reaching out and touching her hand.

"Thank you." There is more comfort in the warmth of his hand than she expected. Not just the placation of words, but actual assurance. She believes he will keep his promise. That the upper hand she has given him won't be abused. That she is safe.

“I’m going to need you to go over it again.” Javi tells her softly. “Everything, time of day - where exactly you were, right down to what Escobar was wearing and what the men he was with looked like.” It’s specifics, but that is what is needed.

"I understand." She is also hoping that her cooperation bodes well for what will happen to her afterward. She has willingly put herself in the hands of the American authorities and that will hopefully mean some kind of help for her to keep her out of the hands of Colombian authorities. Or worse, the sicarios.

So she goes through every detail. Working hard to recall every word that was said and everything about the other men who were in the room last night. She even goes so far as to draw a diagram of the room on Javi's notepad with figures marking each person and their name or description. Everything that she can possibly give, she does.

Javi takes notes, meticulously. Cigarette after cigarette is lit and smoked as he goes over the questions again and again, wanting to pull every piece of information out of her as he can. Until he feels like he's gotten everything. "Good." He nods as he looks up at her again. "This is good." Shooting her a smile, he tilts his head. "When you go to America - I wouldn't mention being a communist."

"You'll have to teach me how to talk like an American," she huffs, trying for a laugh but just feeling exhausted.

He knows she’s flirting and he would brush it off, but he’s a little raw from spending so much time with you. He had gone by the brothel the other day and seen you leaving, making him turn around. “Don’t worry.” He promises, shooting her a wink. “You’ll be ready by the time you leave.”

"You are very confident that the ambassador will reward you for my information." And, if she's honest? His confidence is extremely relieving. "I hope you're right."

“We have the upper hand.” Javi admits. “Escobar is escalating in violence and they want him gone.”

"Then I hope you're right even more." She murmurs, knowing that since Escobar has seen her face he surely has learned her name, and that staying here is now mortally dangerous.

“I am.” He’s more confident, but he crushes out his cigarette and stands. “I’ve got to make a call.”

"I'll just...sit tight." Elisa nods and sits back in her seat.

“There’s food in the kitchen.” Javi gestures towards the fridge, knowing that you have stocked it again. “Help yourself.”

She thanks him but doesn't move, watching Javi disappear into the next room while she crosses one leg over the other at the table. The dog has fully dismissed her now and she's sitting alone -- waiting to see what the next step of her future will be.

Javi calls the Embassy and asks to be put through to Steve’s desk. “Fuck, what the hell is your wife doing?” He demands when the phone is picks up and Murphy identifies himself.

"Taking care of a friend." Steve deadpans. He is too busy staring at the small, portable television they keep in the office to pay Javi too much heed at the moment. "Jav," he grunts, inhaling a lung full of nicotine as he watches the live feed on screen. "She called me to tell me about Elisa. I've already told the ambassador."

“And?” Javi asks, hating how he is having to drag information out of Steve right now. “What did she say?” It’s probably a good thing that Steve talked to the ambassador instead of him. She’s still pissed at him about Helena and she might hold that against Elisa.

“Don’t get pissy with me, Peña, I didn’t know any of them.” Steve huffs down the phone, before wiping one hand down the side of his face in aggravation. “Turn on the damn tv. M-19 has already attacked the Palace of Justice. But thanks to her we can link Escobar to it.”

“Goddamn.” Javi hisses and shakes his head, reaching for the remote to the tv in the bedroom. It might be a little excessive to have a tv in here, but he liked watching the news while he gets dressed.

“Keep her safe.” Steve advises, rustling through papers in his desk. He knows he doesn’t have to tell his partner that, but something in him knows that his wife’s friend truly does need the protection.

“She put Escobar in the room with the leader of M-19.” Javi huffs. “She’s going nowhere, but she’s going to cause problems because she’s a communist.”

“Of course she is.” The other man groans in irritated response. “Let’s just keep that part under our hats for now, okay?”

He snorts as he watches the screen. “As much as we can.” He agrees. “Who knows what will happen after this.”

“Don’t come in today.” As much as he hates having to deal with the official shit himself, the place Javi needs to be right now is in his apartment keeping Elisa safe. “Get everything you possibly can out of her. Get that reporter to help you if you have to, but we need everything.” The question of why or how Javier Peña has an American reporter living with him when they’re not fucking — and for all accounts barely like each other — will keep for another day. Today Steve Murphy is just willing to make the most of it.

Javi stiffens, realizing that you will ask questions about why Elisa is here. Now he has to figure out how he’s going to have you living here and the woman he is now tasked with keeping safe. “Yeah. Good idea.” He mutters.

“You okay?” Murphy asks, though the question is absent. He’s watching the small tv in the office again. “Don’t get weird on me now, man.”

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “I’m the weird one?” He demands. “You are living in Colombia and your Spanish is shit, you fucking hillbilly.” He knows the asshole isn’t even paying attention. “Let me know when you hear anything.” He demands and hangs the phone up on him before he can give a half assed answer.

