#what the fuck do i take to an embassy

[intersectionalpraxis]

I still can't get over the fact that Prime Minister Trudeau could not let "ceasefire," leave his lips when he made his speech a few days ago at the Embassy in Washington. The fact that he and his PR team came up with, "humanitarian pause," to add to his lexicon when talking about Gaza is just a fucking embarrassment.

Even the UN recently called for a "humanitarian truce," like WTF do these people think this is? A LITERAL GENOCIDE is taking place and 10,000 Palestinian people have been killed in the past 31 days, and so many more are STILL under the rubble.

There's a video of a small child with burns from head to toe, who barely survived a bomb, crying out in confusion and pain. Another video of a young man saying goodbye to his dead baby brother in front of him, completely distraught while flipping through photos of him on his phone. There's also a video of a doctor who IMMEDIATELY knew her daughter was on the stretcher coming into the hospital and multiple colleagues had to console her. There's also a video of a father using his bare hands to push away debris after israel bombed a refugee camp (which they have done so many times, killing hundreds). There are translations on twitter/X from parents saying goodbye to their children, who are no longer in the hellscape called Gaza.

These are just a minor fraction of stories that Palestinian people have had to document to show how they are suffereing because bigoted, heartless, war mongering, colonial-settlers are KILLING them. The amount of violence that has continually rained over Gaza is not new, but what is happening is unprecedented, and is undeniably a mass acceleration of ethnic cleansing.

The fact that Israel has made it VERY CLEAR they intend to slaughter the Palestinian people because they view them as 'human animals' as obstacles to this larger Zionist agenda -the fact that their propaganda permeates all over their socials in ways that are deplorable and dehumanizing. Despite having broken over 42 resolutions the UN created...

These so-called leaders are calling for a 'humanitarian pause," or a 'humanitarian truce'

It's beyond despicable.

[vidavalor]

Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03

In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.

So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.

Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."

People. In. Love.

In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.

Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.

Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

archives l Javier Peña

Summary:  you shouldn't have met him there

Warnings:  +18, smut, angst, swearing, sex without protection (don’t do that!),

A/N: I don't have much to say. I'll just leave this here. please be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

"Shit!"

You cursed quietly as the cardboard box you were trying to take off slipped out of your hands and fell to the archive floor, spilling its contents. Folders with carelessly written names, scattered pages of typescript, photos - all of this now lay under your feet.

You had been sitting in this dark and musty room for almost an hour, trying to find the documents you needed. But the number of shelves and bookcases made this place a real labyrinth. Your eyes slid over the names and places that the files lying on the floor referred to - still not that one.

Another dark alley didn’t look inviting, but you had no other choice. You strained your eyes when suddenly you heard a strange movement, and then a voice that sent shivers down your spine.

"A lonely woman in a place like this." someone tsk-tsked approaching you "I guess they don't teach you anything in this office, do they?"

You sighed with relief when you saw the familiar face of a man leaning against the shelf next to you.

"Javier. You shouldn't be sneaking around like that." you hissed. "What are you doing here anyway? It's late."

"I had some paperwork." he replied, his dark eyes shamelessly gliding over your figure. "I saw you left your stuff. I thought I'd look for you."

"Mhm. For what purpose?"

You saw the tip of his tongue as he licked his lips with it. "I haven't seen you in a while." he noted.

"I'm here all the time." you mumbled and averted your gaze to the shelves in front of you. Although you could see the letters that formed the descriptions of individual boxes, you didn't understand anything from them. The room suddenly seemed even more stuffy to you.

"I haven't seen you at my place." he clarified.

Something tightened your insides. You knew perfectly well what Javier meant. You knew it all too well…

For the past few months, you and Javier Peña had a certain relationship. It all started after one of the more brutal arrests. You were both stressed and overstimulated, and then something snapped and without knowing how you ended up in Javier's apartment fucking him on the couch.

No. You knew exactly how you ended up there. You weren't drunk, and neither was he. But then you had a few drinks and felt terrible guilt. Javier absolved you, and showed up at your place a few days later. And you fucked again, this time in your bed.

It was just sex. 

To get rid of the pressure and stress. And Peña had a lot of it in him. Sometimes it was rough and strong, sometimes he used the time to play with you, like a predator before devouring its prey. But you didn't complain.

Only when you noticed that you were waiting for the familiar knock on the door, that you were searching for him with your eyes in the office, that you were sensitive to the sound of his voice - that made you think.

That's when you backed off. "This is the last time." You told him as you put on your panties. "I met someone. He's a nice guy. He works at the embassy." Javier snorted. He didn't believe that you could leave him. Not when his cum was still dripping down your thigh. But you left his apartment, the door closed, and that was it.

He saw you with that guy. Once in one of the bars. And he knew that you saw him too. That evening, for the first time in a long time, he took a hooker home. But she wasn't you.

You became his obsession. You were within arm's reach, and yet he couldn't touch you. And then he realized that it hadn't been just about sex for a long time.

He could see that you were confused. Your fingers were nervously tapping some rhythm on one of the shelves, your eyes were avoiding his.

"We talked about it." You finally answered.

"Yeah, I know. You have someone." Javier snorted "A nice guy from the embassy. Did you tell him about us?"

"There was no 'us'."

"So you didn't." A smirk spread under his mustache, and you felt like punching him in the face. "You're a naughty girl."

"Oh, stop it!" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. "Don't act like a kid who lost a toy. You have plenty of them!"

Peña tilted his head, watching you carefully, processing your words. There was something hypnotizing about him. You saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed, his chest heaving with his steady breath. His eyes, dark as night, were still watching you, and you were slowly afraid to move.

Finally, you were the first to speak. "Listen, I don't know what you've got in mind, but I'm not going to get into this. I'm in a healthy relationship with a cool guy, you're not going to interrogate me now."

"A happy relationship?"

"W-What?" you stuttered, surprised.

"I'm asking if it's a happy relationship." Javier raised his eyebrows slightly, repeating his question, "You know, satisfying. Exciting. Arousing."

He said each word in a way that hit all your senses at once.

"A healthy one." You repeated, and he smiled again.

He took a few lazy steps toward you, his fingers sliding over the boxes on the shelves.

"So you're not getting wet just thinking about him?" his voice lowered and you felt warmth creeping up your neck "Don't you feel that pleasant shiver when he's close? Does he know what he has to do to make you come in just a few minutes? How long did it take us, hermosa? Four, or five?"

"You're an asshole, Peña!" you hissed.

"I am." he shrugged "But you felt good with me, didn't you? You were in my bed like that lazy kitten stretching in the sheets. Your thighs covered in hickeys. You had chaff instead of brains from how many times I let you come."

Every word he said struck those chords inside you that made your legs go numb. Peña was a devil in human skin and he decided to possess you. He was so close that you could smell the remnants of his cologne and cigarettes. This must have been what hell looked like. You were damned.

"I'm happy, Javier." you said quietly "He treats me well."

Warm fingers brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, running over your warm cheeks to your chin.

"That's good." he mumbled. "If he treated you badly I would have to kill him, cariño. But was I bad to you? Tell me."

Finally you looked into his eyes, almost defiantly. Javier wanted to kiss you right then, but he held back.

"So you tell me how you treated me, Javier." you said. "Who was I to you? A pussy on two legs that you had whenever you wanted?"

"That's funny." he laughed quietly. "You don't say anything about the evenings when you came to visit me." you swallowed loudly. "You were so horny then. So unsatisfied. You let me do such things to you..."

"Shut up!"

A sly smile appeared on his face again. You were already in a losing position. But suddenly Javier softened.

"Do you love him?"

"Please."

"Do you?"

"It's not that simple."

"Oh, it is. You see, baby, if someone asked me if I loved you..." your heart stopped beating for a moment, you listened to his words with horror "...I'd tell him to fuck off." You couldn't help but snort, and Javier smiled but didn't stop talking "But if I asked myself, do you know what I'd answer? I'd say you're a thorn in my side. You've dug yourself under my skin. You've made yourself at home in my heart. I'm pissed off when I see you with him. And when I think of him fucking you..."

His hands tightened on your hips. You were so stunned by his words that you didn't protest when he pulled you closer.

"Tell me that if I slip my hand into your panties, I won't feel how wet you are. This pussy knows she’s only mine. And I want you, all of you."

"Javier, please..." your lips brushed against his.

"What are you asking for, cariño? I'll do anything for you. Just tell me."

Tears pressed into your eyes. His words filled your head, reaching for everything you didn't want to feel. Fear followed right behind the desire, how much Javier had imprinted himself on your heart.

"Don't destroy me, Javier." You whispered as the first tear rolled down your cheek. "I couldn't be just your girl for one night anymore. It was killing me... The thought of never owning you."

"I've been just yours for a long time, hermosa. And I'll never stop being."

His lips crashed against yours so hard that you could barely catch your breath.

Your fingers slid into his hair as you pressed yourself even closer to him. God! You missed him so much. It was torture to work with Peña in the same place, when looking at him you remembered how his head was between your legs giving you orgasm after orgasm.

And now his tongue was deep in your mouth again, his hand tightened on your breast, but your moan was drowned out.

You felt the shelf behind you, and Javier's body pressed you against it hard, spreading your legs with his thigh. The hard bulge in his pants rubbed against you, making you feel hot in your core.

His lips slid down your neck, nibbling and kissing the sensitive skin. Your blouse and  bra were pulled up to free your breasts. Hot lips sucked on your nipple. You rolled your hips to feel the friction, something to give you relief, because you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Javier overwhelmed your senses, and your body begged for him intensely.

"Just as I thought." he mumbled as your breast slipped from his lips and his hand dug into your panties. "You're wet. So juicy, hermosa. Just for me."

"Please, Javier, I want to feel you." you stuttered with difficulty.

You could see in his eyes that he was already on the edge. He was barely holding himself back from destroying you right now, in a second. But as your hands began to unbuckle his belt, he began to pull up your skirt.

"I want to feel that tight pussy again." he panted as he grabbed your thigh tightly and rested it on his hip, opening you up for him. "You were rude to take her away from me, you know? I was starving to taste her again." he pushed your panties aside and his fingers ran over your folds "Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to ruin this beautiful pussy, hermosa."

"I want you, Javi." you whispered "I'm only yours."

"That's right. Only mine."

With one quick thrust, his hard cock slid inside you. You moaned loudly at the sudden stretch. Javir pushed himself all the way to the base, filling you up like only he could. You were pinned to the shelf behind you by his body, but you didn't mind.

Peña began to move hard. His hand gripped your thigh, and the other helped you stabilize. With each subsequent thrust, you felt like he was going deeper. His lips found yours, but they were just kisses stealing your precious breath.

"Fuck, you take me so well. You're made for me, baby." he panted as he pressed his face against your cheek "I want you all to myself again, to fuck you the way you like. To hear you scream my name until - shit - I fill you to the brim. You like that, don't you? You love the way my cum leaks out of you."

"I... I didn't let him." you replied, tightening your fingers in his hair "He never... I never let him cum inside me. Only you, Javi... Only you."

"Fuck! I knew it!" he kissed you hard, his movements quickening.

You couldn't pretend anymore. You were on the edge, and Javier wanted to push you off with great pleasure. His cock moved inside you, hitting the spot you needed.

"Cum for me, cariño! I want to feel you. I want to feel that pussy squeeze me. Shit! I’ve got you, baby!"

An animalistic moan escaped your throat, your nails digging into his shoulder. But Javier didn't feel any pain. He only felt you, saw only you. He saw your body trembling with the pleasure he gave you. Now his thrusts were stronger, but he didn't need much to come.

"Fuck, you're only mine. Only mine." he panted, hiding his face near your neck as his seed poured inside you.

You felt a twitch as he spurted the last drops, and then he stopped. This small space was filled only by your breath. You felt the sweat running down your back, Javier's hot body. And then he pulled out, leaving you strangely empty.

You adjusted your clothes as he buttoned his pants, and after a moment you felt warm hands cupping your face, his lips finding yours again. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, gently. Like a lover, not the man who had just fucked you in your office archives. Although maybe it was the same thing.

He rested his forehead against yours leaving you in a sweet distraction "I don't want you to slip away from me again." he whispered "Never again."

"I won't do that." you replied "I'll always be a thorn in your side."

"The sexiest I know."

He kissed you again and you knew what you had to do. You were scared but you knew that together you would do it. And after this all you had was each other.

And that was good.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[hazelfoureyes]

Ok I need a Lucifer x Reader fic based on Griftwood by ghost pretty please ( just listen if you haven’t heard it you’ll understand)

Listen, I went the opposite direction I think you wanted? Lol gonna work on brevity and get more snack sized smut out on weekdays and entrees on he weekends

[Warnings/Promises: snack sized, Lucifer x GN!AngelReader, lil smut smut, Fuck Sera, Luci corrupts absolutely, all hail dat dick, sacrilegious as fuck]

🫸🏼minors DNI🫷🏼

Lucifer avoided the heavenly embassy for obvious reasons. The vast halls, the empty and useless pews, it was, in a word, 

“Creepy,” He hissed. 

He was surprised to find the reception desk manned. Very rarely did heaven actually send anyone down to hell. Oh, wait.

You were stunned already to see Lucifer, so when he poked your nose you let out a tiny squeal.

“Oh shit! You’re real!” Lucifer took a step back, “Sorry about that! Not used to an … actual person.” He gave a little bow, “Forgive me?”

The fact is no one wanted to go to hell for desk duty, so the job was actually a punishment reserved for the most misbehaved. You had to intentionally set fire to Sera’s robes to get that severe of a scolding. She was reluctant, but it had been threatened (promised) to you last time you (intentionally) caused trouble. Rumors were abuzz about Lucifer, and you just had to see for yourself what the Great Big Boss of Hell was like.

Rosey cheeks, bright sharp smile. He didn’t look as scary as you had imagined. You expected a seven foot eight inch tall behemoth with fire pouring from his mouth and blood stained horns.

The devil, the real one, looked quite sweet.

A tiny existential crisis washed over you. Maybe there was a reason they didn’t want people down here. Why they made it sound oh-so-terrible.

“You still in there?” He leaned over the counter, tapping at your forehead. Your hands flew up, capturing his finger and bringing it down.

Warm. 

He froze, a little shocked you would touch him. Your smile went crooked, cheeks blushed. 

“Uhhh you good?” He pointed with his free hand to where you still gripped his finger. You nodded, a hum of confirmation. The blush rose up until you were fully red in the face.

The realization struck Lucifer like heavenly lightning, “Oooh, I see what’s going on here.” A wicked smirk taking you by surprise. “Did you want to meet me, little one?”

You broke out into a sweat, “Yes.”

Lie! Why didn’t you lie?!

He leaned over the counter, “Did you do something bad to get sent here?” Was there fire behind his eyes?

Uneven breaths, “… yes.”

Lucifer’s knee came up and over as he crawled onto the desk, “Should the King of Hell reward you for such bad deeds?” His eyes had gone red now, your hand still on his finger.

Your knees began to shake, “Y-yes.”

His face was inches from yours when your legs gave out, both of you falling to the floor.

Horns tall, yellow pupils dilated as he straddled you. “I think you’ll find I’m a generous ruler.”

It made sense. As Lucifer bent you over the reception desk and fucked you from behind, you could completely understand why they made this job posting sound horrid. Heaven would be empty if every winner could freely interact with Lucifer. You’d damn humanity too, if that was the cost. His hips snapped against your ass with divine determination, sweet praises on his forked tongue. 

The sounds of your gasps and his skin on yours echoed through the pristine white and gold halls. Like a pastor giving his sermon, he made the most delicious promises as you bent at the altar. 

Could heaven hear you? Your chants of “God, Oh God,” shifting to, “Lucifer! Luci—fer”, when one of his hands came down, fingers stroking your heat?

“What do you pray for, my curious Angel?” He growled, a flame you couldn’t see licking past his lips. “I’ll grant you anything”

Your cheek was sliding across the marble, small line of drool smearing on your face. Claws raked down your back, the stimulation making you shake.

Your fingers reached for his thighs, failing to take purchase. Lucifer took both of your wrists in one hand and held them at the small of your back for leverage. Your legs bent up, toes curling as you came around his sweetly punishing cock.

Taking a few deep breaths, you rolled your hips back against him, “More.”

Lucifer laughed and lifted one foot onto the desk to add more force behind his thrusts, “Say please.”

am I too horny? No. No, the cardiologist is wrong.

╭──────༺♡̶༻──────╮ Masterlist ╰──────༺♡̶༻──────╯

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[plush-rabbit]

Foggy Minds

Word Count: 4.7K A/N: I dont know his body!! So I tried to leave it ambiguous and yeah!! i also wrote this just for the ending bit

-

It’s a fucking joke. A cruel one. Angels- or at least Exterminators- are known for their cruelty. Raining down from above, a storm cloud that leaves red behind. Even after the destruction and death, the guts and gore that leave a lasting stench, the cruelty isn’t done. The angel Adam still has to bring torment down to Hell.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing is what he is. He can pretend he’s higher than the sinners down below, but he’s just as crude, if not more so than the worst of them here. It’s a tradition at this point for both you and him. He brings hell on hell, and a week later, he flies down once more, calling the club that you work at, demanding for you to be sent to the Heaven Embassy. However, as the next Extermination Day comes close, he’s called for your services once again. You wish you could say no, but he pays quite a lot for you, and you could always use the money.. 

You hate the walk there more than anything. It’s like everyone knows you’re off to go fuck the Exorcist. You look both ways before disappearing through the doors of the Embassy. Maybe they think you’re getting a meeting with- someone. 

The Embassy is empty, and every step you take echoes out in the room. You’re terrified. You always are. It never stops feeling like a trap. Even in the elevator on the way to the suite, you can only stare at the golden doors in front of you, your reflection distorted and twisted. 

If you’re going to be honest- you aren’t sure why it’s you who has to come up. It’s Adam- he’s bragged enough about how he can have anyone, and yet, he pays for a sinner’s cunt. You make sure to not feel special, to squash any pride down. Perhaps it’s too tedious to pay for another sinner or hellborn, and it’s best to just get what he knows will be a good fuck. You sigh and look away from your reflection and the glowing numbers. Still, you show up and do your job. You've taken better and worse clients. The angel is just someone in between. 

The doors open and you pass a few doors until you reach his suite. You don’t know why the Embassy has so many rooms, and when you tried to ask Adam, he made a comment about how you could have a fuck-a-thon, doing it in each room, and you sneered at the idea. 

Your suite- or rather his suite- is unlocked like always. You waste no time, stepping into the shimmering room. It’s livable. A kitchenette on one side, a bathroom with a wonderful shower tucked in the room, and a massive bed pushed to the end of the room. The room is bright, golds and blues, a deep dark wood carved into ornate decorations, and you feel out of place. It’s nice- far too nice for you to show up and defile it with what you’re going to do. The room never ceases to amaze you. There aren’t many places in Hell where the colors are bright and soft at the same time, where things look so pristine and untouched. When you once mentioned to Adam how nice the room was, he laughed and told you that there were far better rooms in Heaven. A part of you still wishes that he would have offered to show you- something, pictures, descriptions, anything. 

“Took you long enough!” The angel says, leaning back on the bed. “I pay for your entire time, ya know? From the walk from your whore house to the embassy, the least ya could do is hurry it up. I’m a very important angel, ya know?”

“You ordered me like last-”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want excuses.” His hand waves in the air, and he sits on the bed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” You roll your eyes at him as you walk closer. “Oi! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” his voice is laced with disgust, and you remember that he looks down on you- in more ways than you would care to admit. “Come on, strip.” Your hands go to unzip your skirt. “And make it good!”

You bite your tongue. Your shirt is the first to go. The action is slow, tantalizing as your fingers skim over your bare skin, and your skirt follows suit, pooling on the floor. You step out the fabric, and your heels click on the floor. Adam watches you, his hands scratching the bed covers. You spread your legs over his right, and grab his hands, letting them touch your ribs and then moving towards your back. 

You can feel the tips of his claws scratch at the clip of your bra. You press your cunt over his robe covered thigh, and grind over it softly. “Please, Adam,” you beg. “Take it off for me?” Your hands rest over his chest, and he watches as you grind yourself over him, your hands fisting over his robe, and you wonder for a moment if maybe you did a bad thing- if this was the wrong move. But then your bra straps fall down your shoulders, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room.

