#and what a smooth response from Murphy

[doortotomorrow]

emori : you wanted forever. murphy : hey...still do.

#The 100 #John Murphy #Emori kom Spacekru #Memori #the100edit #this scene is a nightmare to color #but these two are a dream come true #and what a smooth response from Murphy #love him

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 IN PAPER RINGS AND PICTURE FRAMES!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai has never been a true believer of murphy’s law, not until today at least. he swears the world is out to get him, all he wanted was to give you a nice valentine’s day... and maybe something a little extra special. (wordcount: 6.7k; sfw; very brief mentions of dazai's attempts, fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: valentine's day fic for my sweetest boy

“What do you mean I can’t have the day off?” Dazai cries out, staring down at his phone in abject horror. A pillow is flung at his head and Dazai sputters out an apology to you before lifting his phone back to his ear, making a point to lower his voice as he says, “Kunikida-kun, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even you can be this heartless.”

“Dazai!” Kunikida says, voice stern and sharp, and Dazai knows that the man is serious because he’s not spitting out insults about Dazai’s laziness and lack of drive to do anything but lounge around and avoid work. “Trust me. It brings me no joy to make you come in today—not for your sake, but for her’s. But we have to finish up the final preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission before they leave for Kyoto tomorrow morning. Get to the office now.”

“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai complains, feeling a bit more panicked, “but I-”

“Maybe if you had actually done your work the past few days, I could’ve covered for you,” Kunikida spits out angrily. “But we have double the workload to finish by tonight because you’ve been slacking off the past week. Anyway, you shouldn’t be calling the day of asking for a day off. Be to the office asap.”

Kunikida doesn’t even wait for Dazai’s response, hanging up the phone and leaving Dazai standing in your apartment staring at his phone with parted lips and wide eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. A noise escapes his lips, something caught between a scoff and a whimper, and Dazai thinks he might cry. He feels like a wounded puppy as he turns his attention over to where you’re still curled up in bed, eyes barely cracked open as you watch him with furrowed brows.

“Bella…” he pouts, making his way over to you so he can sit next to you on the bed. “They’re making me go into the office.”

You only roll toward him, eyes heavy with sleep, barely able to hold them open, and Dazai’s chest feels tight and warm with a lovely feeling that he’s only ever experienced with you. He reaches out to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin—your lashes flutter as your eyes droop back shut, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of someone seeking out his touch, trusting his hands as if they aren’t rotted and blood-stained.

“Then go,” you say with a yawn, leaning into his touch and pulling the dark comforter back up around your shoulders from where it had slipped down your body.

Dazai pushes his lip out even more. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend the day with you. You took off today too.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and Dazai wants to tell you that it is decidedly not okay but he can’t tell you that because you’ll ask why and he can’t tell you without ruining everything. “I’m tired anyway. Someone decided to keep me up half the night.” 

Dazai can hardly even muster the vulgar smile and dirty joke that should have come to him with ease, and evidently, that’s proof enough to you that something must be seriously wrong because you crack your eyes back open and peer up at him, concern slowly eclipsing the tiredness. Another thing he’ll never be used to: having someone genuinely worry over him even over the smallest things. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly, yawning again as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. The comforter slides down from around your shoulders again, revealing the smooth skin of your bare shoulders and collarbone, and Dazai wishes for nothing more than to slip beneath the sheets with you, wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest.

Instead, he lets himself lean into your touch for a moment, eyes falling shut as he basks in the feeling of your fingers carding through his dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but alas, the serenity is utterly shattered when his phone starts buzzing again.

Dazai lets out a heavy exhale, dark eyes dragging from you to where his phone is laying on the bed next to him, seeing Atsushi’s name flash on the screen—surely having been told by Kunikida to follow up and make sure that Dazai is actually going to show up at the office. 

“I just wanted to spend the day with you,” he says, a bit of a white lie, but he can’t tell you the real reason why he’s so disappointed. “He’s had it out for me ever since we got together. He’s jealous. This is his way of getting one over me.”

You smile lightly at him, pulling his face down a bit so that you can press your lips against his. Dazai sighs into your mouth, eyes sliding shut again as he kisses you, hand coming up again to cup your cheek as his lips move against yours. The kiss is slow and intimate, but far too short for his liking. You pull your lips away from his and Dazai gives you a wounded look when he tries to chase your lips only for you to dodge with a giggle. 

“Go, Osamu,” you tell him and Dazai lets out a groan, letting his head drop to your chest. You toy with his hair and Dazai wants to tell you that doing that is only going to make him want to stay even more but he also doesn’t want you to stop so he decides against it. “The faster you get there and get your work done, the quicker you can come home.”

Home. Another word he might never get used to, his chest feels warm and fluttery as he tilts his head to the side so he can peer up at you. “Or I can just not go in at all and deal with Kunikida’s righteous fury tomorrow.”

“No,” you say firmly, tugging at his ear and making him yelp. “Go, Osamu. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me sleep.”

Dazai sighs, rising to his feet and letting you curl back beneath the covers. He wants to tell you that it’s not that simple and that he has a whole plan and he needs to follow it strictly otherwise he’s scared that everything will go wrong, but there’s no way of explaining that to you without having to tell you why which would ruin everything. Lamenting to himself, he shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and leans down to press his lips between your brows as you start to doze off again, brushing your hair behind your ear and letting his eyes linger on your face, skin glowing gently beneath the early morning sun. 

It takes all of his willpower to step away from you and make his way out of your apartment, the ring in his pocket weighing more heavily with every step he takes.

•••

Dazai is really trying his best not to let his frustration spoil the night. The sun has already long set. What should have been a short day at the office finishing up paperwork ended up with him working overtime because of an emergency mission on the far side of the city concerning an ability user who could mimic appearances. Everybody else is still at the office trying to finish up preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission in Kyoto but the President had taken one look at Dazai’s abysmal expression and told him to go home and be with you.

And Dazai should appreciate that, honestly, otherwise he’d be stuck at the office until god knows when, leaving you at home alone all day and all night on the one day he was planning to spend the whole day with you, but he’s so bitter that he can’t even summon the appreciation he should feel. You’re taking it in stride, of course, telling him that it’s okay and you’re not mad even though Dazai insists that you definitely should be. He called you while on the train with Kunikida, curled up in a seat pouting as he shot his partner dirty looks and mourned his shitty luck because of course this would happen on the day he was planning to make the biggest decision of his life, and yours.