Elisa is still sitting at the table when Javier comes back into the room, legs crossed and nervously picking at her nails.

He rubs his hands on his thighs and sighs. “So, uh, you’re gonna be here until we can get you to the US.” He tells her. “The plan is already rolling. And Escobar will be looking for you.”

A string of curses roll off her tongue but she nods, ultimately sighing in resignation. The hand she waves around his apartment is equally resigned. "Your girlfriend will not like it, I'm sure. But I will keep to myself."

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Javi frowns, the words feeling a little traitorous, but they are the truth. You aren’t his girlfriend. “She sleeps in the other bedroom.” He points out.

"Your...friend..." Instinct tells her the situation is more complicated than he is letting on, but Elisa waves that away for now. "If she is in the other room...where exactly will I be sleeping?"

“Uh—” He hesitates for a moment, knowing that there is another room, but he knows that you’ve started taking it over slowly as an office space when you aren’t working at the kitchen table. For some reason, he’s hesitant to offer it to her without talking to you.

"I don't suppose..." Elisa looks up at him, several weeks of having seen him fleetingly in a small handful of social situations with the Murphys having piqued her interest in him intensely. "You would mind sharing?"

His cock twitches immediately and he lifts a brow at her suggestion. “Moving on from your ex?” He asks with the ghost of a small smirk lifting the edge of his mustache.

"I have been thinking about it." She admits, standing from her chair when his eyebrow raises instead in invitation. "I have been thinking about it since we met at lunch."

“Yeah?” He hums, his eyes dragging up and down her body and he can’t deny that he wants to fuck her. “You don’t have to fuck me to stay here.” He wants to make that clear from the onset. He doesn’t play that kind of shit.

"Of course not." Elisa's head tilts slightly to one side, but she makes no question about returning his gaze. "If I thought you would demand it of me, I would have left already. But, why not find some enjoyment out of an otherwise stressful situation?"

“Cumming is a good way to relax.” He chuckles, smirking in a charming way that you’ve accused him of using to his advantage at times.

"To keep distracted." She agrees with a nod, stepping closer once more. "And pass the time."

“Pass the time, hm?” He reaches out and grabs her waist to drag her closer to him. “Want me to show you the bedroom where you’ll sleep?” He jokes.

"In a minute." Elisa insists, taking that moment and the opportunity it offers, and wraps her arms around Javi's neck to pull him into a kiss.

He doesn’t hesitate, although there’s a thought in the back of his mind as he leans into the movement and presses his lips to hers. He wonders what you are doing right this second.

******

Inez’s new apartment is a walk-up in a part of town that makes you think she might need Chi-Chi more than you do. If the sweet dog hadn’t warmed up to Javier so quickly and thoroughly, you might even be moved to suggest it, but knocking on your friend’s door brings only one thought to the forefront. You can’t wait to hug her and have a good gossip about something other than Javier.

Opening the door requires many locks to be unbolted, but when they are done, she throws the door open happily. “You’re here!” She scoops you up and wraps her arms around you. “I’ve missed seeing you!”

“Hey gorgeous!” You bury yourself in the hug, letting her drag you inside and bundle you up in it, returning the tight squeeze with enthusiasm. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“You look great.” Inez declares. “How have you been? I heard the club will be opening again soon.”

“Yeah, I heard they found new owners and the remodel will be done soon.” Javier and his partner had been keep close tabs on the building, so you’re better than usually informed about the space. “Are you…going back to working there?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs slightly, trying not to think about the fact that she could have been killed if she was working that night. “The tips were good, but I don’t know if I want to risk it.” She tilts her head. “How’s Alex?”

“You deserve a better place to work than that.” Giving her one more squeeze, you follow her into the small space and plop down on the sofa in her living room with her. There is already a bottle of rum out and glasses, and you groan with delight when she starts to pour. “The other thing, though…I dumped him.”

“Good.” She hadn’t really liked the vibe she got from Alex, but she had never said anything. He had seemed to entertain you and make you happy, so that was all that mattered to her.

“You didn’t like him either, huh?” You huff at her and roll your eyes. “You guys need to say something. Señora Perrín positively danced when she found out.”

“You seemed like you needed the confidence boost.” Inez shrugs and isn’t going to apologize. “Besides if he was amazing, we would be wrong to have talked ill of him.”

“Well, it turns out he was a piece of shit, so he’s not worth wasting breath on anymore.” Raising the glass she hands you, you tap it against hers and savor the friendly sound of clinking glass. “Salud.”

“Damn.” She shakes her head. “I was hoping he was on of the good spooks.”

“I don’t think there’s any such thing.” At least not that you’ve met. And you’ve now met plenty of them. “Chi-Chi sends her love, by the way.”

“I miss that dog.” She laughs, shaking her head. “So where are you staying? Señora Perrín said you had a safe place but she didn’t explain.”