You hiss when his mouth suckles on a breast, the other breast being pinched and pulled at. He sucks so softly, letting his tongue roll over the swelling bud, teething at it so you hiss and arch yourself further into him. You can feel a wet spot grow, and you can’t help but rock yourself over your thigh. The other breast is manhandled, twisted and pinched that has you gasping and fisting holy fabric in your sinner hands. 

You're pushed off and his hands claw over your hip. You get the memo, and peel off your underwear, the wetness of it noticeable, and the only mention of it is when Adam pockets your underwear. You wish you bought another pair with you. The heels are tossed aside, and strong hands push you down from your shoulders. You fall onto your knees with a hiss, and you know what you have to do.

-

“And- And- Oh fuck, that’s it, baby-” He hisses, his head tilted back. The hand fisted into your hair tightens, sharp stinging encouraging you to swallow more so he could let go. “I’m just saying that why would you settle for anything less than-” A moan interrupts his monologue and you look at him through glossy eyes. “Oh fuck. It’s like a fucking gift to suck me off.”

A string of spit and pre-ejaculate connects to your lips as you pull away. It’s thick and white, and you’re gasping for hair, a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and you push yourself to swallow his package, fitting the pair into your mouth as your hand pumps his length. He’s breathing heavily, and you know he's upset at the loss of contact with your mouth with the way that his hand tangles itself into your hair, but his mask is twisted, and you pop them out of your mouth. Your mouth feels dry despite the excess spit- you suppose it’s the salty taste that lingers. 

You take him back in your mouth, eager, and begging for him to just spill his seed already. Your cheeks hollow, and he’s heavy on your tongue. Your tongue swirls over a vein, and you can feel him twitching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hisses, his hands cradling your head. You hum, and brace yourself, your hands holding at his thighs, bracing yourself for him to thrust forward. His hands tighten, and he thrusts into your mouth. You gag around him, your throat constricting around him. It’s a horrid sound, loud and hollow, and acid threatens to bubble over. As he continues to pump himself into you, spit dribbles from the corner of your lips and you’re grateful that you were ordered to remove your clothes. 

“That’s right, take it. Oh fuck, fuck-” a string of curses fills the room, and he’s unrelenting, pushing deeper into your throat. A hand slips to grab at your breast, eyes squinting when you can feel the spit coat over your chest. Your other hand tightens around Adam’s thigh, your nails pinching into him.

Your fingers pinch over your nipple, rolling it over, desperate to take your mind off of the assault of your mouth. His thrusts get deeper and harsher, and he’s still in the back of your throat, holding you down. Curses mutter in the air, sharp and slurring together, and he keeps his eyes on you. The eye contact is far too much, the piercing eyes boring into your entire being, and it must be some type of power play for him. You choose to focus on the base of his cock. With your nose pressed into his pubic bone, you cough around him, and finally he pulls away, his seed laying thick on your tongue. Tears wet your face and mix with your spit and the drops of his seed. 

He grabs your chin and you open your mouth, showing the mess that he’s made. Letting go, you stay still, as he taps his cock on your face. It’s tacky with your spit and leaves you feeling much filthier than you would like to admit. You hold the seed in your mouth and he gives a nod, and you make a show of swallowing, and open your mouth to show him. “Did you want me to do a blessing before you swallow?”  He teases. “With my holy cum, I grant you the opportunity to fuck me.” He chuckles at his joke.

“Thank you, Adam,” you murmur, hoping that the soreness on your jaw will go away.

“You know, you could learn how to relax your throat. You’d think after doing this for a living, your gag reflex wouldn't be a thing.” You send him a dirty look, and his grin widens. “So fucking sensitive. What did you want me to tell you? That you were good?”

You aren’t sure what mood he’s in at the moment. Sometimes you can tell when he wants to fight with you- where he wants to punish you and call you a sinner as he ravages you, but then there are moments when he wants you to beg for him, to tell him how good he is, how you want his cock more than anything. But at the moment with your skull pounding and jaw sore, you spit out a simple, “Fuck you.” His grin widens, and he hoists you up onto the bed. The stickiness on your face ruins the soft comforter, and you feel too dirty to even touch something so nice.

“I was going to be nice and just fuck you, but shit, you had to talk back.” 

A hand grips at your rear, and a finger teases at your hole. You hiss at the contact, and you're glad you’re face down or else you’d never hear the end of it of how flustered you must look. As if reading your mind, he flips you over, your face exposed and your hands immediately cover the lower half. 

“Adam-” you squeal, instinctively trying to close your legs only to have them pried apart. 

“Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I just wanna look at how wet you got just from sucking on me.” A finger traces against your slick and you watch as he tastes the finger. “Damn, I should have let you keep your panties on if I knew you were going to get this wet.” A finger enters and you squirm, suckling the intrusion further into your softness. “You’re soaked. And all you had to do was suck me off. You know, if I could keep you, I would.” He enters another finger, pushing the two inside until he’s at the knuckles. “I’d give you a nice collar, a nice bed, and all you would have to do is be my little cocksleeve.” He pulls out, and thick strings of slick connect his fingers back to your cunt. He returns his fingers to your cunt, now with the addition of a third. It’s a wide stretch, a sharp pain being overridden with pleasure. “I bet you’d like that. You’d live a pampered life, and all you have to do is keep your pussy spread open for me.” 

With a yank, you’re pulled further into the bed. The comforters make a soft noise, but the bed itself doesn’t creak. You watch with half-lidded eyes, focused as he rests on his knees beside you, his cock growing, the scent of it enough to make you go dizzy. You brush your cheek against it, licking at the side of it when he thrusts his fingers into you.

You sit on the bed, his cock pressed against your face, and with a mind too delirious to think of anything else, you pull him into your mind, lazily bobbing his head, as his fingers scissor inside of you. 

You breathe heavily, your mind growing fuzzy with the stimulation. He’s slow and lazy, massaging the inside of your gummy walls as he looks down at you taking his cock once more. A hand brushes your hair away from your face, and you pull away, pecking at his cockhead, nuzzling the glistening head against your lips. It isn’t enough for you, and you swallow him once more, humping into his hand when he gives a smart smack to your cunt. 

“Turn around,” he orders, and you scamper to do so. You don’t get a moment to prepare yourself, until he’s bullying himself inside of you. Your hands claw at the comforter, and with watery eyes, you see the fabric tear apart underneath your claws. “You’re clamping down hard around me,” he breathes out, and you buck your hips, trying to feel him deeper into you.

Above you, he's heavy, and selfish, pumping into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is harmonized by your moans. He grunts above you, whispering strings of obscenities and few words of praise linger in the air.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, “so fucking good.” His breath is hot against you, fanning out into feathered tickles that touch at your body. He’s never been one for intimacy before reaching his peak, always preferring to be lustful, so you never expect him to actually kiss you, but in moments where he rights just at the right spot, you’d wish he do a little more to make it feel something other that whatever this all is.

His body is pressed against your back, hands squirming underneath to grab at your breasts. His hands are rough and unforgiving, pulling and pinching his nails into your soft skin, You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, puffing and huffing, murmurs about how you feel wrapped around him, and you bury your face into the comforter. Your mouth is slacked open, spit pooling down, as your moan helplessly around him, body taut and nerves feeling as if they’re on fire. 

“No fucking wonder you’re a sinner,” he seethes out, his thrusts harsh and deep, enough to have you see stars and think about how as selfish as he can, he feels so good. “With a pussy this good, I bet you had everyone lined up for just a taste.” You let out a low whine. “Yeah, I bet you did. No wonder you were hired at that sex joint. Did you have to fuck the owner to get in? Ha?” His tone is wicked, and you’re unsure if it’s his words or the fact that you’re so close as to what is making you tear up. His weight above you shifts, and by your hair, you’re yanked back. You yelp and tighten around him, tears slipping down. “I asked you a question.”

“I didn’t-” you yelp as he continues to bully himself inside of you- “I didn’t hear it, ’m sorry,” you mumble, your scalp stinging with pain. 

“Too fucked up on my dick to even think,” he hisses, pushing you down onto the bed. He pulls himself out, and you whimper, shaking your head and pushing yourself closer to him, your cunt weeping for more of him. “A cock hungry slut is all you are, huh?” His cock is pulled out, and he watches you whine, your cunt gaping and leaking slick that makes your thighs glisten. 

“Adam, please,” you moan, turning your head to look over your shoulder. You can feel the drool stick to the side of your lips. 

“Please what?” he spits out, his eyes flickering to yours, before returning to your ruined sex.

You let a whimper, high-pitched and desperate. You fall back to the bed, your eyes looking forward, and your hand slips underneath you, fingers peeking towards your cunt, feeling the warmth drip onto your fingertips. “I want more,” you tell him, your words muffled by the comforter. “I want you,” you tell him, hoping that he’d take pity on you for a moment.

The tip of his cock brushes itself against your opening, and you clench around it, your body aching for more. “Nah, you have to do better than that.” Your cries are shushed, brows furrowed and you’re turned over onto your back, “Come on, I’ve heard you beg before.” Two of his fingers enter you, thrusting in painfully slow. “You know what to say already.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers twisting the bed sheets into spirals. You shake your head, humping pathetically into his hand. “I promise to make ya feel real good.” 

“Adam,” you croak. He pulls his fingers out, and tears gluten over your lashes. “Please, I wanna be fucked.” Your legs tense when you feel the tip of his cock nestle itself inside of you. “I’m just a filthy sinner who needs-” you yelp when he thrusts himself inside of you, the entire lengths filling you nicely- “needs to be fucked by your holy dick.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softy over your skin. 

“A little more, honey, and I’ll ruin that demon pussy for you.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softly over your skin, his voice low and sweet for you.

“Adam,” you plead, your hands curving over your breasts, “I need you,” you whisper in a haze. “I need your cock in me, I wanna cum real bad. I need you. I need you to fuck my sinner pussy.”

He gives you a lazy smile, and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Good enough.” He pushes himself inside of you. Your stomach coils into a heat, and you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slip to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs. “You have a fucking grip on my dick. What is it? Are you close?” You let out a broken moan. Your legs kick up, and wrap around him. “If I cum in you, you’re dealing with it.” His grin is sharp and predatory, and it only makes you drag your hands down his arms.

Your hands reach up, and you hold the sides of his neck, your hands curving behind, and you just feel tufts of hair peek from underneath the mask. A hand reaches to grab your wrist, holding it tightly, and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise afterward. “You fuckin’ slut,” he spits out. “You think just because you got my mask off last time, I’ll let you look at me again?”

“Adam,” you whimper out, scratching at the back of his neck with your free hand, “please. I just wanna look,” you slur out. You know you’ll regret saying those things when you’ve sobered from him, but sex always did make you softer, needier. You think that must be why he decided to continue to hire you- to see you pant for him and stroke his ego. “You’re so pretty, I wanna see,” you lament. “I wanna- I just- I wanna look at you when I cum,” you stumble over your words, your fingertips tapping against the bottom of the mask. The golden eyes narrow at you, and you can only look for so long until you turn your attention elsewhere.

His mask is tossed to the side, and his irises glow. The hand that holds your wrist loosens, and you cup over his cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching at your palm. “Fuck- Oh fuck,” you hiss out, your heart beating against your chest rapidly. “I’m gonna- Oh my- Adam! Fuck,” you hiss, the knot in your stomach tightening, a pressure building more and more until you’re sure that you’ll burst. 

Even as your body shakes, he doesn’t stop. He continues moving his hips, pushing all of himself inside of you, his breath coming out in pants above you, his smile sharp and face flushed. A hand wraps around your neck, and you arch yourself into it, whining and mumbling at how your cunt is still too sensitive, how he has to slow down, but he coos at you, and he tells you how good you’re benign for him, and you hold onto his wrist with your hands. 

Adam places his face close to yours, his lips and breath fanning above yours, and you’re stuck staring at his eyes, unable to look away from the gold in front of you. You lick your lips, and you brush against his. He stares at you, and your face burns. 

He gives shallow thrusts, and is still inside of you, and you can feel him. You can feel the heat, and the stickiness leaks out of you. He keeps himself there, and hides himself into the crook of your neck. After a moment, he slips out, and you can feel the heaviness of his seed weep out of you in slow and heavy drools. 

You lay in the afterglow, chest heaving and sweat and more sticking to your skin. Your body is on pins and needles, and laying on top of the soft bedding, you could fall asleep right then and there. Nestled into a pile of feathers and gold, you could die- again- and be happy with it. 

But then the man- the first man- groans and you remember that this isn't the time to play house. You have a job. Or rather, you had one, and now you have to return. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, and you stare at the bathroom. A part of you wants to take a shower, but you fear that if you even just tasted what luxury is, you’d have to be pried out of the embassy. 

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the body and gather your clothes. The lack of underwear is something that you frown upon, but when you look back to the angel, with the demand for its return, you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. You’ve walked around without it before when customers got handsy, this is nothing. Your skirt is tight, and long enough that only a pervert would tell. 

“So,” he trails off, lying on his back, “do you wanna cuddle or something?”

Your eyes widen, and as you flatten your skirt, you thin your lips. “Uh, no. No thanks, Adam. I’m uh- I’m good.” You straighten your top, and tap your heels against the floor, the sharp click echoes in the chambers. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, “I was just gonna psych you out anyways.” He waves his hand, and cool air rushes around you. 

You let out a sigh, looking at the mirror where you stared at yourself just a bit ago. Your hands play with your hair, making sure that when you leave, it won’t look like you just slept with someone. You hum, and tilt your head from side to side, trying to find some sort of mark that would have to be hidden. However, the cool air- his own magic or blessing- has fixed any evidence of indecency on you.

“The extermination is next month,” Adam sighs. Your eyes flick up, and you catch him staring at you- golden eyes piercing into your own, unblinking and unbothered. 

“I’m aware,” you tell him, returning to look at yourself in the mirror. You stand straight and let out a sharp sigh. “I think some of the residents are already panicking.”

“Are you?”

Your stomach knots itself, and you remember when you were first bought by Adam- the nervousness, the disgust, the bile burning your throat. It’s all too familiar at this moment. You shrug. “I don’t think it’s set in yet,” you mumble. 

“I’ll come by the night before.” You look at the white tiles- the grout filled with shimmering gold, and the tiles patterned with silver and gold lines. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked like last time.” He doesn’t say the words nicely, it’s more like an afterthought, as if telling you this is a bother, but still, he tells you this, and one thing you've learned about Adam is that he hasn't lied to you yet. You fist the hem of your skirt in your hands, and nod. It’s silent, and then he starts again, annoyance laced into his words. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Adam,” you tell him in a beat. 

“Yeah, well, I can't have my favorite whore die.” His wings unfurl and stretch across the bed. The tips of the feathers reach just beyond the mattress, and you shrug. The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel small compared to him. In the mirror, you can see his reflection, his  mouth thinning, and his eyes narrowing. “I- uh- I still have you for ten more minutes.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror. “Get back here. I wanna suck on your tits.”

You stick your tongue out, and your hips sway as you walk towards him, your heels falling carelessly to the floor as you rest beside him. His hands are cold as they peel off your shirt and without a care, he tosses it to the foot of the grand bed. A hand cups at your breast, and you can feel his breath fan over your chest, and you wait to feel his teeth bite at you, but you never do. The wetness of his lips trace over the swell of your breast, a peck pressed against the bud, but never swallowing it. Your chest is heavy with his weight on top of you, and the hand on your breast unfurls and curves over your ribs. His wings expand, and they partially cover you, the softness of them akin to the finest blanket in what only money can buy. 

Realization as what he’s doing has your body heating, and you worry that he can tell with the way that he’s laid bare on your chest, and yet, he makes no snide comments. This is far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. With a harsh swallow, your arm wraps around him, your hand reaching upwards to scratch at the back of his head. Your hands knot into his hair, your nails dully scratching along his scalp. He lets out a low hum in response, nuzzling his cheek over your bare skin in approval. 

With a shaky breath, you break the silence. “You know, I was thinking, that maybe I’d uh, give that Hazbin Hotel a shot.” You feel his hands scratch over your ribs, straight, and piercing, and they cling to you as his breath hitches. “I’m not sure I believe in the whole redemption thing, but free housing is nice.” You feel him nod slowly, and you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger. He gives you a short answer, one that is mumbled into your skin and doesn't make its way to you, and his wings inch further up covering more of your body as he brushes his lips against the swell of your breast. You don’t look at the time even when you feel that he’s grown heavier on your body.

[cheriladycl01]

So, you lied to me? - Lando Norris x Tourist! Reader

Plot: Going on a travel year you end up in Monaco, the plan wasn't too fall for the man who helped you to the British Embassy and gave you a place to stay when someone stole everything from you ...

You took a gap year before university and decided to travel you'd started off the New Year on a flight from London, to Qatar to New Zealand. You travelled around New Zealand and Australia for the majority of January, before moving on to Papa New Guinea, Fiji and Samoa.

You then travelled round the South Asian countries, like Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam and the Philippines and Taiwan all throughout February. You then moved onto China, doing both Disney Parks while you were there and sight seeing. You did South Korea and Japan.

Coming into April, you moved onto Sri Lanka and India, and The Middle East, doing Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Bahrian, Qatar, Oman and Saudi Arabia.

Afterwards, now having done 2 continents, you moved onto Africa, you spent the end of April and the majority of May travelling here, before leaving for Europe.

A nice 2 weeks island hopping around Greece, before a week travelling up the boot of Italy.

It was when you drove to Monaco in a rental car that things got difficult.

You were walking along the harbor where all the expensive yachts were docked wishing that one could be yours. You didn't have all your bags on you, the larger ones left behind in the hotel room you'd booked for the night. But you had your important stuff on you, like you passport, your drivers license and all your travel documents.

You were taking a picture on your nice Canon camera of the yachts and the street that had weird red corners rounding it that you put down to being measures to just help drivers slow down round the corners, but they were definitely an eyesore.

Every time nice cars drove by there was whistles and claps that made you look at what car it was, you could never tell what model it was but they looked nice and you guess you could say sporty.

As you were distracted taking your pictures a guy comes up to you with a small, parcel cutting knife in his hand. He slit the straps of what you thought was a really sturdy bag and the weight notifies you to the loss of the bag. You let your camera drop as you turn to see the guy now holding your bag and starting to run away with it.

"Hey! Stop" you shout before running after him.

"Aide, Aide" you shout as you continue to follow him, your minimal French not helping as people scold you for being a bustly tourist.

You aren't really looking where you going and you loose him at a busy intersection of people, you spin round looking at every possible direction he could have gone in.

"Shit!" you whisper to yourself quietly tears coming in your eyes. You spin round a little to quickly, bumping into someone who drops the bag that they were holding.

"Désolé, mon erreur" you try looking at the young gentleman you'd bumped into in a hoodie and jeans. He looks at you with a confused look, a smirk coming onto his face.

"Oh sorry, tu ne parles pas français? Maybe Italian, erm fuck scusa, parli italiano?" you ask with again the bare minimum of Italian you know.

"I speak perfectly good English" he smiles, laughing a little as your expression turns to shock.

"Oh! Oh I'm so stupid. Hello!" you smile looking at the very attractive man in front of you, you blushed a little looking up at him.

"You look panicked what's wrong?" he asks.

"I was tacking pictures of the harbor and some guy took my bag. It has everything in of mine and I don't know what to do" You say to him looking a little more panicked.

"Everything as in money ... because I can help with that" he says placing a hand on your arm.

"I don't care about the money, but he has all of my documents. My passport, my drivers license everything" you cry a little.

"Oh! Erm, I have a friend who was born here, and let me get him and he can help us file a police report. Then mmm the British Embassy is all the way in Paris and you cant get a flight so we'll have to drive there..." he starts to rant and your face turned shocked.

"We?" you ask, confused as to how this guy has just inserted himself into your life drama's.

"Oh yeah, I've gotta help you out now. You got that whole damsel in distress thing going on right now! Any way damsel, what's your name?" he jokes and you look over at him offended.

"I am not a damsel in distress! And Y/N" you retort.