Not that he could tell you that part, obviously.

Kunikida had been rightfully guilty, apologizing to Dazai for the day taking as long as it did and continuously shooting him ashamed looks, but Dazai couldn’t even bask in the knowledge that Kunikida is actually apologizing to him for making him work because he’s so frustrated about how the day has gone compared to what he had planned.

It’s still salvageable, he reminds himself, glancing down at his phone. The reservations he placed for the restaurant aren’t for another hour and a half. He has plenty of time to walk back to your apartment and change so he can take you out for the night, and the thought of taking you out for the night makes all of the frustration he’s feeling absolutely disappear, entirely overshadowed by the giddiness tingling through his limbs and the nerves that tighten his chest. 

Tonight.

He twists his hands in front of his body, eyes catching on a convenience store at the corner of the block, a wide range of chocolates and flowers on display at the main window. With only a moment’s hesitation, he speeds up his pace, flinging open the door to the convenience store and beelining right to the dwindling Valentine’s Day display, weathered down by other frantic partners who were late to get their beloved gifts.

He lets out a relieved puff of air when he sees that your favorite flowers and chocolates are still available, although he’s a bit irate because the flowers aren’t as healthy as they should be, but he supposes it’s his own fault. Of course they're not going to be in perfect shape after being on display all day—if he wanted perfect flowers, he should’ve bought and brought them to you first thing in the morning.

Which he could have done if it weren’t for Kunikida, he thinks bitterly, deciding to place all of the blame on his coworker instead.

He drops the flowers and chocolates at the cash register, where an older man is working, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, flipping through to grab a few yen and place them on the counter.

The older man lets out a bit of a chuckle as he scans the chocolates and the flowers. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, boy?” he notes. “Can’t have a happy lady at home, I know mine is angry as a bull. Hope you have more than this to appease the girl.” 

Dazai winces and then mutters, “She’s not angry, I got pulled into work. She understands.” 

It sounds pathetic even to his own ears. The man finds it amusing, evidently, from how he has to smother another laugh as he gets Dazai his change.

“Mine said she was fine with it too,” he says, “but I know I’m coming home to the cold shoulder. They never say what they mean, son.” 

Dazai’s mood falters again, the giddiness and nerves slipping away into something colder because he’s feared since he left this morning that you would be bitter over him having to go into work today. And he knows deep down that you’re not like that, that if you say it’s fine, it really is fine most of the time, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if you’re only saying it because you don’t want to stress him out even more, because he’d made it abundantly clear this morning that he wasn’t happy. 

“There you go,” the older man passes over his change and the flowers and chocolates. “Good luck.”

Dazai can barely even bring himself to give the man a proper thank you, making his way back out of the convenience stores with the flowers and chocolates in hand. His eyes flicker down to his phone again, catching the time before he continues down the street—the pit stop had only taken a few minutes, but Dazai is doubly anxious to get back home to you now. Not just because he’s worried that you’re not quite as okay with it as you’ve made yourself out to be, but also because he misses you and just wants to get back home to you, this day has been too long and it’s been especially hellish and jarring because he woke up this morning thinking he’d get to spend the entire day with you.

He’s ready to get home to you. He’s ready to take you out to dinner. He’s ready to take you down to the gardens and he’s ready to-

God, he’s ready to propose. After all of these damn years, he’s finally ready and he will not let a shitty day at work ruin that for him. He still has the whole night, and that’s what’s important because…

He stares at his hand, where a droplet of water had splashed against his skin. A dreadful feeling arises, dark and slithering as it spreads through him. He turns his gaze up to the dark sky—dark because the sun has set, yes, but he realizes now, with a pit in his gut, that it’s also because storm clouds seem to be gathering above the city. He hadn’t even noticed them in his pitiful spiral, nor had he noticed the way the wind had picked up. 

He hardly has time to react before the rain comes down. Hard. Torrential. He stands on the sidewalk, too riddled with shock and disbelief to even move for cover. He stares ahead, wondering just how much more terrible this day can get. He’s never been a believer of Murphy’s Law or any of those other dubious, paranoia-induced “laws of nature,” but he’s severely starting to question his standing on it because of all days, of course it’s today where it seems that the entire universe must be against him.

He stares at the drenched flowers he had just bought you, crumpled and ruined from the force of the rain—he can’t even bring himself to feel frustrated, if anything he’s starting to feel a bit numb with exhaustion, half-certain that there’s a god up there sabotaging him. He tosses the flowers in a nearby garbage can along with the soggy box of chocolates in his other hand, and almost robotically, he makes his way to stand under an overhang, pulling out his phone to call you.

You pick up after the first ring, you always do.

“Osamu?”

“Can you pick me up?” Dazai asks, voice hoarse and empty.

“... Of course. Where are you?”

•••

The car ride has been damningly silent and Dazai feels bad because you’ve tried to make conversation with him but he can’t bring himself to speak. You’ve given up by now though, resorting to just focusing on the road, occasionally sparing him concerned glances. His head is starting to hurt and he fears that if he says something his voice might crack, so instead he just leans his head against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass spread through his brain and ease the pain as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“We’re never going to make the reservation,” Dazai finally decides to speak up, voice sounding cold and distant even to his own ears. He nearly flinches—he would’ve preferred it to crack than sound so frigid and aloof. 

The rain pouring down is torrential, lightning webbing across the dark sky and wind howling outside. Already, there’s been road closures, the twenty minute drive from the Agency to your apartment has taken twice as long as it usually takes and you’re still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic trying to take the long way around to the complex. The reservation is set for forty minutes from now, and it’ll take nearly as long to get to your apartment at this rate, and then Dazai still has to dry off and change from work, and then you have to drive to the restaurant which would've taken another twenty minutes without traffic. 

Not that it matters anyway, the storm has already destroyed his plans for after dinner, which was the whole point of the dinner anyway, but still, he would have at least liked to bring you to a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day.