“Yeah, I…” There is no real use in sugar coating it, and your mind is a little fried from chasing down a lead in your next story all damn morning and afternoon. So you just end up shrugging. “Do you remember that guy I went to stay with while Helena was hurt?” You ask, unsure how Inez will react.

“The asshole you couldn’t stand?” She frowns and shakes her head. “What about him?”

“Yeah.” That is what you said, after all. Inez hasn’t been looped in about Javier being your roommate because it’s been so long since you saw her last. “He’s, uh…he’s sort of my roommate now. Or I’m his roommate, I guess you’d say.”

“And you haven’t killed him?” She snorts and looks impressed. “You were not captivated by that guy.” She reminds you. “Honestly? It seemed like you had been interested and he rejected you.”

"Oh we're getting into it early today, huh?" Inez is the friend you can be most honest with, and it's not necessarily surprising that she would be able to cracks these topics open with you. If you had been hoping to avoid the topic of Javier, you are sorely mistaken. "Alright, if we're going to get into this, then what are we having for dinner? Because I'm about to spill my guts to you so I need a full belly for it."

She snorts and grins at you. “I ordered in.” She tells you. “It’s in the kitchen, already. I got Indian.”

"Gorgeous," you groan happily. Samosas and butter chicken and pumpkin curry will make this conversation go much more easily. "I'm sorry it's been so long since we did this, but at least there's plenty to talk about."

“There has been a lot that has changed.” She shrugs slightly, although she has missed sharing some downtime meals with you. Her neighbors aren’t the best. “But now we can spend the evening talking.”

The two of you bustle around her tiny kitchen for a few minutes, bringing take out containers, plates, and forks out to the living room. Once you're sitting again, Inez looks at you expectantly and you blow out a breath. "Okay," you submit, dipping the corner of one samosa in the cilantro sauce that the restaurant sent. "First of all, he is really hot. I'm not going to deny that."

“I have to meet this guy.” She grunts, knowing that you have good taste in attractiveness - despite Alex.

“He’s…” The first bite of food relaxes you a bit, and you pour a little ginger beer into your rum glasses to make a most basic cocktail that will be absolutely delicious with your dinner. “Unfairly pretty. Like Burt Reynolds but sexier. Which I didn’t think was even possible.”

“Burt Reynolds?” She tilts her head and then grins. “Bandit?” She’s seen that movie with you, having found it here dubbed in Spanish and she had really liked it. He was sexy and if your Javier is as sexy as him, then this guy is extremely fuckable.

“Which doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a fact.” Although you had caught a glimpse of him tugging his shirt over his head on the way out of his room the other day and had to pause to collect yourself.

“I take it you haven’t fucked him?” She asks, lifting a brow.

“No.” That makes you shake your head, willing away the daydreams — and regular dreams — you’ve been starting to have about him. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Wait a minute…” She frowns and stares at her food for a moment before her expression turns contemplative. “Isn’t this the guy you said was responsible for Helena?”

“Admittedly, I jumped to conclusions on that one.” While being protective of your friend is not something you believe at all you ought to apologize for, you most certainly have apologized for thinking that Javier forced her into that situation. You were entirely in the wrong. “I didn’t do my due diligence. It turns out Helena insisted on going into the situation, and Javi had given her advice and direction to navigate it safely. Then…when she got hurt anyway…he got her out as fast as he could and made sure she got to the hospital.”

“Okay, I don’t want to beat his face in now.” She had only heard snippets of the situation and had never really met Helena except in passing. “So he’s a good guy?”

"He's..." A mouthful of curry has you feeling another measure of relaxation, and you shrug one shoulder. "Grumpy. And cranky. And cocky." And despite every less than complimentary word coming out of your mouth, there is an upward curve to one corner of your lips and a barely perceptible softness in your voice. "Yeah. He's a good guy."

“So he’s the exact type of man that you said you despise.” She laughs and takes a bite of her food. “I bet you hate living with him.”

"We're barely ever home at the same time." At least that much is true, and you bury yourself into focusing on your food for a moment. You barely escaped her noticing that you do not, in fact, hate Javier at all. In fact...it's turning into the opposite. "When we are it's fine. But we both work weird hours."

“Well, maybe being roommates with someone who works off hours and keeps to himself is just what you need.” She hums. “Besides, if you trust him, it is a good thing. The neighborhood is far rougher than it used to be.”

"Javi lives near the American embassy," you reveal, knowing that it says a whole lot about his apartment just from the neighborhood that he is in. No part of the city is universally safe, but his spacious, beautiful apartment is definitely in a safer neighborhood.

“Oh God.” Her eyes widen in surprise and she nods, reaching for her drink. “No wonder you leapt at the chance to live there. I would too.”

"And, believe it or not?" This time you go past a small, secret smile and right up to laughing as you fork up another bite of food. "Chi-Chi likes him."

“No fucking way!” She hisses, howling with laughter when you nod. “That dog doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t have a pussy.”

"Just one." You chuckle right along with her. "Just Javier. That's it."