"You so are, the tear stains, the wide, helpless eyes, the guppy fish face your pulling right now, the butchered French and Italian to a strange man who actually is British... Y/N" he laughs making you pout and push him a little.

"I don't even have a place to stay after 3pm today and I cant check in anywhere without ID" you say rubbing your head, looking around as if the man would randomly pop back up and hand you your bag back before saying how sorry he was.

"You can stay at my place, I have two spare bedrooms" he smiles and you look at him in shock.

"You live here, in Monaco ..." you ask.

"Yeah, I moved here a few years ago, for ...work" he offers, he phones his friend walking off for a few seconds alone before he pulls you along one of the side streets and too a quiet cafe he went to, to keep under wraps.

"Okay, Y/N this is my friend ... er Percy" he says pointing to Charles, so far you hadn't shown any signs of knowing who he is and he didn't want you to catch wind of that.

"Hello Percy, its nice to meet you" you smile and he looks at you with a vacant yet confused expression.

"Oh and whose this you are beautiful" you compliment looking at the girl behind him.

"Y/N this is my girlfriend Alex" Charles indicates to Alex behind him who smiles and pulls you in for a kind hug that you definitely needed. You could hear both of their strong accents as they introduced himself.

"Oh, I never got you name, what's your name?" you ask turning to look at Lando, who freezes for a second.

"Erm, my names Robert, but you can call me Bob" he smiles and you raise and eyebrow at him.

"Hmmm, you don't look like a Robert... or a Bob. Interesting choice" you voice your opinion making everyone awkwardly laugh.

Charles, Lando and Alex took you to the nearest police station in Monaco, Charles translated what they were saying and you answered to which he and Alex would help translate back.

Charles explained that they were escalating it because you are a tourist in need, but you picked up some words that made the sentence not sound like that at all.

You were asked if you had a place to say and Lando explained you'd be staying with him until everything was sorted out.

The Monegasque police got in contact with the Paris British Embassy for you, they explained that the police had sent over you information and if you wanted to hold off on a new passport for a few days to see if it would turn up you were more than welcome, but right now your passport was on lockdown.

And that was how you ended up spending the end of July and all of August with Lando, it was strange really. For a man who had and extremely nice collection of clothes and a very large apartment he didn't go to work often. There was one room you weren't allowed in which is where he often went, you assumed it was a man cave or gaming room where he played with his friends because you heard lots of shouting and aggressive banging.

He'd been so sweet, he took you on dates from going out to dinner, to picnics, to going swimming and lots more. It felt like more than a summer fling. Especially once he asked you to be his girlfriend, which you immediately said yes too.

But he got a lot more twitchy after he had.

Eventually, Lando or Bob as you knew him took you to Paris so you could get your passport. He explained that he travelled a lot for work and he would need to leave soon and you explained that before you bumped into him you'd been on a gap year travelling the world.

"Baby, why don't you come with me?" he asked randomly as you were both lying on the sofa, cuddling while watching a film.

"You wont even tell me what you do for work Baby! And besides I had a schedule that I'm already behind on. A week ago you said you didn't mind going our separate ways for a little bit until Christmas and then you'd come to England with me" you say playing with his curls.

"Okay, I'm going to be honest with you now... my name isn't Bob" he says shyly and you sit up at the speed of light turning to look at him.

"I knew it! So you lied to me?" you exclaim laughing.

"So, what's my boyfriends actual name?" you ask looking him dead in the eyes, he leans up on his elbows before sitting the full way up.

"Lando, I am Lando Norris" he smiles.

"Hmmmm, Lando... Lando. I could get used to that" you smile.

"You aren't mad?" he asks looking over you, brushing you hair back and tucking it behind your ear before kissing your cheek.

"I knew you weren't being completely honest when we first met... but I also knew you had your own reasons" you offer.

"I think its going to be easier if I just hand you my Instagram" he admits with a gulp as he hands you his phone. The first thing you notice is how many followers he had, there was around 10million and he had nearly 2,500 posts.

You look at the friends list, and one peeks your interest. Charles Leclerc, who looked exactly like Percy who Lando had introduced you too.

You then go back and look at his bio, that told you his actual job.

"So, I'm dating a super famous athlete?" you ask looking up at him away from the phone to see his head down in his hands. He turns to the side to sneak a look at your expression, his eyes a little glossy.

"To be specific, a Formula 1 driver" you ask again and he nods.

"You are such a muppet, my god" you laugh before pulling him into a hug.

"How aren't you upset with me?" he ask unsure.

"Well, I agreed to date you, because you are you. I doubt you change into Mr Hyde when you become a what was is Porsche race-car driver? I fell in love with you, not Bob, not Lando, you. So whether that is Bob, who kindly helped a crying lady on the street who just had her passport stolen from her, or Lando a cool and amazing race-car driver. Whoever you are is the person I love" you grin and he pulls you into a hug.

"So you want to join me for the last few races? Or you want to finish this world trip of yours?" he asks.

"Well, looking at your calendar, I can actually meet you at the rest of the races, While travelling. I'll continue to do Europe until you have the Netherlands, and ill go back to Italy, just for you. I'll miss Azerbaijan and Singapore because I did that, but I'll knock out some of South America, I'll meet you for Austin, then we can do Mexico and Brazil together, then we can do Vegas together! And by that point I can call it done with my trip!" you exclaim and he looks like he considers it for a second.

He's shocked, he cant remember the last time a girlfriend tried so hard to link up their schedules like this, and proved that they'd be able to work despite some potential scheduling issues.

"I love you. I fucking love you" he grins pulling you back down onto the sofa kissing all over your face making you giggle.

A/N: I've been doing a lot of Lando recently, I don't know if you can tell but I love writing about him, he's my fav to write about right now.

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[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓞𝓯𝓯 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓼

Javier Peña x afab!reader

Summary: You’re a sociology student writing your final thesis, you shouldn’t care whether the new DEA attaché is an asshole, you shouldn’t be getting on his nerves every chance you get, shouldn’t be dreaming of him the way you do, and you certainly shouldn’t be bent over his desk in the middle of the night– letting him fuck you senseless.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, big girthy age gap [reader is in her early twenties Javier is in his mid 40s], petnames [sweetheart, girlie, baby, babygirl etc], smut, explicit sexual content, explicit language, daddy kink, dom!Javi, mean brat tamer! javi, sub!reader, major size kink, reader is a menace and a brat, cheek pulling, like two spanks and a slap, minor choking, degradation, name calling, fingering, semi public sex [in his office], rough sex, unprotected P in V [don't do it you’re better than them!!] let me know if I missed anything!!

Word count: 8.7k

A/N: Lotsa porn, lotsa plot. Filthier than I’d like to admit but here we are. Javier is emotionally unavailable but I don’t care. Enjoy nasties. Mwah 💗

Masterlist

My old man is a bad man, but

I can't deny the way he holds my hand

And he grabs me, he has me by my heart

He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past

He doesn't mind I have a L.A. crass way about me

He loves me, with every beat of his cocaine heart

You were sure you looked nothing short of unstable– the way you were smiling to yourself as you hit the ‘submit’ button on the first checkpoint of your research paper. The past few months had been absolute chaos, and you weren’t really sure what was worse; the fact that your workplace had become an HR nightmare, or the way you were enjoying every goddamn second of it. 

Not long ago you’d been lucky enough to pack your bags and board a flight to Bogotá, where you were going to be writing your final sociology thesis. You’d fought tooth and nail with the department for this opportunity, and the fact that you were finally going to be there doing the work you’d always imagined– it was a dream. While you were initially a little weary of having to go through the American embassy to access records, and archives, you knew this was the best deal you were going to get, so you pushed your hesitation aside and took them up on their offer. You were obviously aware the department was going to give you hell for it– your work would be put under immeasurable scrutiny, they were going to bother you with emails all day every day, snoop around your work through their contacts at the embassy, and take any chance to fly you back. But it didn’t matter; it was going to be a dream. 

Impressing the ambassador was your top priority, impressing everyone around you really was. For as long as you could remember your bright smile, hard work and sunshine attitude had only worked in your favor. If there was one thing you enjoyed, it was the great privilege of being all your professors’ favorite student. That’s how you’d even convinced them to let you travel thousands of miles away on the university’s dime in the first place. 

The world of academia was hard, especially when you were starting out, everyone you dealt with wasn’t a progressive professor who valued your opinion despite your age and gender. Sometimes you needed help from the sleazy HOD, or the grumpy receptionist and neither cared about your expertise on Helmut Schoeck. It didn’t bother you, all you cared about was the quality of your work, and you were not going to let anyone get in the way of it. So, if good work and behaviour didn't get you what you wanted you just used your batting eyelashes, innocent pout and harmless bribes– the receptionist had mentioned liking strawberry shortcake nearly two years ago in passing, and that information sure as hell came in handy when you needed to get your paperwork sorted out. 

Boy did that skill of yours come in handy during your time in Bogotá

No one was going to make this experience anything but splendid, you were going to get to the embassy, meet the ambassador, charm her and all her coworkers in no time, make some trusted allies and go about your research unbothered and unfazed. You were determined. It was going to be a dream. 

That was until it was an absolute nightmare. The moment your plane’s wheels hit the tarmac you were slapped with wave after wave of absolute frustration. Your phone was inundated with missed calls from an unknown number, and when you called back you were promptly informed by the Ambassador’s secretary that due to spacing issues you were being relocated to the DEA offices at the far end of the embassy. 

Great, nothing better than being around a bunch of cops 24/7 .

You hadn’t made it three steps off the aerobridge before two men– both of whom looked terribly out of place in their baseball hats, grabbed you by the arm and dragged you through the airport. You wouldn’t say the word ‘accosted’ was dramatic when describing the way two employees of the American embassy had apprehended you. They didn't seem much older than you were, but they sure as hell thought they ran the damn place. When you thought about elitist diplomats thinking they were doing god's work you could be sure you imagined Agent Daniel Van Ness and Agent Chris Feistl’s faces before you’d even met them. 

“Ow! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” Van Ness pretty much tossed you into his suspicious, unmarked vehicle, and as if you weren’t sore from your excruciatingly long flight you were sure you were going to need some ice packs when you got to your service apartment. “Okay, let's not make a scene, as I said we were told to get you as soon as you got off that plane” Feistl started the engine with one hand, and put the other one up in mock surrender. 

“Didn’t know kidnapping was part of the Ambassador's agenda in Bogotá” .

The car ride to the embassy was mostly quiet, and you took the time to enjoy the beautiful Colombian city as it came into view, clear your head and mentally plan for your stay. That was, save for the two men’s grumbling about a certain Javier Peña. “Yeah, we miss this meeting and Peña’s gonna be on our ass for the next week” You’d quickly learnt he was a little bit of a hero in the DEA world, whatever that meant– took down Escobar and all. And if you couldn’t loathe him more already he was now promoted to attaché. From what Van Ness and Feistl told you  he sounded like a character– hard ass, stubborn, insolent, the list went on and on. This Javier must really be something

How bad could he really be? Probably some grumpy old guy you’d run into once in a while at the water station or fax machine. He’d pay no mind to you; some irrelevant college student. Besides, you’d win him over with your signature smile. Who knew maybe you’d even become friends? “Well Im looking forward to meeting this Javier Peña” 

 “No one has ever said that. I don't think his mother said that when he was poppin’ out.” 

And boy were they right, Javier Peña really was something. The elevator doors opened to what would soon become a familiar sight– Javier trailing the ambassador as she tried to escape him and the DEA offices. “With all due respect, if I wanted to be a babysitter I would've taken up a job with the RIPs”  She turned to face him, her back to you. “Agent Peña, I'm going to repeat myself one more time, and I really shouldn't have to, but please stop referring to them as the “RIP’’s ”. Talk about professionalism, you definitely weren’t expecting whatever the hell this was when you thought of diplomatic work. 

Noonan almost unceremoniously bumped into you as she skirted away from Javier, raising her hands in absolute elation now that he had to take care of you, and couldn’t bother her any longer. “There you are, perfect! Agent Peña show her around, and please, be nice.” She all but pushed you into him, and you heard Javier helplessly and pathetically yell after her as she walked to the elevator. “I still need that clearance ambassador–” 

Despite the fact that he was looking at you like he wanted to tear you apart you didn't let that distract from the absolute marvel Javier Peña was. If you didn’t know any better you’d be on your knees for the man, and you couldn’t trust that you did. With the way his hair sat messily ruffled atop his head in soft curls, falling dangerously close to his eyes, or the way his now crinkled button up from the tiring workday hugged his forearms, who could blame you? Who knew, maybe you even liked the way he looked at you? 

You shot him your signature smile, and extended your hand to introduce yourself. Forget about Noonan, she’d probably retire soon anyway, it was his approval you really wanted now. With brows raised he took his time assessing you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over your body, or the way he chewed on his lip as he did so. Feeling a little, or maybe very, hot under his gaze you shifted uncomfortably, still holding your hand out politely, but all you got from him besides his shameless gawking was a condescending chuckle, and he was turning away and walking back inside. 

So he really was an asshole. 

You stood in shock for a moment. Was this some sort of odd hazing process at the embassy? What the hell was going on? His voice zapped you out of the absolute embarrassment of an interaction you just had. “You gonna stand there all day?” God he was such a prick. You’d barely been there two minutes and you were already on Van Ness and Feist's team. You couldn’t even imagine what life would be like if he was your boss. Or could you? 

Your gaze hardened at the realization. If there was one thing you were not going to do it was lust hopelessly after a man who didn't even want to give you the time of day, someone who thought he was so much better than you were. You were not going to inflate his already massive ego by crooning for his praise, no! You were not going to let him wield that kind of power over you. 

You watched as he walked through the office, the man sucked the air outta the room with the way he quite literally strutted across it. Practically dragging yourself behind him you tried your best to compose yourself, you were not going to let Peña and his asshole ways ruin your stay– he was going to like you, going to give you the time of day– and if hard work and a good attitude didn’t do it, your batting lashes certainly would.  

—

Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling

White bikini off with my red nail polish

Watch me in the swimmin' pool, bright blue ripples

You sittin', sippin' on your Black Cristal, oh, yeah

In the subsequent days you surprisingly had made yourself quite at home in the embassy– after all you did spend almost all of your day there. Van Ness and Fiestl soon became great friends, and would often drop by your workstation during breaks, or to invite you out for drinks after work. Things were going rather well, there was nothing much to complain about. The people who worked at the embassy were really friendly, and many of them took a liking to you. If charming your way into everyone's good graces was still your plan it sure as hell was working. 

You’d even met a certain blonde haired, blue eyed office heartthrob. While they were both certainly easy on the eyes, Agent Murphy was otherwise little like his partner, he was friendly, helpful, and generally in a good mood. Hell he even wished you ‘good morning’ when he got into work everyday. In due time you could even say Steve Murphy had become somewhat of a friend, he was quite fond of you– then again everyone in the office really was. 

That is almost everyone. 

Progress in the Javier department of your life had barely made moves. He was such a dick. On your second day you remember knocking on his door and politely asking if he could sign some papers that would get you some cultural records in Bogotá. You didn’t know what response you’d been expecting, but he'd essentially told you to leave him the hell alone.  

You wondered if being such a bitter jerk was exhausting. “Now girlie, runalong..” And with that he shut his door. You didn't want to let it affect you, but it did. You crooned for his attention, but he was so cold and detached, and nothing seemed to get through to him. The smiles, the ‘good mornings’, the way you’d offered to drop his files at the Ambassador's on your way there, it did nothing. He only smiled at you condescendingly, and at one point even joked about how he wasn’t sure you were capable of making it to the other side of the building. 

“Don't worry your head about these files, wouldn’t want you wandering around, lost, tryna find Noonan’s office.” 

Not to mention how he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your “silly little paper”, how your work was “cute” or “funny”. God, you couldn’t stand it. The way he leaned over your desk, jumbled up your resources while he carelessly looked through them. With his messy, loose tie, and his sideways smile, and warm, comforting brown eyes, and that mocking teasing tone…... 

—- 

My old man is a tough man, but

He got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam

And he shows me, he knows me

Every inch of my tar-black soul

“If he can’t drink it, or fuck it, he’s not interested.” When Feistl had told you that on your first day you scoffed, but it proved to be valuable, and unbelievably, true information in no time. Unintentionally Javier had condemned himself to an eternal state of perdition, you were not giving up, and this time you were going to drive him crazy. 

He surely wasn’t prepared for the little menace you became in the following weeks. You only felt pride when you’d catch him looking at you– embarrassing how he couldn't keep his eyes off. You and your cute little dresses, skirts, those you didn’t initially plan to wear to the office. His glare almost burnt a hole in your back everyday at midday, hotter than the afternoon sun peaking through the blind covered windows as you sat on Van Ness’ desk, laughing at something Feistl said. If there was one thing worse than an HR violation, it was an HR violation with a girl nearly half his age.

You’d found a fancy for discovering his ticks, new ways you could push his buttons. When you weren’t calling him sir as you addressed him, or taunting him with your dopey eyes and girlish smiles you were making his life a lot less convenient. 

“Where the hell is Peña” at least twice a week Stechner would all but slither into the office, talking about congress people, funding and how the DEA was raining all over his parade. As much as you hated the man, he was your trusted ally in trying times, especially when you decided breaking the office’s unspoken rule was going to be your new favorite pastime. That rule was of course, never telling anyone, especially his colleagues, where the hell Javier Peña was at any given time. 

So when Bill walked up to you and leaned beside your desk you faithfully pointed to the filing room you knew Javier was quite literally hiding in. When he walked, more like stormed out with Bill you were sure he could break you in half, the way he was looking at you, but you had given up lying to yourself, you loved it. Every morning he’d come into the office and have to find other places to escape to– from Noonan and Murphy and all other accountability. But for a cop he was pretty shit at it, and you always found a way to tell where it was he'd gone to. It also helped that nearly everyone enjoyed it when Javier had to deal with the bureaucracy, it was free reality tv, and you could be sure if you didn’t know who or what he was trying to avoid, someone else in the office surely would.

You had simultaneously become a great asset to Steve Murphy, who was, more than you expected, willing and enthusiastic about getting shit done, shit that Javier’s stubbornness would only prolong, especially because he knew the mix of Peña and the CIA was anything but productive. Whether it was distracting him while he got support for their missions, or rushing to answer the phones and covering for him and making Javi deal with Noonan you were always game. Murphy was always appreciative. 

“Steve’s out right now, but Javier’s in his office if you’d like to speak with him…” Steve pretty much cackled behind his desk as you handed the phone’s receiver to Peña, and watched as he exhaled heavily through his nose, using every bit of restraint he could possibly muster not to kick the two of you out of the building. He settled for flipping Murphy off instead. 

As someone who wasn’t an embassy employee you pretty much had free reign over the place, and you knew it only made Javier more upset knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. You were thoroughly enjoying your time in Bogotá, you knew Javier was thinking about you, you knew how much you got on his nerves, you loved the way he’d glare at you, boss you around, get annoyed at your little antics. You craved his attention and you were finally getting it. 

Though every once in a while you’d feel a little pang in your chest, at the way he’d roll his eyes at you, be his regular mean self. But you shoved that feeling aside, you did not want his approval. That would be pathetic. You just wanted a little payback.

—

He doesn't mind I have a flat broke-down life

In fact, he says he thinks it's what he might like about me

Admires me, the way I roll like a rolling stone

Javier had been avoiding you like the plague for a good two days. That was after he overheard a conversation you were having with your supervisor he wasn’t really meant to be a party to. You remember twirling the cord wire between your fingers as you updated her over the phone. “Yeah, I need to get to the congress library, they have all the copies there.” You pushed the speaker button, letting go of the receiver to sift through the piles of printed paper on your desk. “Do you have access, did the embassy get you an ID? I spoke to Noonan but she’s busy babysitting her employees.” You bit back a smile. Javier and Murphy sure were a handful. 

“No, of course they didn’t. They don’t give a rat's ass” Frankly, you were exhausted from having to get or find somebody to do anything around there. Noonan was practically no help until the dean was breathing down her neck, for people who had been working in Bogotà for years very few in the embassy knew the directions to anyplace that wasn’t a bar, and everyone was far too busy kissing each other’s ass to get things done. “The DEA can go, can't they? Get one of em to take you” Before you could respond you heard the rattling of the water cooler behind you, and you caught Javier’s half shocked half annoyed expression in the reflection of the window as he scrambled for a paper napkin to wipe the water off his dress shirt.  