He wonders if this is all meant to be a sign, and the thought makes his chest ache because of course when he finally thinks he’s ready to take the next step in his relationship with you—one that he knows you’ve been waiting patiently for four years now but his own hangups about himself have stopped him from ever doing anything about it—this happens. And you’ve never pressured him about it, you’ve never even brought it up to him because you know the topic makes him uncomfortable, but he’s seen the way you look at all of the happily married couples who come into the cafe when you meet him there for his lunch break and he’s seen the way you sometimes glance down at your own empty finger and Dazai thinks he’s ready. 

Against all odds, he thinks he’s ready—he bought you a ring, he planned out the whole proposal. Anxiety has been eating him alive all week as the days led up to this and now that the day is here, everything just goes wrong. He was going to bring you to the aquarium, because he knows you love to watch the dolphins and the penguins but that was ruined because of work. He was going to take you out to dinner at Le Normandie in Naka, because he’d seen you looking at the menu all longingly a few weeks ago, but that was ruined because of the road closures and traffic. And then he was going to bring you down into Yamashita Park, over to the flower gardens where there was supposed to be a band playing, because they always do on Valentine’s Day, and he wrote up everything, a long and flowery speech about how you’ve shown him what it’s like to really live, what it’s like to be human, but that was ruined by the storm. 

All the preparations he made, all of the plans he had, all of it gone to ruin. Just like that. 

And now he’s doubting how ready he actually is.

He really does wonder if this is a sign, a warning, even—higher powers telling him not to condemn you to a life with him because what sort of sane person would want a future with someone who’s spent most of his life trying to kill himself? Dazai has more issues than he’s worth and he’s still half-convinced that you don’t know what you’re getting into even though you’ve been with him for four years and have seen some of his most egregious lows. You’ve had to cut him down from the noose, fight him for the blade he held against his skin, and Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully free himself of the dark thoughts tearing apart his brain. 

And you deserve better than a future with someone who’s fickle about living and unable to effectively combat the dark thoughts that plague his mind. This is the world’s attempt at reminding him of that before he makes a mistake.

You draw him from his spiraling thoughts as you squeeze his hand gently, lifting his hand to press your lips against his knuckles and Dazai feels even worse because why are you comforting him when he’s the one who ruined your Valentine’s Day. 

“Let’s order takeout then,” you say easily, giving him a warm smile that should have made him feel more at ease but instead it only makes him feel worse because you shouldn’t have to settle for takeout on Valentine’s Day, especially when he planned such a nice day out. “I’m craving pizza. We can curl up on the couch and watch a movie instead.”

Dazai is unconvinced.

“Don’t give me that look,” you complain, but you’re still smiling and Dazai is finding it hard to keep up his sullen attitude with you looking at him like that. “There’s a new horror movie I wanted to watch, it’s available for streaming now.”

“This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go,” Dazai murmurs, finally intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing a circle with his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Let’s make the most of it anyway,” you tell him, giving him another radiant smile, and Dazai feels a bit like a fool—he’s never listened to the warnings from higher powers before, so why the hell should he now? When you give him another reassuring squeeze as you rest your joined hands back down on the console, turning your attention back onto the road, his chests lighten and the creeping doubts start to trickle away. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out anyway.

•••

It takes less than an hour for his slim hopes to be crushed yet again.

Dazai stares at the food in front of him, too numb to even think to go chase after the delivery driver and tell him that he got the order wrong. You’re standing somewhere to the side, looking even more concerned—not because of the food, because of him, and Dazai knows that he should reassure you and tell you that everything is fine but he can’t even muster the strength to speak the words. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t even intertwine his fingers with yours, but you’re undeterred, clutching his hand tightly, and he knows he’s being unfair to you but he just doesn’t even know what else to do. “Osamu, it’s fine, really. It’s just some food.”

“You don’t even eat any of this food,” Dazai says, voice tight and more than a bit frustrated. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, the morning had started off so nice waking up to you fast asleep on his chest and every passing second since then has just gone further and further downhill. “Not one thing has gone right today, and they can’t even get one order done correctly. It’s not fine, I-”

Dazai’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up to cup his cheeks between your hands, squishing his face gently before leaning in to press your lips against his. He sighs against your lips, the frustration slowly starting to dissipate as you rest your forehead against his, stealing one, two, three more kisses before finally pulling back a bit to speak.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him again, and Dazai thinks he should be the one reassuring you because it’s your Valentine’s Day that has been utterly ruined but he only relaxes into your touch, soaking up all of the comfort you offer him. “I have pizza bagels in the freezer, we can throw them in the oven. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to make them all day, anyway, but I wanted to wait for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“... Yeah?” Dazai asks quietly, and you give him that soft, soothing smile that always puts his nerves at ease. He lets out another puff of air, nodding. “Okay, I’ll put them in.”

He steals another kiss from you, and then another, and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt when he feels you giggling against his lips, shooing him away to go put the pizza bagels in the oven.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, that maybe the night is still salvageable, he reaches for the door to your freezer and as his fingers curl around the handle, the power goes out. Thunder shakes your apartment complex, lightning webs the sky outside, and the wind outside becomes even more treacherous. And with it, the ability to use the oven to make the pizza rolls you want disappears.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Dazai thinks it should be comical at this point but he can find no humor in it, his throat tight and clogged with a million unwelcome emotions. He swears there must be someone up in the heavens laughing at him, finding entertainment in his misfortune and misery, and maybe he deserves it for all of the sins he’s committed in the past but he wishes that they wouldn’t drag you into this. 

He casts a miserable look in your direction, unsure if you even notice because you’re already at work trying to fumble to light a few candles, and Dazai is so tired that he thinks he might die. All he had wanted was to take you on a nice day out, ending the night with dinner and a stroll through the gardens at Yamashita before finally gathering the nerve to get down on one knee in front of you, showing you the ring he’d been so nervous buying and-

And then he pauses.

Where is the ring?

The thought dawns on him so damningly that he feels physically ill, realizing that he hadn’t felt the familiar weight in his pocket earlier when walking home from the Agency, nor had he noticed it when he slipped his jacket off and laid it on one of the kitchen chairs. He rushes over to where he had left his jacket, panic spreading through him so intensely that he can hardly think straight, ignoring how you call his name, worried.