“Fuck.” She marvels at that and picks up her drink to take a sip. “So….” She prompts. “What made you stay with this man?”

"I'm not with him," you clarify, even though Inez already knows that. It just feels like you need to repeat it, although it might be more for yourself than for her. "There was nowhere else. I mean...I had been looking for almost two months. Ultimately the only place I could find that I could afford, was safe, and was okay with Chi-Chi...was the place I was already."

"Then is sounds like it's the perfect place for you." She says wisely. "You will be fine. It sounds like you don't spend much time with him."

“No. I guess not.” And for reasons you are absolutely not prepared to deal with, that deflates you. To the point where you’re now slouching over completely in your seat as you have your dinner. “How is it for you here?” You ask, deflecting the conversation so you don’t think too hard about how you’re starting to actually enjoy the time you spend with your roommate. Your soulmate.

She notices the way you seem to curl in on yourself, but she doesn't press. Instead, she shrugs. "It's alright." She wishes that the raid hadn't ruined the perfect work/life balance for her. "The little bar I'm working in doesn't pay nearly as well as the club, but I'm making it work."

“There’s a place up by me that is looking for more help.” It’s not a lot, but at least it’s something you can offer her. “It’s a more upscale restaurant. I’m not sure what the pay would be like but the tips would be good.”

That could possibly work. She nods. “Yeah, give me their information before you go home tonight.” She asks. “I would like to stop by there.”

“Of course.” It’s a fancy place two blocks down from Javier’s apartment where you’ve seen very well dressed couples go in and out on your walks, and heard it mentioned around the embassy as a place for meetings in the afternoons. It would be safer than any bar she’s working in, in this neighborhood, and definitely better money. “It’s been mentioned around the embassy a bit. So if you end up there make sure you spit in Alex’s drink for me if he ever turns up.”

“Did the bastard cheat?” She would spit in his drink just for shits and giggles but if he cheated on you, she would make him literally shit himself.

“Not that I know of.” Although now that she mentions it, you wouldn’t be surprised. “Turns out he was using me for my living room windows. Trying to stake out the building.”

“Shit.” She hisses. “That fucking bastard.”

"It's my own fault," you shrug. As suspected, the well-made and well-spiced dinner that your friend ordered is softening the harsh blow of the conversation. "I came on to him, remember? That's what I get, I guess. I was feeling good that night."

“Nope.” She shakes her head, frowning fiercely. “You aren’t going to do that. You don’t blame yourself for him being a scumbag.”

"It's done," you tell her, shaking your head again and letting the thought continue on without even pausing to consider what you're saying. "Javi kicked his ass anyway. It's over."

“Wait a minute—” she points her fork at you. “Your roommate kicked Alex’s ass?” She lifts her brows up into her hair they are so high. “Why?”

"Uhhh..." Shit. Shit. Shit. Well, there's no way out of this now. "Apparently Javier overheard Alex talking shit in the embassy men's room and took exception to him insulting me."

“Wow.” She looks suitably impressed. “He is a good guy.” She huffs. “Bring him around one night and I’ll buy him a round.”

"He is." That isn't something you're doing to deny. Especially not after everything he's done for you. "He's like a grumbly old neighborhood dog. The first impression might not always be perfect, but you warm up to him pretty quickly."

“And you would like to warm up to him in bed?” She’s grinning as she asks that question and watching you closely.

"Oh, shut up," you huff, groaning in response.

Cackling in delight when you duck your head in embarrassment, she knows she’s hit the nail on the head. “Ohhhh so you have a big crush.”

"God, it's so much more complicated than that." Another groan comes and you wipe one hand down your face. Rum. You definitely need more rum.

That she doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t push you. “It will work out.” She promises you softly, reaching over and touching your arm sympathetically.

"I honestly don't know." Setting down the rum bottle again, you look up at Inez and sigh. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out?"

“Sure, you know you can tell me anything.” She promises, wondering if you’ve somehow done a background check on him or stalked his ex’s to find out his type.

"The thing is..." You have to give yourself a moment to breathe, and set down your plate on the coffee table to hold your drink in both hands like it's somehow centering you and not just an anchor for all the chaos you've been feeling lately. "We found out that..." Out with it. Just say it. Say it out loud, it's not that scary. It's just a fact and nothing more. "Javier and I are...we're soulmates..."

Inez freezes, shocked and her immediate instinct is to squeal in happiness for you, but she senses that’s not the right move. “And…how do you feel about that?” She breathes out softly.

"Real answer, or kneejerk answer?" You ask, even though you know immediately what she'll say.

“Of course I want to know how you really feel.” She rolls her eyes and smiles at you. “Whatever it is.”

"I feel really fucking confused." It's the truth that you can't even say out loud to the girls, knowing how Freckles and Helena and Vanessa absolutely adore Javier. You need that impartial third party. The person who only knows you and how you're reacting and how unusual this conflict is for you. Someone who doesn't know Javier from a hole in the wall and only cares about your side of the story.