“Hmm, I didn’t think of that…..that's a great idea” 

That was on Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday were spent turning in the opposite direction anytime you approached him, sneaking past you on his way in and out, and begging Murphy to take that trip to the Congress library instead. On Thursday you were sure you won the lottery. 

Both Murphy and Carillo in the same room, and better yet in the office before Javier had made his grand entrance. They stood over what looked to you like a large map, arguing about something with far too much energy at eight in the morning. You saw this as your little opening. Where the hell was Peña? 

Turns out he was with the Ambassador.  

—-

Likes to watch me in the glass room, bathroom, Château Marmont

Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup

Glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes

Says it feels like heaven to him

“And you’re going too?” Ambassador Noonan sat back in her chair, twirling her pencil between her fingers, looking expectantly at the irate face in front of her. You thought you’d spare Agent Peña his white lies, answering promptly in that sweet voice of yours.  “Yes, Agent Murphy told me, and besides, if he's around I can access all the archives..” You shrugged your shoulders and shot her your most persuasive smile. “Government ID an’ all” . You almost felt bad for Peña, the way his friends were so quick to rat him out. But then again he’d stirred up enough petty fights over the years so that nearly everybody was quick to get their petty revenge. That jerk was planning to take his little trip to the library– with Carillio of all people, and he was going to leave you behind? Not anymore.

“Well, I don't see the problem, just take her to the goddamn library. Jesus Peña why is everything so difficult with you.” Javier shot you a glare you could only describe as deadly, but you could only giggle at his exasperation. He rose from his chair, leaning on her desk, like he was trying to seduce her into getting out of this situation. You wondered how Noonan showed so much restraint, if you were her you’d be giving into anything he said no questions asked. 

“Ambassador, really, all that is below my paygrade, don't ya think?” Your mouth fell agape, and you turned to him to find he was smiling, looking directly at you. Asshole  “This whole conversation is below my paygrade. You’re bothering me Peña, get to work..” and with that the two of you were practically kicked out of her office and thrown into the hall,  where in the deafening silence you heard the large wooden doors slam behind you. 

You were lucky there was no one else around, especially when he practically slammed you against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Tryna fuck my whole day over baby?” You had to physically fight yourself to not give into the death grip he had on your shoulders, to hold yourself up as he caged you against the corridor.  “I just really need these papers, and only you can get ‘em for me ” You bat your lashes at him, and he pressed his forehead against the wall beside you in complete frustration, sighing. He knew that wasn’t true, and he knew you did as well. Any intern could have gotten them for you, but who was an intern in comparison to him? 

“I won't bother you again, promise” you bit your lip and held your pinkie finger up in what Javier saw as practically an act of war. His hands moved from your shoulders to grab you by the waist as you looked up at him. Despite your smiley exterior you were all giddy on the inside, especially when he leant beside your ear and warned in his low whisper, thumbs drawing circles on your flesh. 

“You're playin’ with fire baby..” 

— 

I'm off to the races, laces

Leather on my waist is tight, and I am fallin' down

I can see your face, is shameless, Cipriani's Basement

Love you, but I'm goin' down

As much as you wanted to bother Javier during his little snoop session with Carillo, you still had a job to do, so you shoved your brattiness aside for a few hours and got to work finding the documents you needed from the archives. You were honestly expecting a medal for your self restraint, because once you were done you waited patiently till he strutted outside after his meeting, barely holding up the heavy box with all your findings. You’d been standing there for almost two hours, and the jerk hadn’t even given you a heads up so you could sit inside.

“Finally.” He rolled his eyes, and like he was running some sort of marathon didn’t bother even helping you, speed walking across the parking lot as you stumbled and struggled behind him– attempting to keep up. 

“We gotta get back, now.” 

You buckled your seatbelt as he pulled out of the driveway, and relaxed against your seat as you caught your breath. “Where’re we going?” He turned to you and smiled, but it was in that signature condescending way that he always did. Meanie You thought to yourself. “We are not going anywhere. You are going back to the office, and I am going to take care of something you don't need to worry about.” You didn't know whether there was any use still being offended by his patronizing attitude, he could’ve just said you were going back to the office, but that was too normal, too dignified of a response for the great, cartel busting Javier Peña 

“I could come.” He laughed at your pout, as he turned to look at you, rounding the corner. “Baby, don’t ya’ think that's a little ambitious comin’ from someone who got winded carrying a box across a parking lot.” You scoffed, yes, it would've been nice to have some help. “Don’t worry, I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you're going to do, anyway” Wanting to turn away from him you looked out the window, but that only lasted so long. 

“If this lead comes through, everyone in Bogotà’s gonna want everything to do with it.” You watched as the setting sun drenched your surroundings in a golden glow, and you couldn’t look away from the way Javier’s brown eyes too turned into pools of gold as the sun caught them. His voice a low hum just a little louder than the radio he habitually played as he drove around. It took a special type of maniac to go on missions off the clock. 

“Who’s it for, the lead?” He hummed, and smiled to himself as he spoke, that look on his face you couldn’t quite place– like he was just waiting for his opponent to slip up.  “One of the big guys. You should meet him when we bring him in– you’d get along–  he's a pain in my ass” 

You turned your gaze from the opening embassy gates to meet his eyes, your own narrowed into slits as you stared him down– he was smiling, and you hated it. “Mean.” He shook his head at your irritation, and wordlessly pulled up into the driveway. “Now, you're gonna take those files, and you're gonna sit your bratty ass down, and you're gonna work on that silly paper of yours” You were halfway out the door, lifting the giant cardboard box off the floor of the car with embarrassing difficulty.

Great, there was another thing he could berate you for. 

“That's a lot of instructions..” Your voice was muffled behind your paperwork, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it when he tried to boss you around. 

“Well here's another– don't touch anything while I'm gone.” He laughed to himself as he caught your rolling eyes peering at him over the top of the box, that being the only part of you that was really visible to him. Waiting for you to make it to the entrance he watched as one of his colleagues, one of the many heading out for the day, took it from you, and helped you inside. 

The low hum of the radio replaced the sound of your voice, an old spanish tune coming over the static as he drove out and away from the embassy. 

—

God, I'm so crazy, baby

I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving

I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island

Raisin' hell all over town

Sorry 'bout it

“Didn't I specifically tell you not to touch anything” You lifted your head in the direction of that familiar voice, irritated as usual, but also a little more gruff, a little more tired. For a moment you regretted annexing his office while he was away. You watched as he sauntered in and towards his desk, opposite the little workstation you’d set up on a spare table where he’d dumped his tie and blazer for when the Ambassador popped around. He propped his hands on his desk, leaning against it to meet your gaze. 

God did he look good, the day had taken its toll on him, but it was only doing him favors. That soft brown hair had been ruffled out of place, and that crisp button up sat wrinkled on his back, loosely and messily tucked into his navy dress pants, sleeves haphazardly rolled up his forearms. While he looked like he worked a regular nine to five, from the little you knew about his job, an intentionally minimal amount, you were sure the unkemptness was the result of some high stakes chase, raid or whatever it was he’d set his head to doing that day.  

“‘M not touching, I just needed the AC” He rolled his eyes, but his neatly hung blazer and rolled up tie caught his attention from across the room. “See.. Untouched” You shot him that smile that you knew drove him up the wall, and he shook his head, now concerned more with sorting the paperwork splayed out in front of him. “Must be real hard, highlightin’ all that paper” He pointed to your reference material. As bad as the day was, it wasn't bad enough to persuade him to stop being a jerk.  

The place was a mess, and he couldn’t leave it this way till the morning, that would be a hit to his professionalism far worse than any of the shady shit he’d done over the years. He didn’t have time for your childish antics. At least for the moment. It’d been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to get it over with. Boy did he look like he needed to let off some steam, and while at first glance your actions were doing anything but helping him relax, couldn’t he see you were just begging for him to use you for exactly that? 

Maybe it was because he was tired of your shit, or because he was far too preoccupied with his work at the time, or because the office was dark and quiet and cold, but the next few minutes passed in uncharacteristic silence. You gazed up once in a while to see Javier’s scrunched brows sort through an abundance of filing. He’d sigh heavily every once in a while, and you could only wonder what or who, besides you, got on his nerves that much. You were almost eager to eliminate the competition. The world drowned out in the white noise of shuffling documents and clicking pens and you were once again lost in your paper. 

Every part of you really wished he wasn’t such an asshole. What had you ever done to him anyway, for him to be so cold and mean? You couldn’t pretend you had nothing to do with it, you'd egged him on beyond measure, but you’d only ever wanted him to like you. Okay maybe you thoroughly enjoyed his irritation, but you only really ever wanted his attention. Pathetic.. You thought to yourself. You pretended he wasn’t bothered by you taking over his office for a moment.

“Done yet?” You hadn’t even realized how or when Javier had crossed the room and made his way in front of you. His fingers danced on the edge of your laptop screen. You didn’t feel like answering just yet, so you typed away at your keyboard for a while longer. The silence wasn’t appreciated, and you could feel the exhaustion radiate off him like heat. You caught him fiddling with the pens on your desk, and skimming over some of your printed material from the corner of your eye, and you bit your lip to stifle your laughter when he chucked it back on your desk in what you assumed was complete disinterest. He was going to try harder to get your attention. 

You weren't prepared however when he practically slammed your laptop shut, forcing you to stop ignoring him. Talk about disrupting the workplace. Groaning, you rested your chin in your palms and peered up at him through dopey eyes. A man who had been driven to the edge, that's the gaze you met. It was not going to affect you, that muted rage, that wrought iron glare. You promised yourself. But your desires were already betraying you.. you rubbed your thighs together to alleviate the ache. 

“There a problem?” With a tone that set his last teeth on edge you kept up the facade, against your better judgment. It was just too much fun not to. When you looked up at him through your lashes you could almost see the slight tick in his jaw, and your mind wandered to what other ways you’d like this type of view. “Yes, in fact there is. It's 1am” He leaned forward, dangerously close, to the point you could feel the warmth of his breath fan against your lips, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You caught the faint smell of cigarettes off his disheveled clothes, the scent of whiskey on his lips. You felt your breath hitch, but you hoped he didn't notice. How naive, that was. 

“And” Your eyes darted to his mouth momentarily as you spoke, voice wavering. He raised his brows, almost to tell you not to push him any further than you already did. It was too late, however. Whatever this was had spiraled far out of your control, and he could see the way you squirmed under that commanding gaze of his. Your brain was screaming at the attention, and you had to inwardly yell at yourself to stop being so needy. 

“And?” Your brows furrowed, your lips forming that signature pout when you heard him mock your tone, your voice.  “I've had a long day, baby, and I wanna go home” You huffed girlishly at his ridicule, the way he liked to humiliate you by throwing your attitude back in your face with his snide imitations, his raised brow and faux sympathy. He talked like one does to a misbehaving child. In that patronizing, explanatory melody. You watched him chuckle with slitted eyes, though you were slowly turning to a puddle underneath it all.

“Go home then Mr. Peña. I'm not stopping you am I?” You watched his eyes darken, and you weren't even sure that was possible, but you didn’t have much time to think because before you knew it he was pinching your cheeks between his fingers, his other hand still holding him up on the table. You could only whine under his rough touch as its effects licked between your thighs. He laughed when you mewed at the sting. 

“Oh but you are. You're just beggin’ me to stay, aren't ya’ baby?” Your soft and pathetically unconvincing ‘no’ was muffled as he squeezed your cheeks in his large hands, yanking you in his direction as you fruitlessly attempted to free yourself from his grip. Unable to help yourself you were almost crooning into his touch, your body basically begging him to rough you up. “Such a fuckin’ brat. Runnin’ your mouth all day, showin’ up in those clothes, fuckin up my schedule, acting like a whore” His soft whisper made you shiver, your skin now on fire. He spoke slowly, and every syllable made you want to drop at his feet with a vigor you could only be embarrassed of. He made you feel small, made you feel helpless under his touch. 

You wanted to push back, wanted to defy his accusations.“‘m not a whore” He smiled at your whining, and if you were delusional, and you were, even hopeful,  you’d say he did so endearingly. But Javier Peña didn’t care about endearments, and after the way you’d acted you’d be crazy to think he thought there was anything endearing about you. “Right baby. You're not. Gotta pay girls to act this way ‘round me. But look at you. Didn’t spare you a fuckin dime.” 

He had let go of your face, and had in a moment, quickly and uncaringly dumped you on the table in front of him. You let out a soft “ow” when you felt your knees bump the wood before your legs were dangling off its edge. You were far closer to him now, and if you had felt small before you thought you were only shrinking in comparison to his domineering frame– physical, mental, everything. Your brain was mush, your body was mush, and you could only lean into his touch– benevolent or not. 

In an uncharacteristically gentle gesture he patted your cheeks with the palm of his hand, lightly, as if to soothe the sore flesh, but it only made the way he pulled them mockingly far more jarring. “Know what that makes you babygirl?” He paused for a moment, knowing you couldn't answer, looking down at the way your eyes were now welling with tears at the pain, and reveling in the sight. 

“Makes you a little slut” 

You wanted to respond, wanted to defend yourself, but you could only settle for grabbing his dress shirt in the balls of your first. The fabric of your panties had pretty much soaked through, and you felt it cling to you uncomfortably as you shifted on the table to pull him closer. Practically begging for his touch. 

He let go of your face, but he didn’t plan on being any more gentle. He knew there was nothing you could do, nothing you could say at that moment, and he took full advantage of your silence– telling you everything he’d wanted to scream in your face for the past month. It was even better now however, because as a fun bonus, for his superhuman self control, you were even pleading for him to do so. He could see it in your eyes, feel it on your hot skin, the way you subtly rolled your hips against the table to ease the pang between your thighs. He reduced you to a dumb, empty headed bimbo, with his words alone. He couldn't help but rub it in a little. “Aw baby, no words for me? Where’s that snappy mouth now?” That faux sympathy was back again

His hands rubbed up and down your sides, moving to toy with the buttons of your top as he spoke. Fiddling with them he popped the first few open, enough to expose the swell of your breasts to the cool of the air conditioned office. With lust blown eyes he trailed his thumbs along your collar bones and then down to your admittedly skimpy lingerie– you gasped when he yanked it down, practically tearing if in a swift motion. He admired you for a moment, held you in place when you squirmed against him, wrapped your legs around his waist. 

You shifted on the desk, leaning your face against his torso, looking up at him,  pleading with your eyes. “Like you better like this, clothes half off like a desperate slut that couldn’t even wait to get undressed.” He paused, still admiring, tracing your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Oh, and fucking quiet”  he flipped you on your stomach, your legs dangling of the table when you writhed under his punishing grip– pushing your face down against the wood, bending you over it. “Whaddya think baby?” 

As if he had enough of just looking you felt him flip your skirt up with his vacant hand, and yelped when his palm came down harshly on the flesh of your ass, the sting only egging on your tears of desperation. “You know what I think baby? Think I needa fuck some manners into you.” He smoothed his hands up and down your warm thighs, fingers finding the soaked fabric of your panties as you moaned and sighed above him. He knew what he did to you and he loved it. “Can pretend there's anything in that head of yours besides the thought of goin’ dumb for me”

You lifted your head to look up and behind you, you’d give anything to witness the sight you’d touched yourself to for the past month, but Javier was quick to slam you head back back to where it came from, and send your eyes rolling back into your head as he shoved your soaked panties aside and roughly pushed two fingers into your sopping cunt. "Fuck, look at this tight little pussy, can barley take my fingers." He groaned in your ear, leaning up against you as his digits fucked you at an agonisingly slow pace, just barely soothing the burn of desire building in your core. “Bad girls don’t get a view.” Light headed, you could only squeal, could only hide your face from him as he leaned over to catch a glimpse of your knitted brows and that pout. 

"Y'know how messy y'are baby? Feel how this pussys cryin' for me, drippin' all over my hand?"

You kicked your legs in protest, salty tears streaming down your face and pooling at its side on the wood beneath you. He wasn’t happy when he found you pushing back against his fingers, grinding helplessly on them. For a moment you thought your wish was granted, but he was only yanking you off the desk so you could have your back flush against him, and he could get his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Still languidly pumping his fingers in and out of your soaking pussy he turned your face to meet his, and sneered as his palm collided with the side of your cheek. 

Smack 

“Watch it” You wanted to be a brat, wanted to defy him, but it was all too much to handle at once. You felt fuzzy all over, and who were you kidding you were always going dumb for him. Besides, how could you even keep your mind steady, not when you felt his hard length against you. You gazed right up at him, pushed back against him, eyes rolling back into your head as you did. He only laughed. “Oh baby, think it's gonna be that easy? Think ‘m gonna let you cum jus’ like that? After you've run me up the wall?” He squeezed your breast in his palm, bending you back over the table, now more gently, extending the olive branch, giving you a chance to repent. “‘M not a needy slut like you baby, those little tricks ain't’ gonna work” Javier was an asshole, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting to ruin you. But first he wanted to have a little fun. 

“Please, please, promise I'll be good.” He hummed, pretending like he was debating whether he was going to give into your pleas yet. He wasn't. He wanted to soak in the sight– you splayed out on his desk, begging him to fuck you sensless, his hands roaming your body torturously teasing you as your pussy clenched around nothing, dripping for him. 

“So now ya wanna be good? Well baby I'm not buyin it yet. Gonna take a lot more convincing than that.” His fingers found your clothed cunt once again, drawing soft circles on your clit. You wailed, knuckles going white when you gripped the table edge in front of you. "Feels good doesnt' it babygirl, I know, feels so good when you finally fucking listen." You pushed back against his fingers, practically humping his hand. The tears were back, and he loved them. “Aw, poor baby, too much?” He wasn’t asking, and you knew he didn’t care what you had to say anyway. He wanted one response, and you were far too wound up not to give it to him. 

“Please please please. Won't be a brat, wanna be your good girl.” He kept you waiting and distraught, fingers still rubbing you through your panties as he spoke, knowing very well you could barely concentrate when he touched you, the squelching of your wetness only drove you towards the edge. “Now babygirl, you're gonna listen, and you're gonna listen good, and do exactly what I say. Ya hear?” You nodded your head vigorously, but a smack to your ass reminded you to use your words. “Yes. promise” He laughed. “Such an easy little slut.” You heard the jingle of his belt behind you. 

You shivered when you felt his cock drag against your drenched cunt, tip bumping your clit with every pass as he wet himself with your slick. Your hips moved frantically, unable to get enough of the friction, but he held you back just enough, to where you would remain unsatisfied and frustrated.“Say" I'm sorry daddy. I'm sorry for being a tease.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and the command alone was enough to send you over the edge. 

“‘m sorry for being a tease daddy ” 

“Say “I'm Sorry for being an easy whore”” 

“M’ sorry for being an easy whore” You’d never been more shy in your life, forget around Javier, who could never guess you had it in you. “That’s my good little slut.” But the way he was speaking to you, teasing, mocking, telling you what to do, what to say– you were hot all over with humiliation. You hid your face, pretty much smashing your forehead against the table, making sure no matter how far he lent he couldn't see the way you were coming undone under him. 

He could probably sense it, though, especially by the way you reacted to his little praise. “That's it babygirl. Comin around now are we?” You didn't want him to have that on you, but you were lucky, in a way, because he didn’t care much to tease you anymore. He grabbed your hips harshly and with a rough thrust of his hips he was fucking you into the mahogany desk, your ribs bruising as he held you down against it. He wasn’t wasting any time, wasn’t stopping or going slow to let you adjust, he was reminding you of how tightly you’d wound him up.“So fuckin tight” his voice was a strained whisper behind you, and you made a noise you could barely recognise as your own at his words. “Hurts” you were whining again,this time at the sting,  and you knew he didn’t care but you couldn’t help yourself. “Yeah baby hurts when daddy stuffs you full of his cock? My poor thing.. But you like it don't you babygirl? Like it when I stretch you open” he wasn’t wrong. The feeling of him splitting you open had turned you into a puddle, a moaning mess. “”S too big” his hands smoothed up and down your back erratically.  “I know baby, I know, but you’re gonna take it aren’t you? Gonna take it how I give it to you dirty little girl?” You were, you took it how he gave it to you. “Gonna ruin this pretty lil pussy” He squeezed the flesh of your hips till you squeaked, the pain only adding to the pleasure as his hips smacked against yours. 