His chest tightens, blood running cold as he fumbles through the pockets of his jacket trying to figure out which one he left it in only to realize that it’s not snugged safely in any of them. Dazai thinks he might throw up, wondering if it had fallen out when he took his jacket off at the office, or if it had fallen out while he was walking to work, or when he stopped at the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, or when he was walking home. If it was the latter three, the ring is gone and he’ll probably never see it again, and he probably should take that as a sign from god to not condemn you to a life with him.

“Osamu?” you ask, voice soft and cautious as you make your way over to him, obviously sensing his distress. 

Dazai wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to laugh. He can’t tell. He leans his elbows onto the counter, hiding his face in his hands, and then he decides to laugh, or maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure honestly, but his shoulders are shaking and you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. Dazai wants to melt into you and he wants to tell you just how abysmally terrible this day has been but he can’t without telling you what he had planned and that only makes him more miserable. 

You coax his face out from where it’s hiding against his hands as you stroke his hair, pressing your lips to his shoulder, and then his temple, and as soon as he turns his face to you, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and he realizes distantly that he must’ve been crying. God, when was the last time he cried before this? He doesn’t even remember. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, keeping your voice soft as if to not startle him. 

He doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from view again. As always, you take it in stride, wrapping your arms around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head and hold him close, lips pressing against the top of his hair. And Dazai is still so frustrated—he’s so frustrated and upset with himself and upset with the world, but as soon as he’s wrapped tight in your arms, it becomes increasingly hard to remain focused on all of the negative thoughts.

“I’m so tired,” is all he can say, voice hoarse and cracking, blunt nails digging crescents into your back as he clings to you desperately. 

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s so tired. He just wanted this to be a nice day, and he wanted to finally push himself into giving himself to you entirely, because it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted. He wanted to be yours and he wanted you to be his. Officially. But if the world really is trying to warn him against it, he’s thinking that maybe he should heed its warnings for once—for your sake, because he’s sure that anyone tied to him must be cursed. 

“Let’s go lay down,” you tell him softly, carding your fingers through his hair gently. The motion is so soothing that it nearly makes his eyes droop shut, exhaustion seeping deep through his bones. “Os-”

There’s a harsh knock at your door. 

Dazai’s eyes slide shut again, frustration coming back tenfold because he can’t even have a single moment with you without it going horribly wrong. You sigh as you break yourself free from him and Dazai longs to be back in your arms instantly, the weight of the day bearing down on him twice as heavily without you there to share the burden with him.

“I’ll go get the door,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to press your lips to the corner of his. “Go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”

“No,” Dazai says, capturing your lips in a real kiss briefly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll get the door. You go change into your pajamas.”

“You sure?” you ask him, concern clear in your eyes as you look up at him.

Dazai only nods, pressing his lips to your forehead before ushering you off into the bedroom. You cast him one more worried look but Dazai shoos you away pointedly before making his way over to the door, frowning a bit because who the hell is showing up at your door this late? He thinks that if it’s the restaurant that sent the wrong food, then Dazai might just slam the door in the delivery man's face because the damage has already been done and Dazai is feeling petty.

But no. It’s not the delivery man standing outside your apartment with the right food this time. Rather, it’s an anxious looking Atsushi and a stressed Kunikida. Dazai’s eye twitches a bit—as if his day hadn’t been ruined enough with work, he swears to god that if they're about to bring even more to him on top of dragging him away from you all day, someone might die. 

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi sounds absurdly relieved at the sight of the man but Dazai’s expression doesn’t budge, waiting for them to explain why they were interrupting his night with you. “We were just leaving work and-I wish I’d seen it sooner, I’m sorry-I would’ve come sooner but-I mean we tried to call and text but-”

Dazai has no idea what Atsushi is talking about, so he drags his eyes from the anxious boy up to Kunikida, waiting for a proper explanation. Kunikida’s lips twist when Dazai looks at him and Dazai thinks the man has no right to look at him that way after being the root cause of how awful his day.

Suddenly, Dazai catches sight of the familiar velvet box sitting in Kunikida’s hand, and he’s not sure what amalgamation of emotions rocks his body—fear, relief, apprehension—but he doesn’t like it, reaching out to snatch the box from Kunikida and cradle it to his chest, watching the two of them uneasily.

“You moron,” Kunikida snaps, careful to keep his voice low, but not low enough because horror shoots through Dazai when Kunikida continues with, “why didn’t you say you were-”

“Lower your voice,” Dazai says, panicking, casting a glance back toward where you’re still getting changed in the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you say you were proposing?” Kunikida finishes in a whisper, voice still a sharp hiss. “If you’d mentioned that I would’ve-”

Dazai feels flustered, and he does not want to answer and admit that he hadn’t thought it would make a difference. Luckily—or maybe unluckily, he concedes—he doesn’t have to answer because he hears you making your way out of the bedroom.

“Osamu?” you call curiously, “Is that Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun?”

Dazai’s eyes widen when he realizes that he has nowhere to hide the ring as you come around the corner from the hall. He promptly slams the door in both of his coworkers’ faces without even the sparest thank you, ignoring their surprised yelps as panic begins to spread through him, doing his best to hide his hands behind his back when he turns around to face you.

And then-

Then he hesitates. 

The excuse on his lips about last minute mission briefing or Dazai having to sign off on a time-sensitive report dies when his eyes fall upon where you’re standing, dressed in your fuzzy pajamas with your arms wrapped around your waist and a confused expression painted on your face. The only lighting in the room is the few dim candles that you set up once the power went out, and the soft ambience casts an ethereal glow over your face. He thinks, not for the first time, that you might be heavenly, an angel sent to guide him on the path of good because how could he ever allow himself to fall back into his old, tainted habits without tarnishing you as well, and tarnishing you is simply unacceptable. 

All of the doubts that have risen throughout the day wash away as he looks at you, and he wonders, briefly, how he could’ve ever had any doubts? Dazai, for all of his insecurity and fears of commitment, wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He does. He knows it so thoroughly that he can feel it in his bones; he doesn’t want anyone else, he doesn’t want to be alone, he wants you. He wants to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night, he wants to lounge around on the weekends because you’re both too lazy to get out of bed and do something productive, he wants to be there for your lows when you’re so overwhelmed with work that you can hardly think straight much less properly take care of yourself and god, against all odds, he wants you there for his too, when he feels like he’s being consumed by his own thoughts, spiraling down a dark and never-ending train that might not be as dark and never-ending with you there as a light to guide him out of it. 