"Because on paper he's...he's kind of perfect. Handsome, charming, smart, totally dry sense of humor. We even like most of the same movies and a lot of the same food. But in reality? Something just isn't clicking, and I don't know what or why."

“Too different?” Inez asks, certain that it has to be something small that you might feel is insurmountable. Like a mountain out of a mole hill situation.

"We're so similar." The opposite of that problem, in fact, which you had always heard tauted as one of the benefits of soulmate relationships. "We' both stubborn and headstrong and...if I'm being completely honest? The biggest difference is that he could have literally anyone he wanted. Despite what the girls say it seems like an insult from the universe that he got stuck with me."

“Does he think it’s an insult?” That title for good guy is hanging by a precarious thread if he feels slighted that his soulmate isn’t some rail thin model. You aren’t as fat as you think you are, or imagine how you look to others. Your self-image is negative and you will always see the worst in yourself even if you champion for others.

This is the sort of challenge from your most honest and most outspoken friend that you don't like very much, because it forces you to admit that your perspective of the situation is skewed. "He says, and the girls say...that he prefers...a fuller figure. But I've never seen him go near anyone my size before. I mean...we've slept with some of the same women. And I adore those girls but they are half my size."

“He pays them?” She asks. “Same as you do?” You nod and she tilts her head. “How many ‘fuller figured’ girls do the sicarios visit?” She even uses air quotes for the annoyed tone that is tacked onto your description of your body type.

"None that I know of," you reason without hesitation. "Because it's not the most common standard of beauty."

“So they would not have the information he was looking for.” She points out. “And it’s not like he can go around fucking everyone and letting his guard down around them.”

"I don't know that there's more than one person in Colombia he's ever let his guard down around." As far as you know, the answer is one single person. Only one. "Just Helena. And she's...as best as I can tell, she's completely in love with him."

“She has to know that you are soulmates.” Her eyes widen again, this time sympathetically for the other woman. “But what does he feel for her?”

"The girls are the ones who told me." The fact that they knew for so long and said nothing is still a sticking point for you, but you understand now why they kept it to themselves. If you're this conflicted now there's no way it would have been any better then. "And, I mean, they're...they're friends. It's unrequited, if that's what you're asking. And she knows that. Which sucks for her, honestly. It sucks to have feelings for someone who doesn't return them."

“So he doesn’t love her, he’s defended you against your asshole ex, he likes bigger girls, but you think it’s unfair that you are his soulmate?” She ticks off the list rationally.

"Oh come on, don't do that." Boiling it down to bullet point facts has you sinking down in your seat again and taking a long sip of your drink. "The number of times a day I think about that man has skyrocketed every single week. It's basically exponential at this point. And if I let myself think about him freely it's just..." You groan, knocking back the end of your second drink and digging the heels of your hands into your eyelids like you're trying to banish a mental image and can't quite get to your mind's eye. "I'm going to end up with feelings for him and that won't end well."

“And that scares you.” Inez had heard your stance on soulmates more than once and she understands why now what caused you to be so wary of the soulmate connection. It’s as if you were sabotaging yourself.

With another sigh, you swallow back the emotion threatening to cut through your voice. The truth of it. The honesty. "Absolutely fucking terrifies me to my core."

“You poor thing.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You just keep your head down and focus on your stories for now.” She advises. “Your moment of clarity will come.”

"You're lucky," you decide, letting out another shaky breath. "I'd give anything to go back to not having any clue who my soulmate was."

“No, you wouldn’t.” She promises, smiling sadly as she looks down at the small, crescent shaped scar on her forearm. “It’s just as terrifying to think that you might never meet them. Or that they could die before you do and then you will be left with the aching sense of loss for someone you’ve never even met. No where to go to mourn, you don’t even know their name.” She shakes her head. “I’m happy for you. Even if you are never more than roommates.”

"Fine." Annoyingly, she's right. Inez knows you better than you know yourself more often than not, and right now there is an eerie sense of how correct she really is that settles over you. Would you be happier never knowing the rancher's son from the borderlands of Texas? No. You wouldn't. You would still be secretly dreaming of whoever it was out there that shared your marks and half of your soul. But knowing and being too scared to reach for him is a different kind of torture. "Then I wish I wasn't so scarred by my past and my self-image and that I could actually have some kind of hope without it being weighed down by fear."

She sighs softly, aware that no amount of arguing or pep talks will convince you that you deserve this chance. “Maybe that will come in time.”

"Maybe." And then again? Maybe not. Right now you feel too far out in the ocean for even that anchor on your ankle to do any good.

Hope. An ironic motto from your home, when you feel like there is absolutely none at all.

******

Water. Elisa slips out of the bed and reaches for the shirt that is heaped on the floor. Slipping into it and only buttoning one of the buttons as she creeps out of the room. Javi is asleep, curled around a pillow after he had let go of her and she smirks slightly at the ache between her thighs. He’s obviously been pent up and it had been animalistic and needy. Just what she craved right now with her future so uncertain.