You felt your legs shake as his cock pounded your aching pussy. “Jus’ needed daddy to fuck all that brattiness outta ya huh?” You nodded your head and he cooed at the way you melted into his touch. “Oh baby, that’s it, just like that.” Gazing up with hooded eyes you caught his reflection in the glass of his office window, half illuminated by the dim lighting– his own face scrunched up with pleasure. The sight only had you fucking back against him. You felt like jello, your heart pitter pattering at his little praise. 

“My good little slut” 

Wrapping his arm around you he grabbed your face roughly again, dragging you up and against his chest again. 

“My slut, hear me?” 

Yours, yours, yours 

Your brain was a fog, and the only thing you could focus on was the way his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you, making you clench around him as that burn built in your core– a string of incoherent “daddy’s” being the only thing you could manage to get out your mouth.  “My dumb fuckin baby, my whore, squeezin’ my cock”. You repeated like a broken record; “daddy’s, daddy’s daddy’s”, the feeling of your slick running down your thighs making you go dizzy. 

“Look at you, daddy’s little cumdump” your cheeks were burning, your eyes barley staying open. He pulled your face up from the desk. “Can barely look straight huh baby? Gettin all cock drunk on me.” You made out his dark eyes in the reflection. But you couldn’t bear to meet them. It didn’t matter. He was always looking at you.

“Only for you daddy”

Your release was building, like an inextinguishable fire, your pussy throbbing with need, just begging for it, and he knew it too, the way your walls quivered around him, the way you were moaning and panting, whispering soft calls of “daddy” when he held you against him. “Gonna cum babygirl? Gonna cum on my cock, bent over my desk? When ’m usin’ ya like a fuckin toy?” 

Your body went lax in his arms as you came, your lips parting in a wordless cry, eyes fluttering shut. “That's it… cum for me”. You cherished that almost gentle encouragement as you came undone, tummy swarming with butterflies as you shook in his arms. He was still fucking into your sensitive pussy, pushing you further into the desk as he neared his release. You heard a strained curse behind you, before he was fucking you full of his cum in deep, hard thrusts, your legs dangled off the table as you milked his cock. Shivering at the feeling you closed your eyes, his spend leaked out of your sore pussy when he pulled out, dripping down your inner thighs obscenely. You heard his belt jingle again as he caught his breath behind you, and you felt silly for the way you missed his warmth when it was replaced by the chilled office air. He quickly shifted your panties back in place, making sure you stayed stuffed full of his cum. You winced when he smacked your pussy lightly. Raising your head you caught his reflection again, but you hid your face back against the desk almost immediately when you saw the way he admired his work in the reflection, like he could see the way he’d fucked the brattiness out of you. 

With closed eyes you hummed as he turned you over and sat you on the desk. Now that you’d finally got Javier’s attention you were satisfied– all sleepy and fucked out. You wished he’d hold you, but you had to remind yourself fucking you hadn’t taken the asshole out of him. He was still Javier. Hardass DEA attaché Javier. You sat there for a while, and when you opened your eyes you saw him picking up his blazer and briefcase. 

“If you're not up in 10 seconds I'm leavin’ ya here.” He was back to usual in a moment, and in your fuzzy little head you heard a well meaningness in that tone. “In those messy panties.” You pouted at his words, once again, and he watched as you hopped off the table, rubbing your eyes as you gathered your things, albeit clumsily–your knees wobbly to the point where you could see Javier’s smirk behind you as you shoved your laptop into your bag. 

Turning off the table lamp he motioned with his head for you to get moving along, and you rolled your eyes at him as you walked out the door, stumbling slightly as you did. He gave you what you now recognised as that look, brows raised, and you didn’t have the energy at the moment to be combative. 

Maybe you didn’t want to be. 

“Come on now, runalong”

—

My old man is a thief, and

I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end

But I trust in the decision of the Lord, to watch over us

Take him when He may, if He may

I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him

Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you!

They would rue the day I was alone, without you

You're lyin' with your gold chain on

Cigar hangin' from your lips, I said, "Hon'"

"You never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man"

And we're off to the races, places

Ready, set, the gate is down and now we're goin' in

To Las Vegas, chaos, Casino Oasis

Honey, it is time to spin

Boy, you're so crazy, baby

I love you forever, not maybe

You are my one true love

You are my one true love

You are my one true love

Let me know what you think please!! I’d love to hear your nasty thots. I really hope you lovelies liked it. Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work. You keep me writing! Dividers and banners by @ saradika 💗💗🐝🐝

[dsmp-lainey]

guys how do we feel about my personal dsmp ending rewrites:

-c!wilbur doesn’t just get to fuck back off to where he came from after doing all that damage (also it never made sense to me because how tf is he the child of death and an angel and living in UTAH?) instead he actually goes and finally kills dream (and probably dies in the process) so tommy can finally start to heal

-c!techno after rescuing micheal starts trying to convince phil to let him talk to kristin to make a deal. philza initially outright refuses but is worn down over time as techno pleads. through possession of phils body kristin is able to meet with techno, and at this time techno proposes a deal. techno will trade his life for ranboo to come back. Kristin agrees to this with some reluctance (knowing that philza will be heartbroken) and brings Ranboo back to life while taking Technos soul. Ranboo comes back and him, tubbo and micheal live happily ever after. Luckily kristin is able to pull some strings and combined with the magic already tied to technos soul, she is able to elevate him into becoming one of the non corporal gods of the world (like her, XD and drista are)

-like i said c!Beeduo gets their happily ever after, they move back into the snowchester mansion with micheal, tubbo apologizes to aimsey and asks her to move in with their little family, tommy lives with them at times but will never fully abandon his little embassy that survived everything. they all begin to heal.

-with the dissolution of the syndicate niki decides to move back to nearby lmanburg, they never try to repair the crater as it serves as a needed reminder of what has occurred. niki is firmly in favor of anarchy at this point but decides that she must also work to build community outside of country’s and sides. her and puffy get back together and build a nice cottage, niki builds a new bakery. many other members of the smp, most notably eret, join and live in the peaceful community

-fundys story ends the same, he finally leaves and finds a place free of his fathers mistakes and influence. he feels like he truly belongs for the first time in his life.

-for quackitys ending, i don’t hate the canon ending as i think it would make sense for the toxic lessons he taught slime to ultimately be his undoing (also bc that speech is amazing) but i think him and schlatt should get to be happy/at least at peace in the afterlife

-c!phil continues to live in technos house for several generations, watching the people he knew grow old and stories be lost to time. eventually he will move on to a new journey but ofc techno and kristin will be watching over him. this is the life of an eternal angel

anywayssss there’s some of my ideas feel free to ask if you have questions or want to add on :)

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

angst angst angst. sudden surprise attack on the hotel and follow up in heaven

Charlie: “-Husk! I can’t find- her- where-”

Husk: “I’ve no FUCKING clue!”

Charlie: “She was right here! She was right next to me-! Cherri- ANGEL!”

Husk: “Fuck!”

Charlie: “-are you okay? Vaggie, is she with-”

Husk: “YOU FUCKING MORON I thought that Lute bitch had KILLED YOU!”

Angel Dust: “She was gonna. V girl got in the way.”

Charlie: “Vaggie stopped her? She’s- with you?”

Angel Dust: “She stopped the sword, not her. I didn’t see, I don’t know where she is. It hit her.”

Charlie: “Where-”

Angel Dust: “I don’t know where it hit! There was fucking angel blood all over!”

Charlie: “-where was- where is she?”

Angel Dust: “I DON’T KNOW! FUCK YOU I DON’T KNOW!”

Charlie: “You were there you HAVE to know!”

Husk: “Did she go down?”

Charlie: “NO! No she wouldn’t have-”

Husk: “Baby just say what you saw.”

Charlie: “She’s better than Lute- she’s a better fighter, she already beat her, she’s can’t-” 

Angel Dust: “-she was pissed and bleeding and they both had wings out! The exorcist bitches were swarming everywhere- That’s all I saw! The fuck do you WANT from me?? Other shit was happening too!”

Cherri Bomb: “Chill, we’ll find her. There’s a massive angel spatter just a bit further back, like ten feet from where I found you, maybe-”

Charlie: “Vaggie! VAGGIE PLEASE- please where are you!?”

Husk: “Fuck- You, don’t move. Just stay here-”

Angel Dust: “Not a FUCKING chance.”

Cherri Bomb: “I’ll crutch him over, go help Charlie-”

Charlie: “Why isn’t she here?”

Husk: “Oh… shit that’s so much blood…”

Angel Dust: “The Lute bitch deserves to’ve lost every bit it.”

Charlie: “She’s not here!”

Cherri Bomb: “That’s good. No body is good. They would’ve left it for us to find if they'd- it’s fine if she’s missing. She probably just, wandered off somewhere.”

Husk: “If half of this shit is her blood then she didn’t go fucking far.”

Charlie: “She wouldn’t just leave. S-she’d check on me, on us, she’d make sure I was okay first!”

Angel Dust: “Maybe ain't dead. Maybe she got took.”

Charlie: “…what..?”

Husk: “Took?”

Angel Dust: “Taken back. Like, UP.”

Cherri Bomb: “Angie, heaven kills people, they don’t grab ‘em like toys in a claw game-”

Angel Dust: “Well what ELSE were they here for, huh!?”   

Cherri Bomb: “But they-... they were…”

Angel Dust: “Not tearing into the hotel, not purging the city. Not killing ME, afterwards, once she took the bait and she took the fucking hit for me. I was a sittin' duck with no weapons and they let me run.”

Husk: “Why? They don’t fucking want her, they fucking put her down here, why-”

Cherri Bomb: “-look at Charlie.”

Husk: “The fuck does that mean-”

Cherri Bomb: “Look at the fucking PRINCESS OF HELL you stupid assfuck!”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “… they left her ribbon.”

Charlie: “…her spear…”

Charlie: “…and.”

Husk: “Oh fuck no.”

Angel Dust: “Is that- an EYE!?”

Charlie: “Her eye.”

Cherri Bomb: “-shit. SHIT.”

Angel Dust: “But she already only had the one! If they used, if it’s- for real- does that, is she-?”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “If they took her then she’s alive. She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay…”

Charlie: “…Husk. Find Alastor and Niffty. Carmilla, Rosie, the Vees- all the Overlords. Bring them here-"

Charlie: "-no. To the clocktower. Heaven’s embassy. Have them meet me there.”

Husk: “How the fuck? You don’t just order Overlords around-”

Charlie: “Tell them if they don’t come I’ll ram my burning pitchfork through their chests and twist their ribs open until enough of their guts spill out for me to grab and drag them there with.”

Husk: “They’ll call your bluff-”

Cherri Bomb: “She’s not bluffing.”

Husk: “Of COURSE she’s fucking bluffing-”

Cherri Bomb: “Warn the Overlords about how heaven took her girl but left her girl's eye and see what THEY think.”

Husk: “… clocktower. When?”

Charlie: “One hour or however long fighting my dad for the throne of hell takes.”

Husk: “Done.”

Angel Dust: “Whoa whoa, what’s with the sudden coup of the kingdom energy!? Fight ya dad? Couldn’t ya just ask his help-”

Charlie: “He’s been bound- he CAN’T attack heaven even if he wanted to. Neither can anyone else here while he’s king.”

Cherri Bomb: “That’s shit.”

Angel Dust: “Well then just ask to be hell king!”

Charlie: “And risk asking for the binding too?”

Angel Dust: “YOU didn’t make the deal-”

Charlie: “If he gives it up willingly and I accept, isn’t that a deal? That’s me, agreeing to what he had- But not if I make it mine. If I use force and rip it from him…”

Angel Dust: “By fighting? For REAL? He’s your fucking family!”

Charlie: “AND SHE ISN’T?”

Angel Dust: “So what- Ya gonna just surprise jump your dad and beat his ass!?”

Charlie: “Yes.”

Cherri Bomb: “No way it’s that easy. You’ll need help-”

Charlie: “I’ve got Vaggie’s spear. That’s enough.”

Angel Dust: “The hell it is!”

Charlie: “He wasn’t born of hell and I am. Even ignoring the Sins, it’s always wanted me more than him anyway.”

Cherri Bomb: “Wh- it’s wanted you? IT?”

Angel Dust: “For fucks sake sure fine hell’s alive who gives a shit-"

Angel Dust: "Think about what VAGGIE would fucking want! Cause it sure wouldn’t be fucking THIS!”

Charlie: “I can’t ask her what she wants until I have her back.”

Angel Dust: “Bitch if you get hurt or killed she’ll never fucking forgive herself!”

Charlie: “I don’t care.”

Angel Dust: “But- but heaven’s not gonna fight fair- ya try this an’ they’ll use her as hostage-”

Cherri Bomb: “It’s a point. What if they put a sword to her throat?”

Charlie: “I’ll rip theirs out first.”

Angel Dust: “… ya… ya won’t…”

Charlie: “Watch the hotel. Don’t move any furniture. She’ll need everything exactly where she remembers it, when she gets home.”

Cherri Bomb: “Got it.

Angel Dust: “Charlie… What’re you doin’?”

Charlie: “Raising hell.”

-HEAVEN- - the beach-

Lute: “Your plan has gone to shit.”

Lilith: (reading) “Has it.”

Lute: “You said this would muzzle her, we’d have her under control.”

Lilith: (flips page) “And isn’t she?”

Lute: “NO. Your whore bitch daughter is-"

Lute: "-hhHHHRK!”

Lilith: “Her.”

Lilith: “Name.”

Lute: “…cchHhARLiE…mORnINgsssTAR..”

Lilith: (releases lute)

Lilith: “Go on.”

Lute: “….she’s burning her way up here.”

Lilith: “Like mother, I suppose.”

Lute: “She has an army.”

Lilith: “Of course she does. We singers love an audience.”

Lute: “She’s shrieking blasphemy and waging war on Heaven!”

Lilith: (back to reading) “Isn’t that what you wanted.”

Lute: “What I wanted?”

Lilith: “Blood and death and pain and suffering....”

Lute: “Down in HELL, damn you! Where it BELONGS!”

Lilith: “And yet you brought my daughter’s partner up here half dead and fully blind.”

Lute: “As she deserves.”

Lilith: “Your brought hell past the pearly gates first, Lute. You invited it here. Heaven has bloodstains now because of you.”

Lute: “It was YOUR plan- YOU said to go get her! How else did you think we were bringing her!?”

Lilith: “Exactly like this.”

Lute: “…..”

Lute: “You… vile, two-faced snake… you wanted this. The defiance of Hell, war at Heaven’s door-”

Lilith: “I couldn’t care less.”

Lute: “LIES!”

Lilith: “We made a deal, little exorcist. Control. My daughter is acting exactly according to your own doing, the hell she is unleashing is your work as much as hers, yours to fight and triumph over while decimating hell to your heart’s content.”

Lute: "I-"

Lilith: “You can be a hero. You can show everyone you were right all along. A chance to empty hell. Adam’s dream come true.... And how proud he would be, if he were still here to see it.”

Lute: “…”

Lilith: "Unless… the soldiers of Heaven might not be up to that…?”

Lute: “...Your demon spawn won’t fall like her traitor father did. She will be- stop squirming, filth-! She’ll be thrown.”

Lilith: “A child often outshines their parents.”

Lute: “Or is burnt to ash. As their parents should have been.”

Lilith: “Too late for that.”

Lute: “We’ll see.”

Lilith: (flips page)

Lilith: “…Lute.”

Lute: “What, Lilith.”

Lilith: “Are you so afraid of losing that you need to drag a broken woman around as a shield?”

Lute: “A shield? No. An example.”

Lilith: “She already is that. As much as she can be, with so little left of her.”

Lute: “Pathetic, isn’t she? And an example for hell this time.”

Lilith: “They’ve seen worse than this each morning.”

Lute: “Oh but I’m far better than they are. I’m no mere sinner- I think I’ll show your daughter a little act of heavenly mercy.”

Lilith: “Is that what you call it when you kill.”

Lute: “This time death really is a mercy, don’t you think? I SAID STOP SQUIRMING!”

Lilith: “Your example doesn’t seem to agree.”

Lute: “Her mistake.”

Lilith: “Yours as well. Your own happily little mistake. Failing to kill her worked out well for you in the end, didn’t it?"

Lute: "I made it work."

Lilith: "You should thank her.”

Lute: “Thank the filth for what?”

Lilith: “For sparing your life. Proving the stronger fighter. Living long enough for this to happen. Loving and being loved enough to inspire a war between heaven and hell."

Lilith: (flips page) "Take your pick.”

Lute: “….I’ll see you after I’m done wiping out your people, Lilith, treacherous Queen of hell- and I’ll tell your daughter who’s idea this all was while I’m at it.”

Lilith: “Give her my love as well.”

Lute: “I’ll carve it on this filth’s chest for her to read while she wails over the corpse!”

Lilith: “If you like. Goodbye, little exorcist.”

Lute: “Bye bitch.”

Lilith: “…”

Lilith: “… and may they finally be as merciful to you, as you have been with them.”

Lilith: (smiles)

Lilith: (goes back to adding a new chapter to The Story of Hell)

[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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[syoddeye]

useless, part two

Part Two of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Unfortunately I got carried away with this part, so I haven't used my third prompt yet. But that just means a Part Three is coming.

You could argue this fits 95. Attending an event together...

Read Part One. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Enjoy!

The ice bites through the steel shaker, your fingers sting, and the noise is a tick too loud, but both are decent distractions while you figure out what to say. In the corner of your eye, John watches with an amused look, tempting your elbow to somehow find his chin. When you finally stop, popping the cap to strain the vodka and vermouth, of course, he's already prepared with a snarky comment.

"Did it owe you money?"

"Yeah," you say, pulling an olive from a jar and dunking it into the glass. "Be glad you don't." 

John leans on the counter beside you. "I'd hate to cross you."

"That's new," you retort, savoring both his mildly confused look and the drink. "They feed you growth hormones in the army?"

He laughs. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

You suppress a smile behind your glass and cross an arm over your front. "Are you back for long?"

His laughter peters out, and he shakes his head. "Nah, I leave tomorrow night."

"Mm," The noncommittal masks your wilting. You study John's face in the half-second pause. Since stepping foot in the house, no, since hearing about this soiree yesterday, he's plagued your thoughts. All those hours spent in each other's company for the better part of a year. That dumb fight resurfaces. You're not going to amount to anything! Classic John to prove you wrong. The jerk. 

"My mom told me you're doing well for yourself. You graduated something early? That you got into the SAS or whatever?"

"'Whatever'?" John scoffs, turning to face you better, enunciating each word as if you can't recite As You Like It by memory. "Yes. I'm doing well. You're looking at Lieutenant John Price, I'll have you know."

You arch an eyebrow. You know, in your gut, it is impressive. How or why is a mystery; it just is. Zero chance you'll let him know that. "And that's a big deal?"

"To some people."

"Well, I'm not 'some people'." You say with a tilt of your head.

"No, you're not," He answers a mite quieter before taking another swig and straightening. "Rumor mill says I'm looking at another promotion, maybe next year."

"What'll your title, er, rank be then?"

He smirks. "Captain."

You nod as if this again means something to you, a foreign civilian, and make a show of it. "Right," Your eyes hold each other in place in his parent's kitchen. A balloon of silence begs to be popped, for a decade's worth of fleeting memories and games of telephone through your mothers, to burst and ease the tension. And it's so typical, so John, that he hasn't even asked about y–

"And how're you faring?"

Stunning. Fucking karmic.

You can't stop yourself. "Oh, look at you, John Price. Did the army also finally teach you how to hold conversations?"

His eyes narrow a fraction, and that quizzical pinching of his brow returns. His lips part to speak, but a commotion at the entrance to the kitchen draws your attention. A pair of older men meander in, pink-faced and glassy-eyed, slurring the words to Auld Lang Syne two and a half hours too early. You take it for what it surely is, an out, and slip away. 