“Marry me,” he says, breathless, voice laced with desperation.

You stare at him, eyes wide. He stares back, frozen, unsure of what to do because this was not how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be extravagant, romantic, like you deserve, not some half-assed spur of the moment proposal. The words hang heavily in the air between the two of you, but he forces himself to push forward, too far in deep to back out now. 

He fumbles as he tries to shift the velvet box into one hand to bring it in front of him and show you. He drops it. Of course he does. Everything else has gone wrong today so why not this too? But still, he pushes forward, kneeling down to scoop up the ring box and prop himself up on one knee in front of you, throat swollen and tight as he opens up the box to show you the ring inside of it. He’s holding it backwards. Of course he is. So he fixes it promptly, swiveling it around with trembling fingers, waiting anxiously for you to respond. Or even just react. 

You haven’t budged from where you’re standing a few feet away.

What if you say no? God, the thought hadn’t even crossed his head but now his heart starts to sink from his chest down to his feet because you’re not moving and you’re not saying anything and he doesn’t know if you’re just processing his words or if you’re trying to figure out the best way to reject him. 

He starts to fumble out words. “This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he admits, speaking so quickly that he can barely understand himself. “It was supposed to be a nice day, we were gonna go to the aquarium to see the dolphins and penguins, dinner at Le Normandie and then go down to the gardens at the park, and there was supposed to be a band and flowers and I had a whole speech ready and it definitely was not supposed to be like this but everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong, but I want to marry you and I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m sorry that this is a shitty proposal, you deserve better than this. And I’m probably making it worse, I should have just waited for another day, but-”

But please say yes, he wants to say, but he can’t force the words out; he can only stare at you, expression more open and vulnerable than he thinks he’s been in his entire life. And he realizes, a bit horrified, that you could ruin him right now—he’s laid his heart out on a platter and it’ll only take one swift motion for you to crush it in hand and he thinks he’s terrified but-

All of the air is ripped from his lungs with a harsh oof. In an instant, his back is to the floor and you’re on top of him and Dazai is staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

“You’re so stupid, Osamu,” you cry out and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that you’re crying, hands propped up on his chest to brace yourself up, tears pooling in your eyes and streaming over your cheeks and dripping onto his own face. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about all day? I don’t need any of that, all I need is you.”

Oh. Dazai can’t breathe, and it’s not because you’re on top of him it’s because your words are processing and he’s realizing that-are you saying that-

“Of course, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, a puff of air that he does not have in his lungs, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling—elation, relief, exhilaration, all of the above—but he does know that he’s never felt anything like it before and he doesn’t want it to go away. Ever. Dazai swears he sees a flash of a camera from the window, and he swears doubly that he hears Yosano let out a hoot of a cheer and Kunikida hushing her, dragging her away, but he can’t even bring himself to care. 

 Yeah, Dazai thinks to himself, eyes sliding shut as he rests his head back against the floor, the first genuine smile of the day tugging to the edge of his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his shirt, sniffling and hiccuping over each breath. He wraps an arm around your waist, using his free hand to slip the ring out of the box and slide it onto your finger. You cry harder. He kisses the top of your head, wondering how he could ever have any doubts or hesitations. 

He could definitely spend the rest of his life like this.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai fluff #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu fluff #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader

[scuddisher]

LET'S GET IN THE BACK OF YOUR COP CAR, OFFICER.

Steve had found you working so many times, was so diligent about turning a blind eye and letting you walk away—but this time he had to make a report, unless you could convince him otherwise.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — steve murphy x sex-worker! gender-neutral reader GENRE(S) — drabble, smut. WORD COUNT — 2.7k WARNINGS — mature content, pet-names used: honey & baby, a bit of dark! steve murphy, quick plot & ending. SMUT WARNINGS — sexual content, multiple references to sex work, oral (reader receiving), quickie, unprotected intercourse, creampie, exhibitionism (semi-public spot) RELEASE DATE — MARCH 22ND 2024

AUTHOR’S NOTE — this man is rotting my brain so you guys have to rot with me. need him carnally. also yes I've had the song the title is from stuck in my head with scenes of him on repeat. save me fictional steve murphy.

His cologne engulfed you first, telling you exactly who was behind you. His hand on your shoulder turned your skin from smooth to bumpy with chills just before he spoke. “Haven't I told you to get a better career?”

You were used to Steve Murphy’s smartass comments tossed aimlessly, especially in trying times like the situation he found you in. Leaving the bed of a man who paid—someone Murphy was out hunting down and just-so-happened to find you with—all while unsatisfied and disappointed in such a rich man who played up his sex-life like he ran the bunnies at the playboy mansion.

“He doubled his pay just to get me here.” You sighed, a tell that Steve knew well.

He knew what happened by the scent of the room he had walked into, thankfully putting a stop to the madness you got yourself in. It was always an older man who picks younger lovers to tame, but as Steve saw your underwear as you lifted them back up your legs—he saw they were dry.

“Such a shame, pretty thing like you comin’ all this way for nothin’.” Steve's eyes wavered, you knew what was bound to happen next. “Especially since I gotta take you in this time.”

Your tongue was between your teeth, attempting to not curse at the man for doing his job. It wouldn't be long before others showed up for this bust.

Peña leaned against the wall with his arms folded and eyes darting between you and the rich man he had just put cuffs on—the numbers in his head already adding up to what Murphy was planning to do. It was a man-in-power advantage, one that had Javier smirking to himself.

Steve's hand had left your shoulder moments ago, the skin still feeling the warmth of his touch. But the solid grip on your upper arm, one that tightened lightly as he pushed you forward to walk with him, that was what truly made your heart skip a beat.

“Let's go downstairs and get you out of the house before any cameras show up trying to catch a glimpse of this guy.” His voice was low as his head moved closer to yours, eyes on Peña while passing him with a nod in response to the ‘alone time’ plea. He knew the drill.