The front door of the apartment opens quietly. You had gotten a little too tipsy at Inez's place and stayed until you were sober enough to drive home safely. Now you creep in at the late hour just in case Javier has fallen asleep on the couch like he sometimes does. The man gets little enough sleep as it is, he doesn't need you waking him up.

It isn't the sleep form of your roommate guarded dutifully by an enormous but loving dog that greets you, though. It's a very surprised woman fully naked except for the shirt that is barely holding on to her trim frame.

Javier's shirt.

Chi-Chi's low growl pointed in her direction could not be a better echo for the breaking of your heart in this moment.

“Oh.” Elisa has assumed that Javi’s roommate had come home sometime during the hours that he had spent making her see stars. They hadn’t been exactly quietly and she had thought she just must not have heard the door. It was why she was trying to be so quiet when she came to get water. “I’m sorry, I thought—” she shakes her head, knowing that it doesn’t matter what she thinks. “Elisa.” She introduces herself and quickly sets down the glass to start buttoning up the shirt more. You have to be used to this if Javier is your roommate.

“I—” Panic rises in your throat, strangling whatever other words you were about to say. After spending the entire night pouring your heart out to Inez and coming around to the realization that you really are starting to feel things for Javier…you come home to this.

“Excuse me.” Fleeing past her to the room that you have shared with Chi-Chi every day since the raid, you pull the door shut behind you and turn the lock. Barely getting yourself inside before the tears start to fall.

Elisa stares after you for a moment, surprised by the unhappy heartbreak that she had seen on your face before you rushed off. It’s obvious that you have some sort of feelings for your roommate and she wonders if he knows that. She refills the glass, not wanting to run into you again, and makes her way back to the bedroom she is sharing with Javi.

******

When morning comes you stay glued to your bed. The melancholy and self-berating disappointment is still too strong to face the day, and you had planned to do some more recon tonight rather than this morning anyway. The smell of coffee is even more taunting, as you are more than certain that that woman is out there drinking it with him instead of you.

He doesn’t owe you anything. You’re not together and you never pretended to be. But still you’re so jealous that it’s nearly dissolving you into a depressive episode.

When Elisa has come back into the bedroom, Javi had woken up again. He had briefly woken up when she slipped out of the bed, but he had sat up when she had closed the door again. Only to not sleep the rest of the night when she had told him that he had met you.

Now waiting for you to come out into the kitchen so he can explain. His stomach clenching with guilt and annoyance at that guilt.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You mumble at Chi-Chi. The dog will need to be walked soon but you’re probably a bad person for wanting to put it off as long as possible. Just to prevent having to go out there and face the day.

Javi checks his watch as he blows out a sigh. Soon he’s going to have to leave and he really doesn’t want to leave Elisa here without talking to you. He twitches slightly and shakes out his arms as he walks down the hall to your door and taps on it gently.

The sound cuts through the thick silence of your room too sharply, making you frown but you ignore it. If it’s that woman you don’t want to face her, and if it’s him? Well…that might be worse.

He doesn’t hear you and he frowns as he taps on the door again, saying your name. He needs to talk to you.

“Fuuuuck…” The soft groan is more for yourself than anything else, and after about six seconds of debate you drag yourself out of bed and wrap an oversized sweater around yourself to cover up the thin tank top and shorts you usually sleep in. Six more seconds of steeling yourself are necessary before you pull open the door just enough to see him standing there looking carved from marble levels of gorgeous. “Morning,” you manage to mumble. It is certainly not a good one so you won’t claim it to be.

You must be hung over. The look on your face and the way you seem to wince when you see him. He should have brought you a cup of coffee. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No.” But you still avoid the bright light from the living room behind him or having to look him in the face by casting your eyes down at the floor. “Going to work?” You guess.

“Yeah—” he pauses and feels awkward. “Look, there’s a witness in my room.” Javi blows out, keeping his voice low. “I know you might want to interview her, but I need you to hold any story, okay?” He asks, hoping you will do him this favor. “Can you keep an eye on her for me?”

“Babysit your new girlfriend.” It comes out of your mouth bitingly, much more harshly than you meant it to sound but honest nonetheless. The fact that he would even think to ask you to do that is as heartbreaking as it is cruel. “Sure. Fine. Got it. Although I can promise you I won’t be interviewing her. Anything else?”

His eyes widen and he chokes out your name, the guilt cascading over him again. “She can tie M-19 to Escobar.” He hisses quietly, shuffling closer to you. “They attacked the Palace of Justice yesterday.”

“I genuinely don’t care.” Your own guilt is what pushes that sentence out of your mouth, and you take a step back from him to avoid being too close — which Chi-Chi takes as an invitation as she slips off of your bed and out into the hall. Professional you cares very much that this woman has such important information. But professional you is not in charge right now. “If she needs to be guarded, then don’t work late tonight, okay? I have a lead I’m following after dark.”