John's parents are eager enough to receive you in the crowded living room and return to their fawning. You'd rather wade through another stint of stilted conversation with their questions about your credits stateside or reminisce about embassy days than suffer John pretending to give a shit regarding your useless career.

You dance around speaking to him again, politely finding ways to dip in and out of conversations he thrusts himself into. The practice leverages all parts of your acting career and what you remember of the education your mother gave you. Smile, nod, ask leading questions, and watch for the interloper. It pays off, as John seems to eventually get the hint and fades into the background of the party.

When the clock strikes half past eleven and some ex-policy advisor nearly spills his ale on you, you decide it's time to sneak out. You've overstayed your allotted time. John's nowhere in sight, most guests are deep within their cups, and the giddiness of the impending countdown is palpable. It's easy enough to step into the front hall unseen without an ounce of guilt in your veins. You came, you saw, you drank expensive vodka, and made nice with your mother's friends.

Buttoning your coat, you step out into the night's chill and start down the steps. You're two paces from the garden gate when a man's voice pushes into your ear.

"Goin' somewhere?"

The two courses of stage combat you've completed guide your hand in a flat chop to the offending jugular. The owner of said jugular, however, catches the blow with an arm, then laughs, a rich and deep sound, to drive the humiliation home.

"John, Jesus Christ, you complete asshole!" You hiss, turning to shove the man standing in the shadows behind you. 

"There she is," He cracks, still chuckling. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah right, you absolute-"

"Arse?" His hands rise in defense when you glare, the glow of a cigar catching your eye before he lowers it to his mouth for a puff. It's a moment before his mouth opens, the tobacco scent permeating the short distance between you. "Just out for a smoke."

Wrinkling your nose, you sigh. "That is awful for your health."

"So's my line of work," He counters.

"Fair point."

"Glad you think so."

You stare at him again. Admittedly, it's hard not to. Even in the dark, the glint of his steady gaze tethers. Maybe it's the military thing—like he's learned to restrain people without touching them. It must be because it couldn't be anything else. A shiver compels you to speak. "I have to get going."

"So close to the bell?"

"I need to prepare for an audition," You lie. There is no audition. The only thing waiting for you at home is an inherited prompt book for Kiss Me Kate to work on.

"I'll walk you to the station."

"You don't need to do that."

John corrals you toward the gate, his accompaniment apparently a foregone conclusion, and holds it open as you pass. "C'mon. It's been ten years. You used to escort me all the time."

You huff. "That was security, not me."

"You were always in the car, weren't you?"

John sticks to your side despite your protests, which last for all of one street. You slip once, and his arm offers itself immediately, which you take only for stability. Beneath the layers, his muscle is firm and a sure thing, unchallenged by your leaning on it. He's always been strong. 

"Is there a reason you avoided me all night?" he asks suddenly, showing you the small mercy of keeping his eyes trained forward.

The walk is slick, and you realize that a minute too late, his arm is both a gentlemanly safeguard and a leash.

"I didn't avoid you."

"No, you just ran off again before I could talk to you."

Ran off again. The lout remembers. Has to.

"Fine. I wasn't in the mood to be reminded of my failures."

He scoffs, arm flexing to squeeze your hand. "You weren't a failure. Furthest thing from it."

"I'm not talking about school, John," you snap, exasperated. You regret ever wishing he'd inquire after you. "I don't—I don't want to talk about that." You see him glance in your periphery and then search the air for a way forward. You provide it.

"So, Captain. That's a big deal." As much as it kills you, it's easier to speak of his successes. "Bet your parents are over the moon."

John sighs. "They're thrilled."

"You do anything particularly insane to earn it?"

"Can't tell you," he answers automatically, a notch more serious, his cigar adding a touch of drama.

You pat his arm. "You'd have to kill me?"

"Something like that."

A few minutes pass in silence. Muffled music and cheers trickle through open windows on either side of the streets. Midnight rapidly approaches, as does the station.

"You seeing anyone?"

Oof. Maybe you should've spoken about your failing acting career. At least that had some color and excitement.

"No. My boyfriend, uh, ex-boyfriend ended things a week ago."

John stops, gently tugging when you nearly stumble. His expression is difficult to read between lampposts, but his tone suggests contempt. "At Christmas?" 

You want to laugh at his incredulity, the pure scandal in his voice. But you don't. He's gone all serious again. "Two days before, actually. It's alright though," you nudge him to walk again. "It wasn't anything serious."

It's the truth. Jeff was a middling boyfriend. He was never going to go the distance. He'd been a half-decent romp and someone to drink with. 

"Well he seems like a serious idiot."

"I won't fight you on that," you shrug. "And you, Captain? I bet you must beat them off with a stick in uniform."

He chuckles, releasing smoke. "I'm not a Captain yet. And I'm too busy."

"You'll make Captain," you say a little too quickly, too confidently, snapping your focus back to the stairs to the station ahead. "I can make it from here."

John seems to consider it. He's quiet before he snuffs out his cigar on a bin. "I'll walk down with you."

You descend the steps arm in arm, passing a giggling, buzzed couple on their way up.

"It's a shame you're leaving before midnight, Cinderella," John teases as you stroll slowly into the virtually empty tunnel. His head is on a swivel. Ever the soldier, apparently.

The ground is dry and even below street level. There's no need to keep his arm.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not stick around to see everything turn back into pumpkins," you check the time. The train is due at 12:02 AM.

John seems almost on edge as he looks around. You feel a slight, frenetic energy reverberating where your arms touch, mismatching the absolute rigidity of his bearing. His eyes are wilder when they meet yours, and his head dips slightly.

You frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's good luck to kiss somebody at midnight." He all but blurts out.

Your hold on his arm loosens, but he grips back firmer. "That's what's got you in a tizzy?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to need all the luck I can get this next year."

What is he going on about? His promotion? You're unsure if you like how he's looking at you. "John—"

A trio on the platform starts counting down some distance away, but the sound carries.

"Please." It's earnest. It's certain.

You bite your cheek, searching for any hint of this being a joke. "Just a friendly peck." you clarify.

"'Course." He reels you in, eyes half-lidded, closing in suddenly with a barely held-back urgency.

A hand cupping the back of your head knocks a gasp out of you. "It doesn't change anything." You quickly add.

"Not a thing."

Cheers erupt down the platform, but you barely hear them over the roar of blood in your ears. John's mouth is a force. It's earnest. It's certain. It was never going to be a friendly peck. You've kissed many people on stage and off, but never quite like this.

The train's rumbling knocks you back into reality. You're both breathing heavier. John's eyes darken with a hungry look, and everything in his posture suggests he's after more. Your name slips from his mouth like a command.

"Stay," he orders.

But you're not a soldier. You've never even played one. You're not equipped to face whatever this is—what that was. The doors to the car open behind you, and his eyes flicker toward them as if to will them shut. You shake your head imperceptibly.

"Happy New Years, John."

You step into the train, a coward. You don't look back to see if he watches the train depart, but you know he does.

It's another fourteen years before you see John Price again.

[vidavalor]

Perfectly Safe

Ok, I might have read one too many 'Aziraphale doesn't love Crowley because he wants him to be an angel'-type posts and I'm at risk of grinding my teeth into oblivion over here. This is short defense of why Aziraphale is tempted by the idea of being able to offer Crowley a way out of Hell and how that makes him pretty lovely, actually, and not villainous in any way.

In honor of @badaziraphaletakes, who is doing The Lord's Work out here. Lemme know how I did when you have a chance. 😇

Aziraphale being tempted by "The Metatron's" offer is not about him needing Crowley to be an angel. It's about the hell that Crowley has been living being tied to Hell for the last six thousand plus years.

Aziraphale does not need Crowley to become an angel again to love him. He already loves him. He does not think that Crowley is "lesser" because he's a demon. That's lunacy. Aziraphale is furious with God, whom he thinks made a mistake in casting Crowley to Hell because Crowley is lovely and Aziraphale thinks nothing less. Aziraphale loves Crowley so much that he actually just willingly accepted a scheme he didn't really 100% believe was true just because even if there was a .02% chance that it was real, he had to take it.

Aziraphale is tempted... quite. literally. tempted... into accepting an offer that includes the power to restore Crowley's angelic status because he believes that Crowley becoming an angel again is the only way that Crowley would ever be safe from Satan and Aziraphale will do anything to keep him safe.

Anything.

That angel will give up their life together on Earth. He will give up his own freedom and his own happiness and, largely, he and Crowley's ability to have a functioning relationship, to do the worst job imaginable for all of eternity if doing that job means that it gives him the power to protect Crowley in the one way for which he has always been powerless.

What do you think it's done to Aziraphale for it to have always been dangerous for them to be together all this time? Not just in the sense that they can't get caught or they could be killed but in the sense that because they can't get caught or they could be killed, they can't just live together easily and that actually would only partially solve the problem? Every time Crowley goes out the door, neither of them know what horrors await him on the outside.

Every. Single. Time. For thousands of years...

Aziraphale has always done everything he could to protect Crowley, as best as he could in whatever time they were in. He built the bookshop for Crowley. Yes, he wanted a place of his own and he came up with the bookshop embassy to con Heaven into letting him have material objects and a house but it was always really for both of them. It was to give Crowley a place to which he could escape from Hell. It was so that there was one place where demons and Satan couldn't find him because, out there in the world? Even in the places where Crowley was living? Crowley has never been safe from them.

One of the first scenes of Crowley in the series is him being attacked by Satan--while driving his car, a symbol of autonomy and control over himself-- while he was supposed to be having dinner with Aziraphale. This is basically the intro summary of their relationship that we are given at the start of the story and that carries through the rest of it in different scenes. If you were Aziraphale by 2.06 and thousand years deep into this hell you and Crowley had been living together, wouldn't you sign on the dotted line for even the slimmest-as-all-fuck, hope-and-a-prayer chance that you might be able to get the kind of power that could stop the love of your life from potentially being stalked, tormented, threatened or attacked any time he wasn't near you?

Imagine being head-over-heels in love with a person who is your best friend and your lover and your partner in life and he's safe with you, of course, but you can't be together all of the time because being together at all is risky and could kill you if you get caught but when he's not with you? He could be being raped on the side of the road by the literal fucking Devil because that's actually canonically happened before. What do you think it did to Aziraphale to feel like he was powerless to protect the person he loves for so long?

In Aziraphale's mind, he's been able to do little more than watch as Crowley suffered with no way to stop it.

Until the offer from "The Metatron":

Then, along comes a situation that seems way too good to be true-- and is. That it is, though, doesn't matter to Aziraphale much at this point. It's not remotely ideal and it's not on their terms but it's something... it's more than Aziraphale felt he had to offer Crowley before he was given it.

Aziraphale does not want power for power's sake; he doesn't want to run Heaven. He rejected that when it was all that was offered.

What tempted him was the power to protect Crowley.

It doesn't matter how unlikely it is that this is a genuine offer-- and Aziraphale does have doubts that it is genuine. This is the only offer that Aziraphale cannot refuse. He will never reject the possibility of freeing his partner from literal Hell because it would be freeing him from the mental, physical and emotional hell he's been going through for thousands of years.

That is how much Aziraphale loves Crowley.

How does Aziraphale fall? Well, Mr. Fell really actually fell long ago because he fell in love. He falls to Hell, though, when he cannot resist the temptation to take for himself the kind of power that he thinks would protect Crowley. He's tempted by the very devil that has been torturing them both and, worse, he knows he probably was, but it's still an offer he cannot ever refuse.

Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley to become an angel again because he can't love him if he's a demon; he wants Crowley to be an angel again because then he'd be safe from Satan. Then, he'd have a chance to heal more and be free. It's Aziraphale's unconditional love for Crowley that leads him to fall.

I think Aziraphale feels like he has nothing to offer Crowley if he can't protect him more than he already does. He has a lot of pain, anger and shame over a situation that isn't really within his control and that he'd kill to fix. No amount of Crowley's reassurance over the years has been able to fundamentally change how Aziraphale feels about this because both of them already do everything in their power to manage the situation as best as they can and, throughout all of this time, there has not ever been any way to fundamentally change it.

Don't think this angel hasn't thought long and hard about how he wants to marry that demon but he's not sure how he'd ever stand there and take a vow because, in his mind, a failure to protect him would be to break that vow. He doesn't actually think he's a good enough partner to Crowley as it is, let alone the husband to him he'd love to be. (Crowley very much begs to differ on that.)

That angel who gives his flaming sword and his money and time and his love to any being that needs what he can give them? The one that took Gabriel in and comforted Muriel and saved Job and Sitis' kids and gave Elspeth and Maggie a way out of despair?

That same angel has spent millennia unable to save his beloved partner from the worst horrors imaginable and that's how The Devil got this kind, pure-of-heart person-- the anger, shame, frustration and pain over thousands of years of telling himself that he's not good in general and he's definitely not good enough for Crowley.

Go right ahead and make him the bad guy if you want but know that his own negative thoughts about himself will out do yours any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

[whatsnewalycat]

Secret Admirer

Javier Peña x f!Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: It's Valentine's Day. Which means it's time to take a chance on your workplace crush, Agent Javier Peña.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Season 1 (ish), US Embassy, yearning, secret admirer, confrontation, drinking and smoking (real brief), smut, protected PIV sex, dash of angst and fluff

A/N: Yeeehaw, this was written for a valentines day exchange SOOOO Happy Valentine's Day to @typingcorgi 💌 This one is for you, I hope you like it!!!

The papers cradled in your arm dig into the sticky crease of your elbow. Your fingertips part the thick stack of faxes and run along the crisp edge of an envelope hidden inside. A bass drum starts thudding in your chest and heat creeps up your neck. 

One last peek over your shoulder at the empty, sterile mailroom gives you permission to do it. You slip the red envelope out from its hiding place and shove it into the cubby labeled JAVIER PEÑA. 

The shuffle of approaching footsteps sends your heart into an outright sprint. 

You scurry over to the fax machine and pinch the paperclip from the first fax, then slide the papers into the tray. As you punch the outgoing fax number into the machine, the footfalls grow closer, and soon start thudding against the shiny white linoleum of the mailroom. 

The low rumble of conversation between two men grows more distinct. You recognize their voices, but keep your eyes glued to the papers being sucked through the gears of the fax machine. 

“We’re gonna get a bottle of wine, candlelit dinner, put on some Marvin Gaye to set the mood,” Steve Murphy says, “Should probably get some flowers for her or somethin’, huh?” 

Javier Peña hums in response. 

They make their way over to the mailboxes. You stand there and try to blend into your surroundings as you wait for a fax receipt. The sound of them sorting the contents of their mail makes your stomach churn. 

“What’s that?” Steve asks as they start to walk away. 

“Let’s see,” Javier murmurs, then his footsteps come to a halt as he opens the envelope and he hums with curiosity. 

Steve stops, too, then chuckles, “Is that a fucking valentine?”

“Looks like it,” Javier mumbles, then directs his voice at you and says your name. 

You stop breathing and clench your eyes shut, then open them and turn around, trying your best to keep your face neutral, “What?” 

He holds up the unsealed red envelope and its folded up white contents between two fingers, “Did you see who left this?” 

You meet his dark brown eyes for a few devastating moments before dropping your gaze to the stack of faxes in your white-knuckle grip. All the moisture from your mouth evaporates. You clear your throat and shake your head, “No, sorry. I just got here.” 

“A secret admirer?” Murphy’s lips curl into an amused grin and he raises an eyebrow at Javier. 

You take another quick glance at the duo and realize Javier is narrowing his eyes at you, jaw working back and forth in subtle movements. Your skin burns and twists under his examination. 

He breaks his laser focus and looks to Steve with a shrug, “Guess so.” 

The fax machine roars to life behind you and starts printing. You spin on your heel towards the noise, and the men start off the way they came. Your hands are shaking when you go to grab the confirmation. 

—

The clack clack clack of your typewriter ricochets through the empty halls of the United States Embassy. Although you can’t see it from your desk, you know the sun outside is sinking below the horizon and giving way to the inky black of nighttime. 

Without Ambassador Noonan there to pull you into meetings for transcription, or assign you urgent outgoing faxes, or ask you to run any other number of errands she deems important, you’re able to perform the more “menial” of your clerical work. You sift through the stacks of papers at the corner of your desk, each one containing hurried handwriting scrawled by Noonan or one of her many Agents, trying to decipher their contents and transfer them into a more legible print. 

Footsteps sound from down the hall, but you’re too busy squinting at a puzzling clusterfuck of scribbles to pay it any mind. It’s not until your desk creaks under the weight of Javier leaning back against it that you notice he’s there.

With a jump, you clutch your blouse over your pounding heart and gasp, “Jesus fu—Hi, Agent Peña.” 

He comes to rest just inches away from your chair, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns down at you. Dangling between two of his knuckles is the red envelope you left in his mailbox earlier. Adrenaline pumps thick and hot through your veins. 

Your hands feel numb as you meet his gaze and manage to ask, “Can I help you with something?”

His jaw cocks to the side and he raises an eyebrow at you, then tosses the red envelope onto your desk, “What’s this?” 

“I—I—” you shake your head and widen your eyes, glancing between him and the letter. 

“Don’t play dumb,” he interjects. 

You swallow hard and hold your eyes steady on his as they bore into you. It’s a standoff. You don’t even dare to breathe. The silence is deafening. 

Javier breaks it as he clears his throat and picks the creamy white paper up off your desk, then unfolds it. Your stomach drops to the floor. 

He reads it aloud in a gravelly purr: 

“Oh, how I long to devour you. To unhinge my jaw And swallow you whole.  Do you feel it too?  Do you ache with hunger when I’m near? When I meet your starving eyes, I know.”

Your eyes stay trained on his as he peers over the paper at you like he expects you to say something. But you don’t. Your skin buzzes electric when he rolls his tongue against his pouty lips, along the edge of his dark mustache, then drags his gaze down the length of you. 

Javier sets the paper back onto your desk, taking a look around before he leans in and murmurs, “I do. I know.”

Then he digs into the pocket of his tan suit pocket and takes out a folded slip of paper. He pulls it away just as you go to reach for it. When your fingers curl back and you blink up at him in question, he searches your face, “This stays between us, ok?” 

“Of course,” you nod. 

His throat rumbles, eyes flick down to your lips for a moment, then he extends the paper to you again. This time when you go to take it, he lets it slide out from between his fingers into yours. 

“Come by when you’re done here,” he says, more of a demand than a request. 

“I will,” you try to suppress the grin stretching across your lips. 

Javier taps two fingers against your desk, then pushes off it and saunters back down the hallway, giving you a quick backwards glance before turning the corner. 

You look around to make sure no one is watching, then unfold the note, revealing an address written in his angular, messy script. Below this, it reads: 

Starved. 

—

Your knuckles rap two quick knocks against the door before Javier swings it open. His darkened gaze slides down your body like molasses as he steps back and lets you enter the apartment. The scent of his cologne wafts into your nose as you pass him. It’s light and crisp, clean smelling, contrasting his whiskey breath. 

You slide out of your heels and set your purse onto the ground, then study the dwelling with curiosity, dropping down two steps into the living room on your way to a leather couch. The walls are painted a cream color, pastel green and pink spliced here and there. It doesn’t seem to represent Javier at all. You figure the apartment was furnished by the Embassy, like yours. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air like a dense fog. It’s tediously quiet. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, striding over to a stand-alone dry bar, which hosts a variety of amber colored liquors. 

“Sure,” you answer as you sit down on the couch, smoothing out the black dress you changed into before walking over here. 

Javier doesn’t ask what you want to drink. He just pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one to you while he lowers himself onto the other end of the loveseat. 

Which, it’s a loveseat, so he’s still intimidatingly close. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, then swallow a mouthful of the alcohol, wincing at the burn as it travels down your throat. 

It’s not until now you realize you’ve never been alone with him. You’ve only experienced his intensity from afar. The way his eyes linger on you, seeming to study you when he thinks you won’t notice. 

But you’ve noticed. 

And you like it. 

You’ve been careful to only leave hints of your wanting. Flicking your gaze to his when you feel it on your skin. Holding it there until your heart starts pounding and one of you looks away. Letting your body brush against him in passing. No words spoken, only heated eye contact and near-touching. Following an acute awareness of the way you’re drawn to him, how fervently your blood courses through your veins when he’s near, how his presence seems to tug at the edges of you. 