You moved at the same beat as him, legs attempting to take strides similar to his so he couldn't tell how nervous you were. For once, with Steve wearing his badge, you tasted what felt like unfairness of the system.

“Honey—” Voice soft and still as low as before, he spoke. “I really didn't want you doing this shit anymore.”

You heard it, the sound of a man disappointed. Steve had saved your ass nearly three times now, almost four if he hadn't let you slip out the window before anyone else saw you. You knew your time working the streets was coming to a close each time the DEA team was let loose on the customers in the area.

“I thought you said you were looking for more work last time?” His baby blue eyes caused your heart to skip when he turned his head to look into your gaze, his hand on your arm helping you dodge doorways and decor as you made it out the front door and towards his undercover car.

“I was. And I found it.” Your voice was even smaller than his, his grip stopping you right beside the large vehicle just before turning you to face him.

His scent was so loud: cologne, a drink or two from after lunch, the smell of ink from files and paperwork that he had been flipping through until they got a lead stained on his fingertips. It made your head swim. It always did.

The clink of his hand on the car window startled you from staring at him, wishing only to close your eyes and take in having him so close. And he was close—so close with his eyes on you and only you, that his voice made your body vibrate with every word. “You know I don't have any more ‘get out of jail free cards’ right? Your DNA is gonna be on that guy when we run him through the system. There's no getting out of this one.”

His body leaned into yours, almost pressing you into the black SUV like you were part of the paint. Steve's eyes were filled with a glaze that could only be a lack of sleep and a buzz from his earlier drinks, matching the scent of liquor on his breath as he breathed on you softly.

“M-Murphy…” You squeaked, wanting to fade into him and feel every muscle and scar along his skin. “Can't you do something? Anything?”

You saw the flash in his eyes. The way his tongue poked from his mouth to lick his lips. His eyes darting behind your head and to his own reflection in the tinted back window of the car.

It was only for a moment, the click of the door handle and the breeze of the back door opening—Steve’s eyes never leaving yours. “Get in the back.”

Your skin felt the leather as you shuffled into the car, the backseat big and welcoming compared to most vehicles you've been in the back of along with the rough slam of your door being shut. His cologne hit your nose once more, finding you through a waft of air once he made his way into the backseat with you and closed his door.

His jaw was locked, eyes steady adding things in his own mind, that of which you wish you could see or hear. Steve was hardly ever this quiet, always planning something aloud and letting you in—he didn't want to make you feel unsafe around him.

But this—this was different. You were a link in his finding, a witness in his case that could cause you to have to be taken to the station and questioned—and not just for being involved with a rich criminal like your client. Being known as a solicitor would ruin your reputation. It would open you up to a world of all the ruined cops constantly trying to take advantage of those they take in. And even worse, put your name in the eyes of the big men who actually run this city—men way over Steve Murphy’s head.

The sound of his breathing speeding up made your fingers shake, gripping at the clothes you wore to try and hold onto something. “Officer Murphy?”

His name rolling off your tongue made his head snap in your direction, blue irises darker in the dim streetlights far outside from the car you sat in.

The few times you had called him that, you were truly scared. Eyes jittering in your head, hands running cold from anxiety, chest heaving with every breath you took. It was hard for him to look away—almost impossible, and all he could do was scoot closer to you until you were between him and the door.

Little to no room to move around, his scent so deep in your nose that you could almost taste him—and his lips captured yours. Kiss soft, promising, and fulfilling of everything you didn't get in that room upstairs in one swift motion, you moaned into his harsh taste until you felt his tongue trying to lick at your own.

His hand moved from his thigh to your neck, fingers pressing into your warm skin and recreating the same chills he felt rise on your body earlier. You could feel the twinge of his smirk in the kiss, but you fell so deep into his touch that you could hardly focus on anything else.

The groan he released was loud when your hand moved onto his leg, feeling at his rough jeans that ran too right in his crotch at times like these. Something that had never seemed to cross your mind, ending up in such a position as this—Steve desperate to touch you, you desperate to get out of this mess—it almost had you crawling on top of him.

And right as the idea popped into your mind, your hand grazed his hard-on just in time to know how badly he wanted you. He hardly got a noise out, “Fuck.” being the only thing he said.

But it wasn't what was in his head. It wasn't the idea that had made his tongue lick his lips or his eyes catch a glimpse of the black car that would hide your heated bodies doing sinful acts.

His touch turned warmer as his hand on your neck slid down your front, feeling at all the parts of you he knew he'd get sounds out of. The most beloved sound, one he had dreamed of hearing, was that of the wetness he felt as his hand slipped into your underwear.

Your eyes rolling back at just a hint of friction had him pulling back from your mouth just to watch. The whites of your eyes were all he could see for a split second, and he had barely started.

Steve seeing you crawling your way out of that king size bed, picking up your dry underwear that showed zero signs of you being the least bit interested in the man you were just in between the sheets with—it made his bottom lip go in between his teeth at the thought.

Before you could blink, his large body was shuffling until his hands took you at your waist and pulled you sideways on the seats. Your lower half was right at his face, his breathing scattered as his eyes gleamed up at you in the soft orange haze of the streetlights all around the driveway of the house. His fingers left your wetness to latch at your underwear, pulling that and your pants down past your knees.

Your glistening body has his eyes glassy, drool nearly pooling from his lips as they quivered and tried to form a sentence. It wasn't forever ago when you noticed his ring had gone missing. It wasn't even a month ago that he had found you again, his grip on you tight as he walked you out—he held himself back like a gentleman all this time—but now he was a starved man.

“C-Can I?” His face was darkened, yours lit up in the light. All you could see was him chewing in his bottom lip in anticipation before you nodded.

And that was all he needed. The plunge into you was more satisfying than you had felt the pleasure of someone else's touch in forever, his tongue wet and lapping and licking like a dehydrated dog to its water bowl.

Your hand covered your mouth as a scream nearly ripped through you, unsure of how sound-proof the vehicle was. His eyes moving up at you to see your eyes rolling back again was enough to have him stirring an orgasm from you at any cost.

All the times he had peeled you away from a man who only wanted his own pleasure, ignoring the fact you looked like a wreck that hadn't actually orgasmed from anything they had done to you—just to end up in the back of his car with him in between your thighs.