“You don’t need to be out too late.” The caution comes out automatically and he frowns when you back up from him. You’re soft and smell like sleep and whatever perfume you had worn, making his cock twitch in his pants as he realizes you have little under that sweater.

“Just gives you more time to fuck your informant,” you snap back, irritated that he would feel so entitled as to tell you how to do your job. “Anything else?” Tacking sir onto the end of it is just on the tip of your tongue, but for all you know he likes that. So you don’t.

He swallows harshly at the venom in your voice. “No.” He steps back and feels the sharp sting of rejection that doesn’t sit well. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.” He offers before he turns around.

His only answer is the slam of your bedroom door. It won’t open again while he’s still home. Once he’s left you’ll take the dog for a walk and do your best to avoid the woman he’s left behind in your shared space while simultaneously not speaking to her at all if you can possibly help it.

Javi almost wakes Elisa up to tell her to just stay in his room, but he doesn’t. Pausing in the hallway for a second and wondering why the hell you are so angry. You had agreed that there wasn’t going to be anything happening between the two of you, why are you acting like he’s cheating on you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe

[ebi-noodle-doodles]

I think that last anon was incredibly rude and very, very suspicious. I'm also a fat person, and I think your art is just fine the way it is.

This anon accuses you of having a fat fetish for using peach to shade, doesn't give you the name of the artist they think you're emulating, and then tell you (not asking politely, on your own blog where they are a guest, TELL) you to put body hair on Miku.

Not to mention, why are they recognizing a style from a fat fetish artist if they aren't on the fat fetish side of twitter themselves, enough to have picked up on this supposed artist's style, down to the shading?

Sure, Twitter is wild, you'll see plenty of things you aren't necessarily looking for, but this reads as someone who is trying very hard not to let you see them sweating. What are they doing at the devil's sacrament, pointing out all of the sinners there, tactfully not pointing at themselves as one of the people included amongst the crowd.

If they didn't say "teehee I'm a fat girl btw <33 nasty nasty fetishists <33" at the end, wouldn't you think this message is situationally inappropriate? This is the internet, this person is anonymous, and that means they can lie if they feel like it.

You shouldn't even believe me or care when I say I'm fat, because I too am anonymous, and you simply can't fact check me. Even off anon, I don't share pictures of myself online, because I know better than to trust the internet at large.

If they are not outright malicious

(people will do this when they themselves fetishize fat women for the sake of getting art they think is hot; kind of like people saying "fat women can't be sexy" so fat women will post suggestive pictures of themselves to prove the statement incorrect, especially so they can pick and choose through which images they like. This is Creep Behavior, to use negging to manipulate people into sharing racey pictures)

then they are outright very, very rude, despite their friendly tone. This is YOUR blog, your art is fantastic, and nobody should be coming into your house, telling you how to run things.

Personally, I think the shapes and textures you draw are aesthetically pleasing, and your color choices always go together very nicely, especially when pink and green can clash really bad if you're not careful. Please don't let some misguided person (or worse, a creep) tell you what to do. You've gotten as far as you have on your own just fine, because you're doing your own thing.

In your response to anon, you said

"I find it weird that when a “normal” character is posed something suggestive its just a drawing but when added a bit weight it becomes a “fetish” ????"

(https://www.tumblr.com/ebi-noodle-doodles/739308628074496000/im-really-not-trying-to-be-rude-but-your-pure)

and I could not agree with you more.

Why is it a fetish that Miku is fat? I look an awful lot like her, and it's nice to be represented in art, suggestive or otherwise. Why is this person coming at you like you're a freak pervert that needs to be corrected, when you're just drawing a character?

Why is fat considered inherently unattractive, the only people allowed to enjoy it being (implied) nasty, disgusting, morally deficit fetishists, when "normal" or "skinny" body types are left alone? Why are we treating body fat as morally reprehensible, and not just a thing people sometimes have?

If this person really is fat, they have a lot of internalized fatphobia to let go of, and if they're a fetishist they need to learn better manners.

And thank you, for being generous enough to share your art with the world. Sorry for the lengthy message as well. Your Miku is very cute, and I look forwards to seeing more of your art in the future :]

- 🐺🕷️ (Wolf Spider Anon)

Ive been self debating and doubting if what I’m doing is bad or that Ive done something wrong especially on illustrating her in a suggestive manner

Thank you for understanding my view. The reply timing is off as I’m still trying to understand myself if my coloring it self was wrong… are my poses off? Is it rude to draw her like this? I didnt take the anon’s comment as rude but i did feel some guilt that i feel i shouldnt have? Man i dont understand I’m dumb when it comes to these sort of stuff. I just answered truthfully on thoughts about that. All I know is I enjoy painting her, suggestively, happy, innocently or cute! I just like drawing her. Youll see more of her in blog hopefully :D

[rocksandmirrors]

this is something i wrote a couple weeks ago based on the second art of this post i've made, but i didn't feel like posting it on ao3. hope you enjoy!! the wonderful @sapphic--kiwi inspired me to write this, make sure to check out her blog as well <3 she's a very talented artist and writer

also watch out for body issues and internalized fatphobia

Matt couldn’t stand to see his reflection anymore.