“Did you write that yourself?” he inquires now. You take another sip and look up at him, meeting his eyes. 

It’s unbearable. Yet, you don’t want it to stop. Like magnets are buried beneath your skin and his, opposite poles, aching to meet in equilibrium. 

“I did,” you admit quietly, then tilt your head at him with curiosity, “Did you like it?” 

He hums and nods, glancing down at your mouth, “I’ve been watching you. I see the way you look at me.” 

“I know,” you respond in a whisper. The confession sends your heart racing… but you feel emboldened. You tip the glass to your lips and let the remaining whiskey slide down your throat, then lean forward to set the empty cup on his coffee table and scoot closer to him as you settle back into the couch. 

Javier sits up to place his drink on the table, and when he returns, he’s only inches away. He brings his breath to your ear and murmurs, “You like it, don’t you? The attention?” 

“Yes,” you answer. His hand rests on your knee, a branding iron that heats your core and steals the air from your lungs. 

“Teasing me with those short skirts,” he travels up your thigh, letting his rough palm drag along your skin. The touch sends a shock wave of pleasure across your body. 

You whimper and your eyes flutter shut. 

His voice lowers to a rasp, “Staring at me with those fuck-me-eyes. You think I wouldn’t know it was you?”

He stops at the crease of your thigh and grips the tender flesh, pulling a wanton moan from your throat as your head falls back against the couch. 

“Look at me,” he demands, so your eyes blink open and you meet his heated, meticulous gaze, “Do you want this?”

“I want this,” you nod, bringing a hand to his cheek, working your thumb against the grain of his stubble. He studies your face, dropping his eyes to your mouth, kneading your thigh, drawing closer. 

You succumb to his beckoning lips, capturing them in a kiss. Fire sparks in your chest and spreads through your veins like wildfire, spreading to him as your tongues meet, rolling soft and wet, whiskey harsh on your shared breath. 

Then he’s on you all at once. 

Pushing your back flush to the couch cushions, rocking his hand against the seam of your panties, sliding the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders, liquefying your insides into molten need. He rids you of the red lace thong, tossing it on the floor while your trembling fingers unfasten the buttons of his shirt. You splay your fingers across his chest and slip the shirt off his shoulders. It joins your abandoned lingerie, followed by your dress, then his pants. 

Javier pauses to study your naked body, lust-blown eyes trailing along every inch of your exposed skin, hands dragging up your legs. You examine him, too. His smooth, bronzed skin. His broad shoulders. His lean frame. His swollen, needy cock. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you breathe, reaching out to him, rolling your hips against nothing, aching with lust. 

Your compliment pulls a rumble from his throat, then he returns to your body, to your lips. His warmth sends shockwaves down your spine. You arch your back into the sensation, drinking up every ounce of heat your thirsty skin can lap up. 

When he touches the slick pool between the legs, spreading your arousal up and down your slit, you both moan into the other’s mouth, and he pants, “So fucking wet.”

You slide your hands around his shoulders, whimpering, nodding, reveling in the exquisite heat stoked at your center, urging him to continue with a breathy moan, “Don’t stop—fuck, that’s so good—”

He groans and captures your lips in his, kissing you hard, messy, working you faster, and the flames licking your insides continue to grow hotter, breaking you out into a sweat, making you gasp and moan against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut and it’s just this aching, heated bliss building at the base of your spine, and your pleas for him not to stop, and his skin on yours, his mouth planting wet kisses down your jaw, your neck, his moans of secondhand pleasure vibrating down your middle, fueling this brilliant concentrated ball of fire burning a hole inside you until you reach the edge of something and push past it.

Ecstasy washes over your body and steals the air from your lungs. You release a shattered breath and start to free fall, but his touch doesn’t relent, and your body shakes with pleasure that’s too intense to bear, legs clamping shut around his arm as you start to whimper at the stimulation. 

Javier pulls back when your legs go jelly, his chest heaving, eyes wild and black and glued to yours. His pink tongue rolls against his lips, then they pout out into an O when he drags his fingers through your release. Your hips jerk at the jolt of his touch, heavy eyelids fluttering as you moan, and he smirks, “Wanna move this to the bedroom?” 

You bite down on the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip as your gaze drops to his engorged length, and you manage to respond, “Uh-huh.”

He stands and starts towards his bedroom. You follow him on wobbly legs, head swimming, ears buzzing. 

Just like the common areas of his apartment, his room is decorated tastefully and obviously courtesy of the Embassy. It’s surprisingly neat, though, the dark walnut chest of drawers cleared of clutter and personal effects, hardwood floor unencumbered by piles of dirty laundry, dark walnut four-post bed dressed with white linens. Based on the constant state of disarray his desk is in, you expected it to be messier, and wonder if he cleaned up for you. 

Javier strides over to a side table and pulls a condom out of its drawer. While he wraps himself up, you settle at the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the side as your eyes trail down his shoulders, his arms, the defined muscles of his back, swallowing hard when he turns to face you. 

He takes the two short steps to settle his hips between your knees and hums, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your head up towards him as he presses his forehead to yours and purrs, “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Hmm? For me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, linking your hands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his breath puff hot against your mouth, grip on your chin tightening.

His lips find yours and he kisses you slowly, deliberately, with a tender sort of reverence that tightens around your skin and makes you whimper. The noise spurs something inside him. He cups your cheeks and picks up speed, climbing onto the bed, pushing you onto your back. 

It completely consumes you, the way his mouth works against yours, the way you writhe against each other, touch roaming, both of you tugging and rubbing and digging your fingers in and moaning at the fire blazing between your sweaty bodies. 

When the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, you wrap your legs around his back and arch against him, panting, “Fuck yes, give it to me.”

He stares down at you, holding your gaze as he plunges forward, working you open, and both your faces contort with pleasure. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans as he starts to rut into you at a steady pace. Every single nerve ending he rubs against buzzes with ecstasy. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his, immersing yourself in a series of messy, frantic kisses, swallowing each other's moans, working your bodies in tandem to fuel the hungry flames. You start to roll your hips against his thrusts, each one accumulating hot and gooey and tingling, tugging at the edges of you as you whimper, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

“That’s it, baby,” Javier pants, his voice jumping in time with his hips as he drives into you, “So fucking good—feel so fucking good—” 

He kisses you then, and his eager lips, his soft tongue, the scent of whiskey on his breath, the burn of his mustache scratching your skin, the blissful ache of him stretching you again and again, it fully engulfs your body, like you’re melting together, the heat between you too great, the fire too intense to remain whole because this glowing molten core is growing wider and hotter with each moan, each touch, each thrust, and you beg Javier not to stop, fuck, don’t fucking stop, and he steals the words from your mouth with his own, fucking you hard and fast just like you knew he would, pushing you closer and closer to bliss, and then you reach it.

For one second, you’re suspended right at the edge, mind blank, body humming. Then it hits you, and it hits you fucking hard, euphoria breaking you into pieces and tearing a sob from your throat. Javier’s hips stutter as your muscles tense and your pussy convulses around him. He gasps against your mouth, then shudders as he finds his release. Both of your bodies slow their pace, cooling to a crawl, then a stop. 

The sound of your labored breaths fills the bedroom, heaving chests working against each other as sanity starts to return and your bodies struggle to recover. He rolls off of you and stretches out across his bed, inhaling deep and wide, exhaling a content hum. 

Then, without a word, he gets up and leaves the room. 

Your guts twist into a knot. It should give you whiplash, how fast you go from total satisfaction to nervous wreck. 

Since moving to Colombia for this job, sex has been a rare occurrence for you. And by that, you mean… it doesn’t happen. Even before the move, a series of long-term relationships have been your only claim to sexual experience. So this situation is uncharted territory. 

But you’re pretty sure this is your cue to get the fuck out. 

While staring at the ceiling, you kick yourself for giving him the note, for putting yourself in this position. Shame simmers hot under your skin when you try to imagine what it’ll be like the next time you see Javier at work. When you’ll both know what happened here tonight, but pretend it was nothing. 

Why do you have to feel this burning desire for someone like him? For someone so intimidating and closed off? And, more perplexing still, does he feel it for you? 

Your chest and throat tighten when it dawns on you that he probably doesn’t feel the same as you. Maybe he saw an opportunity to get laid and took it. Maybe… it was nothing to him. 

You sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, peering out the bedroom door a moment before hopping down and padding across the hardwood floor into the living room. 

He’s doing something in the kitchen, so you fold your arms in front of your body and make your way over to the couch, snatching your clothes off the ground before you sit and start to get dressed. 

As you pull your dress down over your head, he returns to the living room. He’s wearing jeans now, but remains shirtless, and a lit cigarette dangles from his lips. 

You glance up at him and mutter, “Sorry, I can get out of your hair. Thank you for, um… indulging me.”

He plops down next to you and crushes the burning ember of his cigarette into a glass ashtray on the coffee table, then leans back and extends his arm along the couch behind you, frowning, “You’re leaving?”

“I—I guess, right?” you turn and search his face, meeting his eyes that are all puppy dog soft. They tug at your heartstrings, but you continue to stammer onward, “That’s—I don’t know, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” 

“If that’s what you want,” he shrugs, dropping his gaze to your lips. 

While you stare at him and try to understand what the fuck that means, he leans close, brushing his hand against your cheek, “Or, you could stay… we can ‘indulge’ ourselves again.”

“Is that what you want?” you ask in an attempt to parse out his intentions. 

“Is that what you want?” he counters in a low voice, furrowing his brow. 

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod, then blink and shrug, “I mean, if that’s what you—”

His lips cut you off before you can embarrass yourself more.

—

You woke up with the sun. Javier was still holding you close, his shallow, dream-drenched breath spreading across the nape of your neck in soft puffs. You wriggled out of bed and collected your things, then walked the city block to your apartment and got ready for work. 

The day passes by like any other, with the exception of your strained muscles making every movement more difficult. You don’t cross paths with Javier, but when you return to your desk after lunch, there’s a red envelope sticking out of your typewriter. 

You take a cursory glance around, then pluck it out and open it. A smile spreads across your face when you read the note inside. 

Roses are red  Violets are blue  Come over tonight  I want to see you XO, Your Secret Admirer

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 5 - Confrontation~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: While out for a walk, you run into everyone’s ‘favorite’ Overlord, resulting in a brutal altercation. Recognizing the danger you put yourself in, Alastor is all too willing to offer another deal. 

Themes: The usual angst, mystery, sassiness, cursing, fluff, Valentino so yeah, mentions of blood and bodily harm, eventual smut (it will return), actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+ MDNI

3.7k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (You're on it!) Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

When you asked Alastor to prove himself to you, you half expected him to just continue ignoring you around the hotel. He seemed like the type to keep any personal interaction behind closed doors. Keeping some privacy isn’t a bad thing. Before the deal, he stuck to doing his job around the hotel, helping Charlie with whatever new idea or ask she had, and broadcasting his evening radio show. Every so often he might have a drink at the bar, making small talk with Husk and Nifty, otherwise he kept to himself in the shadows.

These last few weeks were slightly different. If he grabbed a coffee, he also poured one for you (always using one of his mugs). He made a point of being at every group activity, standing practically on top of you with a hand on the small of your back. He often offered to accompany you into town if you were going for a walk. “I just enjoy your company dear” he would reason. You’re far from complaining, however, the other residents were starting to notice.

“Alright what’s the deal?” Husk thumps your drink on the bar, his aggressive tone catching you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Al – what the fuck is going on there? I thought you had more common sense than associating yourself with his sorts.”

Fuckin ouch.

“I have plenty of sense Husker,” you hissed with irritation at what he was insinuating. Vaggie and Angel silently take their seats next to you, feeling the tension of the conversation. “– and if you must know we discovered we have more in common than we thought. You of all people should know keeping someone of his sorts on good terms is wise. Thank you for your concern though.” You throw back your drink, slamming the empty glass into the bar as you stand up.  

Husk tries to smooth over your venom, “Listen kid, you’re still pretty new to Hell…I’m just –“

“Thank you again Husk! Talking with you is always a pleasure.” You cut him off, putting on your jacket and walking towards the hotel doors.

Footsteps trail behind you - followed by a hand on your shoulder, “Hey doll, don’t be too upset with him. We all just….we worry is all. Smiles is still Mr. Mystery pants. Charlie seems to be the only one not worried about his intentions.” Angel offers you a cautious grin. His smile always seems to brighten your mood.

You place your hand on top of his, “Thank you hun. I’m not mad and I understand everyone’s… apprehension…. But I need you guys to trust that I know what I’m doing. You all have enough to worry about around here.” R̵͚̀ŭ̴͓l̷̥̓ȩ̷͒ ̷̢́#̵̧͌3̶̫̈́ ̴̬̾N̶̬͊e̷͇͂v̵̞̚ę̴̿ŕ̵̖ ̵̟̈́ḅ̶͂r̷̤̔í̸͜n̴̳͌g̴̫͐ ̶̢͠a̸̳͝n̶͕̐y̴̓ͅo̸͎̐n̷̚͜ȩ̷̇ ̸̪̑ẗ̶͈́ő̴͜o̷̺̊ ̵̛̬c̴̘̀ľ̴̹o̶͇͗s̸̠̾e̴͇͝

Needing some time to yourself, you decide to take a stroll through Pentagram City. The streets could be dangerous when traveling alone, but Carmilla was kind enough to let you leave with some…equipment. Like a nervous tick, you palm the carmine knife sheathed on your waist. You always hope there isn’t a need to use it but can never be too careful.

Heaven’s embassy clock ticked down, showing less than 100 days until the next extermination. You sigh at the thought, taking notes as you walk. Every year you mapped out places you would be needed most, where you could hide sinners, alleys you could use to corner or escape the Exorcists. Maybe Alastor could help me this time? He did say together we would be more powerful.

Lost in your plans, you don’t realize you’ve started pacing the streets of the V’s territory. It isn’t until you hear someone yelling down an alley that you become aware of your surroundings.

“Listen here, you little fuck – you’re our lowest earner this month and I’m in a bad mood so…” a large demon pins a rabbit-like sinner to the alley wall, pulling a pink and white gun from his hip. “I figured you could help me BLOW off some steam. Now, now, baby - hold still for me and don’t make too much of a mess hmm?”

You look closer and recognize the tall moth demon.

Fucking Valentino.

You see red and make your way down the alley. Hearing your footsteps he turns but not before you blindside him, body slamming him to the ground. The sound of metal echoes as his gun slides across the pavement. The poor sinner runs off without a word. You’re welcome, I guess. You bend over the disoriented Valentino.

“Tough luck being out here today Val – Coincidentally I’m also in a bad mood so let’s have a chat.”

With a gust of his wings Val pushes himself off the ground and towers over you. “Ohhhhh aren’t you CUTE. Ya know people would pay good money to see a spicy chiquita like you fucked into her place, however that little stunt just sealed a different fate for you.” Smoke floods around you, wrapping tightly around your body. Your feet leave the ground as he pulls you close enough to run his tongue across your cheek. “Hmmm…tasty. Maybe I shouldn’t kill you. I could do quite a bit with this body of yours.”

A cynical laugh erupts from your chest. “Oh please – set me down. Save us both the embarrassment.” He cocks an eyebrow at your demand and tightens his smoke’s grip.

Feeling the crack of your ribs almost knocks all the air out of your lungs, but your rage is stronger than any pain. I’ve watched him hurt Angel one too many times. 

“Wrong answer Val.” You concentrate your power, hands aglow as they conjure tiny, razor-sharp needles. With a swift flick of your wrists, they pierce and slice through Val's wings. “Cool thing about needles, they can help pull you together or tear...you…apart.” He howls from the pain, loosening his grip on you. With a little more room to move, you pull yourself back and headbutt him with so much force his glasses shatter. The blow makes his smoke disappear and you drop back to the ground. Time for some fun.

Unable to see clearly - Val frantically feels around for his gun. Pathetic. Crushing his hand with one foot, you use the other to deliver a full force kick to his chin, sending his gold tooth down the alley. “You little BITCH! Who the fuck do you think you are!?” he growls as blood pours from his mouth. You climb on top of him, pinning him down with a knee slowly crushing his dick. Screams of pure agony echo off the surrounding walls.    

You grab his face with one hand and pull the knife from your waist, digging the point into Val’s cheek, “You lay your hands on any of your employees again, I’ll make sure this knife gets buried into your chest. Now be a good boy and let me decorate that pretty little face.” You turn his head and hastily carve “spurc” into his cheek. He cries out with each attempt to move, feeling your knee dig deeper into him. “Shhhh you can take it baby, come on, we’re almost done. That’s what you tell them, right? NOW HOLD STILL.” Mocking his pain you turn his head the other way, slicing “issime” into his other cheek. Blood pours from his face, staining your hands and wrists. “Spurcissime – complete filth. Quite fitting I think.”

You stand up to admire your work and release the demon writhing on the ground. Time to go. Turning to leave, you hear Val call out to someone. What is he crying about now? Without warning you’re hurled against the brick wall - your head taking the worst of the impact. As you struggle to pull your body off the ground, a large, blue claw wraps around your neck to pick you up. Between the blow to your head and your now rapidly declining oxygen, your strength dwindles.

“Are you fucking kidding me Val –You got your ass beat by Carmilla Carmine’s secretary!?”

How the fuck does he remember me?

“No she’s not –“ Val tries to warn but is ultimately ignored.

“It’s okay sweetheart. She can replace you. Sucks though. I always enjoyed staring at that ass. Made the meetings less insufferable.” Vox’s grip tightens around your neck and his other hand slides up your thigh, starting to grope every inch of you. Your vision begins to tunnel as your body goes limp, his grasp controlled and unforgiving.

Just before complete darkness takes over, a familiar voice booms in your ears, “ENOUGH!” The hand around your neck releases and the world around you spins, fading out then back in. You pull yourself to your hands and knees and try to gasp. A stabbing pain rips across your sides with every attempt to collect the air around you. Any adrenaline your body had was long gone now. Oh yeah, cracked ribs. Ouch.

Looking up you realize you’re in Alastor’s room. Any other day you would have inhaled the soft musk filling the air, but right now you can barely take a breath. “Alastor?” you whimper, throat hoarse from being nearly crushed. “Hello? Alastor?” Still silence. You lay back on the floor to try to steady your breathing and wait for the Radio Demon to make an appearance.

It only takes a few minutes to see his shadow appear, followed by Alastor himself. The initial relief you feel is quickly replaced by concern. His jacket was ripped up, and blood trailed across his mouth. “Shit are you okay? What happened?” you try to move to him but double over.

He huffs wiping the blood from his face. “No, you don’t get to ask the questions right now.” His words were near inaudible over the static. He was livid. “I want to know what the FUCK you were doing out in V territory ALONE!?” He rather unkindly picks you up, prompting throaty cries of pain and protest.

Alastor brings you to the bathroom and sits you up on the counter while he digs through his medical kit. You finally gather enough breath to speak, “Last I checked, I don’t need permission to walk around the city. Have you forgotten who I am? I am not some stupid -”

“Well apparently you are.” He bites at you without making eye contact – continuing to pull apart the kit.

Tears well up in your eyes. Too tired to fight them back you let their warmth coat your face. They steadily stream down and drop into your blood-soaked hands. You try to squeak out an explanation, “He…he just hurts so many people. He almost killed Angel. If you ask – “

“I didn’t.” he cuts in.

“I didn’t know he would get Vox in –“

“I don’t care.”

“FUCK Alastor what is your problem!?” you snap, tears burning as they run down your cheeks.

He slams his hands on either side of your legs, caging in your body and leaning right down to your face. If he wasn’t pissed right now, this would be so attractive.

“My problem? What is my problem?” Alastor’s antlers expand and a red ‘x’ glows on his forehead. His body grows and looms over you as his grip starts to crack the countertop, “Do you forget who they are? Of course Vox got involved! And if I hadn’t stepped in, he would have done who knows what to you! His hands already started to defile you - Is that what you wanted? To die at the hand of a perverted, unscrupulous Overlord?” His words were like knives, and you despised every slice he made.