His tongue moved against you in waves, his hand and fingers coming into play only minutes later to help push you to your breaking point. “Steve, for the love of God!” You whined into the quiet car, barely being able to call to him over his whimpers and moans as he collected your wetness and swallowed with vigor.

It wasn't until your body began to shake, and an orgasm threatened to roar that the blue and red lights flashed into the car. Steve's cheeks had run pink from his focus and the heat now causing you both to sweat in the confined space.

The man rose up, his hands on his belt trying to loosen the restraint quickly. He could hardly pull his cock out before he saw others moving into the house, his tip pressing at your entrance just in time for you to cling to him and beg. “Stop stalling, Murphy!”

You had nearly bit your tongue at your own words leaving your mouth—they were fuel to his fire. Every inch of him that sunk into you had your nails digging into his shirt on his back, almost causing them to cut through the cotton as you clung to him for dear life. “Oh shit. Oh, shit!”

Steve believed he thought of everything. Knew you were unsatisfied, knew if he got you alone that he could show you a good time. But what he didn't account for was how long it had been since you had been fucked right, your hold on him tight enough to already have his precum spilling into you until he could hear every sound you made when he filled you.

You were whining, no—whimpering, at how much he filled you. How easily he found your spot deep inside your walls, the curve of his cock making you see stars the moment he bottomed out in you.

By now, the car's windows were steamed up. If anyone was actually paying attention—looking hard enough into the SUV’s windows that were clearly a DEA regulated vehicle—they’d see Murphy's hand sliding down the back passenger seat’s window before finding a better hold on the leather seat inside.

You felt him raise his hips, felt the shake of the car each time he jerked them into a deep thrust, and most importantly of all—felt your gummy walls rush with more wetness and vibrate with your orgasm. Shivering, you took hold of his shirt until he was sure that Peña would get a good laugh out of the wrinkles it now holds.

But Steve was a stallion, racing for his own release like the car shaking and almost rattling at his rough thrusts was the last thing on his mind. Your eyes had shut in wonder for when the knock on the window would come, moaned at the feeling of his head falling into your neck to take a deep breath of your scent, and completely went limp feeling his seed gush into you.

“F-Fuck, honey.” His voice was so unstable, hair wet and stuck to his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. “Warn a man that you're as tight as leather pants on a sweaty rockstar before he puts his dick in you.” His words were comical, the smile he wore growing larger on his face as he sat back in the seats and tried to tighty himself up.

You cackled, sitting up and stretching your neck from the harsh position you had been in. Finally, your mind was clearing—but now the entire driveway was filled with cops, and you were still on the scene.

Once your eyes caught Steve's, his face showed more seriousness while he glanced around at the amount of people leering into his case. Someone had talked, gossiped, or corruption spun its web and leaked into Murphy’s current world.

And here you sat, having fucked the lead DEA detective of the case—guilty eyes finding his again.

“You'll still be found out when he gets put into the system…” He claimed, signing as he put an unlit cigarette between his lips. “But as long as I have a hold on it—” He had a way out of this all along. “—I can make it like you were never in the house. You met him somewhere else, maybe for a blowjob or a quickie—hmm?” He spoke with confidence, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting the cigarette.

He was going to make it go away, he just wanted to know what all the hype about you truly was. Needless to say, curiosity got the best of him.

“This is your last shift at this job, isn't it?” It wasn't a question, it was a demand—and his voice had turned cold. His breath fanned over your face, blue eyes watching your mouth fall open at his sudden change in demeanor. “Want me to make it all go away, baby?”

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

#boyd holbrook smut #steve murphy smut #steve murphy x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #boyd-a-thon

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part Eight)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Later in the evening, you arrived at Cillian's and Danielle's holiday house in Cork with your parents. You all sat down, grieving, while Danielle opened a bottle of wine, offering it to everyone. You sat down with the group, sipping the smooth, dark red liquid as it slid down your throat. Conversation flowed easily, topics shifting from the funeral earlier that day to lighter subjects like movies and travel. But inevitably and unbeknownst to everyone else, your thoughts kept returning to the intimate moments you shared with Cillian.

Your mother, Sarah, seemed focused on the work messages that popped up on her phone, her attention drawn to the task at hand. Danielle, too, was lost in conversation with your stepfather Frank who appeared to be rather annoyed by his brother's wife's continuous antics. The air between them was dense and yet, the room hummed with conversation while a sense of unease hung in the air, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, yet ever present to those who cared to notice.

Cillian often smiled at you in a way that was hardly appropriate, giving you a knowing look. It was as if he wanted you to know that you would always belong to him, regardless of whether it was behind closed doors or not. This thought brought a flush of both pride and embarrassment, causing you to look away, pretending to engage in conversation with the others.

Danielle glanced around the room occasionally, her eyes searching for something she couldn't quite grasp. She was oblivious to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, unaware of the bond between Cillian and you. And yet, she knew that something was up. Her husband was cheating again, and she needed to know who with.

There was no doubt about it now, but she didn't have concrete evidence, nor would she have expected you to be the one he was with.

The connection between you and Cillian was so subtle that nobody but you would recognize it and you even went as far as to pick up the phone and text him while he was sitting right across from you.

The rest of the company in the room did not suspect anything amiss; they only observed that you were slightly preoccupied.

"This suit you are wearing looks divine," you wrote to Cillian while looking around nervously, trying to divert any suspicion. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment before taking a sip of his wine.

After a second or two, he typed up a response while ensuring that Danielle did not notice what he was doing.

"So is your dress and the fact that I know that you are not wearing any underwear beneath it now makes it even more appealing," came the reply which ultimately made you blush.

You looked around the room once more, satisfied that nobody noticed your exchange with Cillian before texting him again.

Feeling a bit anxious while texting, you stole another glance at Cillian, observing the play of emotion across his face – desire mixed with calculation. It made you realize just how much power he held over you. He understood exactly what buttons to push to get you where he wanted you.

"Will I get to spend some more time with you after everyone goes to sleep?" you texted back, suppressing a smile as you waited for his answer.

Cillian's thumbs flew over his phone, conveying his agreement in mere seconds.

"Absolutely. I will sneak into your bedroom after my wife has fallen asleep," Cillian wrote back, grinning ferally.