He should have seen it coming, though; with all the work he had been doing for the last years, and being able to eat his fill every day, it was obvious he would gain weight. Yet, now that he stared at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the extra pounds that didn’t have to be there. He knew this was silly, but an immature part of him hoped he could have looked like these constructionist witches in the shows he watched, attractive and shaped like a V.

Grimacing, he pinched a bulge on his stomach and let out a groan. He hated looking like this, especially when he was so skinny just a couple years ago. Maybe he could skip breakfast, just for today. He wasn’t that hungry anyway.

Shaking his head to try and think about something else, Matt reached out to the cabinet above the sink until he saw Augustus’ reflection in the mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. He froze as they locked eyes, and he prayed he hadn’t seen too much of him wallowing in his misery.

“Hey,” he mumbled, finally opening the cabinet to grab his hairbrush. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nah.” Matt heard footsteps behind him, and a few seconds later, felt a pair of arms around his waist, as well Augustus’ warmth against his back, and his chin on his shoulder. “You’re up earlier than usual.”

“Eh, I just woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. Figured I could get prepared for work, at least.”

Augustus’ hands wandered around his stomach and hips- areas of his body that he hated more than anything- and he repressed the urge to push them away. Instead, he started brushing his hair, slowly, untying all the knots one by one. He had two hours left before leaving, might as well take his time.

“Matty, are you okay?” he asked, slumber still staining his voice.

“M’yeah. Sort of.” When he met Augustus’ eyes again through the mirror, he sighed. “No, not really.”

“I know. I saw you.”

Yeah, he figured as much. His fiance had that talent for always being at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He put his hairbrush down next to the sink, still staring at their reflections.

“Of course you saw me. There’s nothing else to see about me but… this,” he added, disgust dripping in his tone.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Like what? Like I became fucking ugly? Someone here has to, because you sure as hell aren’t doing it.”

Matt was getting worked up over pretty much nothing and arguing with a brick wall; he knew that, yet couldn’t help it. Just thinking about the way his body had changed over the last years made him feel miserable and fall back into his old self-deprecating ways, aggressive towards someone who didn’t ask for it.

“You’re not ugly,” Augustus argued, leaving a peck on his jaw. “You’ve never been.”

“Augustus, you don’t need to rub me up the right way. I know I’ve changed, I mean- you’ve seen me at seventeen, look at me now! I was in much better shape back then!”

“Were you?”

“Do you really need me to make an illusion of my old self to compare?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Augustus shook his head, his hands still rubbing the parts of his body he hated the most. Matt just wanted this conversation to end, to go on about his day and shove that brief moment of vulnerability into a corner of his mind so he could forget about it. As much as he hated his current appearance, he never intended for his lover to listen to him vent about his body issues first thing in the morning.

“Matt, you had nothing to eat as a teen, of course you were skinnier. Hell, I’ve seen you digging through trash at school just to have lunch.”

“Yeah, but-”

“You’ve grown up. You’re doing a lot more physical work, and like it or not, you can’t keep your teen body all your life.” One of Augustus’ hands moved up to his torso. “If you really want to lose weight someday, I’ll support you, but I want you to know I also love how you look right now, because you’re just as healthy and handsome. Frankly, I’m happy to see you like this.”

Matt’s breath got stuck in his throat, and his eyes widened at these words. He knew Augustus tended to be clingier than usual whenever he lacked some sleep, but he still needed to get used to all the praise that came with it.

“I don’t really see it,” he admitted with a shrug.

“That’s okay. I don’t expect you to get over this right away.” The younger witch left another kiss, this time at the nape of his neck, and a shiver ran down his spine. “But trust me, if you could see yourself the way I see you, you’d marry yourself in a heartbeat.”

Matt could feel- and see- all the blood rushing to his face, and suddenly, the warm hands wandering on his body didn’t bother him as much- they felt loving, tender, worshiping every part of the body he still struggled to accept as it was. He leaned into Augustus, still standing behind him, and the arms around him wrapped themselves tighter.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asked.

“I… Yeah, actually. Thanks, babe.”

“No problem.” Augustus left one last peck on the shell of his ear before stepping back, and Matt immediately missed his warmth. “Since we’re both awake, I’m gonna make some coffee. Do you want some?”

“You know it.” Matt turned around to face him, offering him a tired smile. “Let me make you breakfast, yeah?”

“Don't worry, I’m not touching any pans in this kitchen,” he yawned as he left the bathroom.

Matt watched his fiance walk away, then turned back to his reflection. Half of his hair had been brushed, the bags under his eyes were a little more prominent than usual, contrasting with his crimson face, and his shirt was a little crinkled from where Augustus had been touching him. He pinched a bulge on his stomach again, poking at the fat here and there with a faint smile.

Maybe he could indulge in breakfast today.