His outburst ignites your own rage, making your demon form flare, “No, Damnit, you don’t get it! Down here you’ve only ever lived for yourself! You’ve never watched someone you care about almost die because of some piece of shit! You’ve never felt the need to tear that person limb from limb for what they did! I wanted to make him suffer and I DID!“ you scream at him until your voice gives out and your body gives up. A deafening silence falls over the bathroom. The only sounds reverberating off the walls are your stifled sobs. Some from anger, some from pain. Ṟ̸̂u̸̫͂l̴̟̈e̷̩͛ ̸͖̽#̷̹̀4̴̎͜ ̴̰̇Ṉ̷̀e̸̲͌v̴̻̈́e̵̥͘ṛ̸͛ ̵̗̑l̴͍̃ė̶̠t̶͈̾ ̴̣̒y̷̬͋ò̵̭u̸̩̽ŕ̶̼ ̴̪̾ẉ̵̑ȅ̴̩ą̴̕k̵̗̐n̶̻̅ȇ̷̳s̸̢͋s̸͖͂e̷̡͛s̶̘̍ ̴͍̏š̴̢h̶̼̐ǫ̴͊w̷͉͝

 Alastor shrinks back to normal. He cups your face gently to clean off the dirt and blood – tending to the few scrapes across your cheeks. You keep your eyes down to avoid his stare. The last thing you want to see is pity from the demon, at least not right now.

As he kneels to clean your hands, his buttery voice finally breaks the quiet, “You know, had you said all of that yesterday, you would have been absolutely right.” He looks up, noticing your head tilt in confusion. “Seeing his hands on you triggered something in me, and I wanted nothing more than to rip apart that piece of shit for….trying to take you away from me. So yes, I do understand. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not cross with you for going by yourself. You’re lucky I had my shadow follow you.” A sly smile flashes up at you. In that moment a gnawing thought crosses your mind. Does he actually care for me? Or is he only afraid to lose the power I can give him?

Either way, he did save you, so you conjure enough strength in your voice to whisper, “Thank you Alastor,” and place a kiss on his forehead.

Once he finishes cleaning the cuts on your hands, he stands and hooks a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His red eyes dart back and forth between yours as if trying to read every thought you could have. A smile paints his face but you can see something more. Worry? Sadness? Regret? You want to question him but the intensity of his stare has you frozen.

“I want to make another deal.” he finally says in a whisper, holding his gaze. Your stomach drops. This is what you’ve been worried about. That he was going to try to break down your walls until you willingly promise him your soul, bounding everything you have to him. R̴̤͑u̵͓̒l̷͊ͅḛ̸̒ ̸̉͜#̴͉̓1̶͇̔ ̸̟͑Ṋ̸͋e̷̮̎v̷̼̾e̸̪͌r̴̥̈́ ̵̳̽t̴̩͐r̶̻͊u̷̘͝ș̴͒t̶͙̂ ̶̝͑â̵̩n̴̙̿o̸̡͗t̸͚̒h̴̯̓ë̸͓́r̶͎̂ ̸̙̎O̸̺͌v̷̧͠è̴̼r̸̹̓l̵͊ͅo̸̜͒r̵̠̂d̸͓̽ . 

“Wh-what?”

“I want to make another deal - you promise to let me accompany you every time you leave these hotel walls and, in exchange, I will teach you how to grow your strength and power so this never happens again.” Well that is not the deal I was expecting.

Relief replaces anxiety. You lean in and give a cheeky smile, “You do realize both of those things can happen without a deal - unless you’re just looking for an excuse to kiss me again.”

“Bold of you to assume I need an excuse, “ he purred, closing the last bit of space between your bodies, lips hovering over yours, ‘but do we have a deal?”

You can barely breathe out “Deal.” before his lips gently press into yours. A glow fills the room but you don’t even notice this time, too lost in his touch to care. 

He reluctantly pulls away, “You should probably stay here tonight. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone in this condition.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I got it –“ hopping off the counter, you almost crumple to your knees. Alastor catches you with a smug chuckle. “I had a feeling you would fight me on that. It is completely up to you of course. However I will warn you I am willing to go to extreme lengths to convince you of the right choice.”

Once again, you’re lifted up and out of the bathroom. “Don’t threaten me with a good time -” You try to tease but lose your breath. A low laugh leaves his chest, “I believe we’ve had enough fun today my dear.” Every muscle in your body welcomes the soft bed as he lays you down on his silk sheets. 

Your eyes flutter heavily as you hear him move about the room, leaving briefly. Am I really going to stay here with him? Guess not too much of a choice now. I know he won’t hurt me, not tonight anyway. The door opens and you feel him climb into the bed with you. 

Turning to face him, you watch him lean back against the headboard, book in hand. “I thought you didn’t sleep.” you joke drowsily. 

“I don't need much but that just means I can keep you company while you rest.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to…but maybe you could tell me some stories about when you were alive? You can be my personal radio show for the night.”

A pleased hum leaves his chest, “As you wish, ma chère.” He wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. Time might as well have stopped as he begins telling you about his life, his mom, his home, the old radio show. You practically melt into his chest while drinking in every drop of his sweet voice. It was nice to peel back a few layers of who the Radio Demon was.

You wake up in a panic the next morning. Sitting up, your tired brain takes a moment to catch up with your surroundings and you relax remembering the previous night’s events. The mirror across the room catches your eye, showing purple and blue bruises painted across your skin. “Uhhg I look rough.” you whisper to yourself. 

“Still beautiful as ever, my dear.” a voice cut in, making your heart jump into your throat. You didn’t even notice his shadow or him fading into the room while you tried to collect yourself. “Good morning Alastor, and thank you but these marks are not very flattering.” 

He sits on the edge of the bed and lightly traces his hand around your face and throat. His smile almost falters. “I loathe seeing the marks he’s left on you…but I take pride in knowing he won’t ever lay a hand on you again.” a snide grin crosses his face. That’s probably why he took so long to get back to the hotel. I don’t even want to know what he did to Vox in that alley.

“Now! You stay here, I will go grab us some coffee!” Alastor jumps up to rush out the door but you stop him. “No, wait – I want to come with you.” He nods and leans against the doorway, waiting for you to put yourself together. You only bother to run a comb through your hair. No use in trying to cover up anything.

He wraps his arm around your waist while walking down to the lobby. Plopping yourself on the couch, you look up to see Husk staring over a newspaper, eyebrow cocked. A gruff “Hmpf” comes from behind the paper as Alastor walks by into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, “Don’t even start Husk.” 

He slams the paper down on the bar, “I ain’t startin nothin! But it sure looks like he tried to finish –“ “He didn’t touch me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here if it wasn’t for him – “

Angel bursts through the hotel doors roaring with excitement, abruptly ending your conversation with Husk. “Oh good you guys are here – you will not BELIEVE what happened last night and holy shit what happened to you!?“

He looks mortified at the marks across your face. “Tripped. Please continue.” you say dryly.

Alastor finally returns with coffee, taking his seat right next to you as Angel finishes talking about his shift and how bad of a condition Val was in.

“It’s crazy someone was powerful enough…or ballsy enough…to do something like that to him. He’s pissed and from what I heard, Vox wasn’t looking too hot either.” You shoot a look over to Alastor who huffs smugly, looking away as he takes a sip of his coffee. I fucking knew it.

You turn your attention back to Angel, “If someone knocked him around that much, he’s bound to want to take it out on someone. Are - are things going to get worse for you?” Anxiety grips your chest at the realization you may have only aggravated Angel’s situation rather than helped.

“Eh it’ll be weeks before he even gets back to working the studio, besides no one is going to take him seriously with those words on his face. Whoever got ahold of him CARVED into his cheeks. Fuckin deep too. Heard it was a carmine knife, so Satan knows it’s gonna scar.” The enthusiasm in his voice helps ease your worries.

Husk finally chimes into the conversation, “hmm and uh – what exactly was written on his face?” his eyes look straight through Angel and settle on you. There’s no way he thinks –

“I don’t know some Latin shit I can’t pronounce. I overheard some older demons say it ‘labeled him as dirty’ or something like that.” Angel shrugs it off and continues joking about how great the next few weeks were going to be for him.

You finish your coffee and stand to get more, wincing at how sore you still feel.

“You could have asked me, dear. I was about to get up for more as well.” Alastor motions for you to sit back down while taking your cup. When he walks away, Angel comes over and sits on the floor next to you.

“Soooo…you gonna to tell me who actually gave you those bruises? Did you get freaky with Smiles? I just knew he was into that kinda –“

“He didn’t do this Angel.” Your words are soft but stern. He looks up with worry in his eyes. “Don’t take pity on me like that. I am FINE…” you peek up to see Husk’s back turned. Leaning over Angel’s ear, you drop your voice to a whisper, “and uh, between you and me – the word is spurcissime. Roughly translates to ‘complete filth’.” R̴̗͠ǔ̷̮l̸͍͘ẽ̴̘ ̴̩͑#̴̙͆2̸̥̎ ̴̲͌N̸̰̒e̵͔͝v̴̯̆ë̸͙́r̴̬̀ ̸̩̏t̶̳̍ḙ̵̑l̴̥͝l̵̹̍ ̴͎͆ă̴̤ ̷͖̉s̴͕̕o̸̼͊ǔ̶̡l̶̝̿ ̷̺̓ẅ̵̟́ĥ̵̞a̶͖̿ṱ̵̏ ̸̢̕(̵͉̽ŏ̵̢r̵͚͛ ̷̘̈h̷̯̾ò̴̺w̵͉̑ ̸͔̀m̷̡̈́ủ̷̞c̶͂ͅh̷͇̋)̶̻̂ ̵͖̈p̵͍͒o̶̤̽ẉ̶́e̷̤̚ȑ̵̪ ̸̣̚ÿ̴̥ö̶́͜ù̸͎ ̸͇̑ĥ̸̤ä̷̙v̶͖͒e̶̥͛

You sit back on the couch haughtily, taking pleasure in the absolutely dumbfounded look on his face.  

Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp 

[experimentfae]

Could you do yandere Adam with a small imp/succubus hybrid reader who's incredibly shy and selectively mute? They're pretty much a precious little kitten, considering they have cat-like behavior and instincts, but don't be fooled. They can and have killed many. I can imagine them meeting when they go with Charlie when she goes to meet Adam and Lute in her father's place. (This is pretty much my oc from my yandere hazbin hotel/helluva boss x oc fanfic. Ps, they write what they want to say on a small whiteboard they carry with them. They will hiss, growl, scratch, and bite you if they don't like you or are scared and in a state of fight or flight)

Yandere Adam x Shy! Imp/succubus hybrid! Reader

Oneshot

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You believed it would have been any normal day in hell not expecting Charlie to ask you to come with her to meet the leader of the exterminator’s.

“Wait really, but how? And why me?” “Well (y/n) I trust you and you’re the nicest demon I know.” she wouldn’t be saying that if she knew of all the killing you did but you kept that to yourself “I- um.” You looked as she gave you puppy eyes you could never say no, especially to your best friend.

“Sure I’ll go.” She then hugged “thank you, thank you now come on let’s get going.” You immediately as she sang her song the others watching you two leave.

After the song ended and you two made it to the Heaven Embassy, but when you guys walked in it was very creepy to say the least why were the light not on? “Uh a-are they available?” You questioned looking around “They should be, my dad never usually wrong about this stuff.” Just then a gold sign in sheet for in front of Charlie face.

This made both of jump in shock “totally not creepy.” Charlie spoke, she is definitely right this is weird but Charlie signed her name in and the letter suddenly lift up to the hell knows where then suddenly a door opened.

“This is still super creepy.” You whispers Charlie seemed to ignore it as she went through the door and you followed after “uh hello is anyone, here?” “Sup.” This made you both jump you hid behind the chair immediately, You see an Angel eating rips with another Angel behind him.

Charlie introduced herself and Adam seems genuine for a moment until he figured out he was just a Hologram “ha! I fucking got you did you see that shit?” “Yes sir.” He then laughed fucking hilarious. Just then his eyes moved to you “uh, who that with you there?.” This grabbed Charlie’s attention. “Oh this (y/n) there here to really sell the point that I’m making here.

You avoided eye contact. But this didn’t seem to faze him if you looked and if Charlie noticed you two would have seen the look of lust he gave you.

Then Adam suddenly talked about his life and his one night stand on the weekend just some other stuff. But then Charlie remembered the meeting was almost over so Charlie was talking about the hazbin hotel and the good it can from it, Adam didn’t seem to care half of the time he was looking at you or interrupted her.

Let’s just say he didn’t agree then he threw Charlie out but held you back for a moment “I need to talk to you… lute keep an eye on that one shrugging towards Charlie.

“Wait what a- Charlie got interrupted due to lute closing the door behind her. You let a cat like hiss feeling that you’re in danger what fucked up shit is he gonna do, cut your head off as a warning or something like that these thoughts fueled your anxiety until Adam spoke.

“Oohh feisty but chill out babes.” You felt your tail wag in irritation “let me give a little proposal I might give you a good word with upper management she also known as sera but I’ll only do it if you let me take you out.”

Your eye’s widen in shock “what?” He smirked “I know, someone as hot as ME taking you out, but yeah it’s the real deal babes, so I’m gonna take it as a - “n-no.” You clench your hands “that’s a weird joke or?” “I-it means n-no.” This shocked him “what, I’m fucking Adam the first man! I’m fucking awesome even princess what her face seemed to agree with that.” He growled out.

You did it bother to continue this conversation heading towards the door “Hey don’t walk from me so soon.” You felt him grab your wrist you now felt more terrified at the end of the day you knew he had more power in his hand then you would have you’re entire life.

“Or do I need to do something else? How about I consider her little passion project? Sounds good to you?” This made you hesitate “I… for the fist time you looked in the eyes and saw how he looked at you with hunger, but this could really help Charlie and her cause, you believe in her. “Ok I’ll… I’ll go with you on that date.” he smiled “perfect I’ll pick you up this weekend oh and no worry it ain’t gonna be down here on this dumpster fire, I’ll pull some strings and give you a day in heaven for the date, see a babes.”

You left without a goodbye feeling Shame, Charlie ran up to you “(y/n) are you ok?, what happened? What did I he do?” You didn’t have the heart to tell her “I… I don’t want to talk about it.” You looked away just wanting to go back to the hotel, thankfully Charlie siding push it even though she looked worried.

It’s been a week and today is the date. Well you u are going to heaven so maybe you should dress your best.

“(Y/n) what making you dress in such a fancy attire.” You looked to see alastor “oh it’s just I have a, uh date of sorts.” His smiled widen and his eyebrow arched “oh who is the companion?” You became nervous “it’s- it’s um some guy named Archer, he want’s to take me to… um bloodysteaks that new restaurant in the gluttony ring.”

He did it seem to buy it but this was entertaining enough to him so he riding question any further “if you say so, I guess we’ll see you later on.” “Yeah see ya later on Alastor.” Just then you heard a knock from you’re window. You looked to see Adam himself “who the fuck was that and wow sexy as hell babes, got dressed up for me that’s sweet.”

You groaned in annoyance and let him in “thanks, now let me open that portal and we are on our way.” He opens the heaven portal and you went through to see a beautiful city “wow.” “Yeah fucking wow this is paradise, now let me take you to ‘heavenly delights’ the most fanciest restaurant in town. you had to admit it really look like a paradise even the sidewalk looked super clean.

“But seriously who the fuck was that guy you were talking to?” “Wait alastor, he’s just a friend.” He rolled his eyes “what?” “What, what you mean what, he look like he wanted fuck you, I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that.” Allowed? This guy really is entitled but you didn’t stand up to him afraid of what would happen if you did.

You guys made it to the restaurant but realization hit you “wait how did you know I was in the hazbin hotel?” He seemed surprised by that answer “well I… let’s just order the food ok babes?” You didn’t push it thought if you had to take a guess he has been watching you this week.

Adam order for you due to your shyness You guys got your food and the food was really delicious, he guys made small talk, the worst part is you kinda liked his company, just that he kinda is a douchbag most of the time. “Alright but seriously let me pull some strings and you can be living here with me.” “I just need you to give the green light to the hazbin hotel Adam.”

He laughed “oh right that, I’m gonna be honest hot stuff I’m never gonna give green light to that thing.” You became frozen “what.” “I said what I said I’ll never agree to that.” “But you say- “I said I would consider it, doesn’t mean I’ll agree it. Ok now you felt stupid “and I know you said didn’t want to be here but, I already made arrangements and got your sexy ass into heaven.”

Your tail stood up in shock and felt your face contort to shock you really hard the Earle to chock him like your other victims. “yeah I know admit you love it, you love the idea of living here.” You immediately got up and left the restaurant “hey what the hell?!” Spoke Adam as he flew after you “I didn’t want that!” You yelled with tears in you’re eyes “oh come on you will be the first hell born into heaven but pretend that your a human, because sinner is no but a HELLBORN making it into heaven, a hell no, I had to tell sera some bullshit story.” He stated.

You looked away from him “oh calm on you love it up here eventually, you will look hotter then you already do and besides the effects are starting right now.” “Wait what?” You felt feather on your back and you touched your head to feel a halo “Oh no.” “Oh yes!”

“Wait can I at least say goodbye to my friend’s” you asked tears in your eye’s “hmmm, no, oh and don’t think about leaving me because if you do I’ll just make sure you’ll be a target in the next extermination.” You were shocked “yeah I love you babes put sometimes tough love is needed.”

“But I- I” he shushed you “now come on you will love it here and overtime you’ll learn to love me.”

<- Back to MasterList or back to Hazbin Hotel

[chaotic-iguana]

Sleep

Summary: Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)

Rating: M

Wordcount: 2.2k 

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry

this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3

masterlist.

“I swear to fucking god Murphy, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg against the table, I’m slamming your head right into it” is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like it’s gonna be a great week.

“The hell did I do? You’d think Connie’s cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire an’ the first person you’d throw in?” Steve huffs. “Murphy”, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a moment’s relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.

And it isn’t like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and you’re happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonan’s wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they can’t do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?

Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marlene’s new nails, Katie’s suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accounting’s downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphy’s bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, you’d let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. “Don’t use your wife’s cooking as an excuse. I’m telling you, make another sound and die.” you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasn’t stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.

“Already nailing Murphy’s balls, cariño? Careful, I’ll fall in love, baby.” You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you don’t care - can’t care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like you’re choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peña’s flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and you’re breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you it’s safe.

When your sight clears, you’re curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: “You’re okay, it’s okay hermosa. You’re safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, it’s over now, okay?” as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, pretty. You’re okay” Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.

“‘M fine” is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but can’t find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. You’re making a scene, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s all too much, and you’re too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peña’s signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like he’s disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a “What, Peña?” to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. “What the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, I’m not senile. And I don’t give a shit how mad you are, you can’t just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?” you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesn’t respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. “…And what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think it’s cute to flirt with me while I’m- while I pass out?” This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Can I just go home please? I’ve already done the month’s paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. I’m just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.” you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that something’s wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.

“Think I was flirting with you while you passed out? Y’think I don’t see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I can’t see how you’ve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I don’t know how late you’ve starting going home? As ‘f I’ll ever stop waitin’ for ya to clock out first so I know you’re home okay, baby. You gotta tell me what’s wrong - this is eatin’ you up.“

Peña’s tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds so…tortured, as if he’s the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so you’re safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed “huh?” before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re the smartest fuckin’ agent I’ve seen, with the balls to take down men I’d sweat to be ‘n the same room with. You swear like a sailor, an’ make me laugh till I’m chokin’ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me what’s hurtin’ you, honey. I can’t promise I’ll fix it, but I can swear to you I’ll damn well try my best.” He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think. 

Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. “I’m okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?” Peña nods, and you continue. “Fucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out ‘cause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb I’ve been in worse but- I can’t get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.“ you look down again, ashamed of the truth that’s spilling out of your mouth. It’s so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man you��ve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. “‘N I can’t sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought I’d work for a bit. Clearly didn’t fucking work out, though.” small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.

“‘S Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.” He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. “None of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. I’ll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothin’ to be ‘fraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.” Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. “Didn’t know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with you” you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.

“Ain’t gotta do no sleepin’ you don’t want to, honey. You’re here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep f’me, and I’ll keep you up for as long as you like after,” he  throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.