You felt a thrill course through your body at the thought of being alone with him again and of having him inside you while his very own wife was asleep next door.

"And what will you do to me after you sneak into my bedroom?" you flirtatiously teased, letting the excitement show clearly in your eyes.

Cillian grinned broadly when he read your message.

"First, I will lick that cum from earlier out of your pussy," he replied suggestively, running his tongue seductively along his bottom lip and your skin prickled with awareness as the image of him doing that to you.

"And then, I will put my cock back inside you and fuck you till you can't walk straight tomorrow," Cillian continued to text, making your stomach somersault with anticipation.

You gasped enthusiastically, already wet and excited just thinking about his words just as your mother Sarah spoke up, telling you to get of your phone.

You quickly turned off your cellphone and nodded at your mom as she handed you a glass of wine. As soon as you got the chance, you picked up your mobile again, typing another steamy message to Cillian.

"Are you serious?! Are you really going to come into my room tonight??!" You pressed send and immediately looked around the room to make sure none of the adults could see what you were doing. However, there was still a part of you that craved the risky element of potentially getting caught.

Without missing a beat, Cillian answered your question.

"Yes, baby. I will slip into your room, undetected, and ravish you for hours." He let out a low laugh, watching as you squirmed in your seat. His smirk said it all - that he had you hooked, completely under his control. No matter how wrong it might seem, you found yourself desiring him even more than you had before.

"You are on your phone again," your mother suddenly pointed out before apologising to everyone else in the room. "Y/N is seeing someone I think," Sarah then mentioned casually in her drunken kind of state.

You winced slightly, realizing that your cover may be blown and began to blush.

"Mum, please," you pleaded while Cillian put away his phone and smiled.

"Oh yeah?" he asked teasingly, causing you to cringe. "Who is the lucky guy?" he wanted to know while everyone watched intently.

Feeling cornered, you hesitated briefly before deciding to play it cool. "Just someone from school," you stated nonchalantly, trying to maintain your composure despite your racing heart.

"She won't tell us, but that's okay," your mother told the others, laughing lightly.

"Yes, because it is nothing serious," you told your mother while Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. 

"You know what? I should introduce to the son of our new neighbors one day. His name is Max and he is rather good looking. He is 22 and studies law at Trinity," Danielle then suggested, catching everybody's attention including yours. "What do you mean by 'rather good looking', Danielle?" Sarah queried, intrigued.

"Well, he's tall, athletic, with lovely green eyes...the type that would make anybody stop and take a second look," Danielle elaborated further, painting a vivid picture in everyone's minds except yours.

"Maybe we could set something up?" Sarah offered jokingly, showing interest in playing matchmaker for you just as Cillian jumped in.

"I don't think he is that good looking Danielle. Despite, he is a little arrogant, wouldn't you say?" Cillian remarked, raising his brow at Danielle as he took a drink of his wine.

"He seems charming enough, Cillian," Danielle commented casually while Cillian shook his head.

"I am sure Y/N can do better than Max O'Connor," Cillian told his wife, sending a wink your way and you realized that there may have been a hint of jealousy in this voice.

Cillian did not seem to like the idea of you potentially seeing anybody else besides him. Even if that wasn't necessarily true in reality, the situation provided fertile ground for drama and conflict.

Meanwhile, Danielle ignored the comment and carried on changing the topic to discuss various legal matters related to the death of their mutual aunt. All throughout these proceedings, your mind constantly drifted back to Cillian and your impending rendezvous.

As the hours passed, the party finally started breaking up, leaving everyone exhausted. Everyone retired to their respective rooms, signaling the end of social interactions for the night.

Soon after you retreated to your room, the house grew quiet save for occasional creaks coming from the floorboards. Your heart raced with anticipation as you slipped out of your clothes and put on a thin silk nightgown that hugged your curves seductively.

You then settled on the bed with a book and began to read to kill time, knowing full well that you weren't actually interested in reading. Instead, your gaze kept wandering to the clock ticking softly beside your bed. The silence within the room seemed deafening, amplifying every sound. It appeared as though time stood still as you anxiously awaited his arrival.

Finally, the moment arrived. Quiet footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you instinctively recognized those steps as belonging to Cillian. As he approached your room, his breathing quickened, betraying his mounting excitement.

With silent precision, he entered your room, shutting the door behind him without making a single noise. The sight of Cillian standing in the dim moonlight sent shivers down your spine, as he stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Kleins.

His skin glistened lightly with sweat, highlighting his slender but toned physique. Your breath hitched involuntarily, your heartbeat escalating rapidly. This man knew exactly how to ignite fire within you. Inhaling sharply, he moved closer towards your bed, his intent clear.

"Danielle is asleep, but we need to be quiet," he said after he reached the bed and, with a swift motion, Cillian pulled your nightgown over your head, exposing your naked form beneath him.

Desire coursed through your veins as he traced lazy circles along your chest with his fingers, eliciting tiny moans from your lips.

"I will try my best to be quiet for you, Cillian," you whispered, reaching up to run your hands through his hair affectionately. His touch left trails of electric sensations wherever they touched your skin. It was hard to believe this was happening right now, so close to everyone else in the house, yet feeling so incredibly private and forbidden.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured against your neck, giving it a gentle bite. You shivered at his teeth grazing your skin, the eroticism almost too much to bear.

"Now spread your legs wide for me and let me eat you out," Cillian instructed huskily, his mouth dangerously close to your earlobe. His hot breath against your sensitive flesh heightened your desire, urging you to comply instantly. You obeyed, spreading your thighs wide open, presenting yourself vulnerably for him.

The mattress dipped as Cillian lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself perfectly to taste your sweet nectar as well as his own as, just a few hours earlier, he came inside your pussy. 

"Fuck, you are so wet and full of my cum," he exclaimed, appreciatively taking in the view as his fingers parted your labia. "I can't wait to taste you," he added with a grin, leaning in to press his face against your cleft.

Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly ran his tongue across your folds, savoring the tanginess that mixed with his flavor. Each pass made you feel wanton and depraved, wanting more of his skilled ministrations.

"Oh god, please," you moaned before covering your own mouth with both of your hands, trying to suppress the noises escaping you. The sounds emitting from deep within you confirmed his prowess and skill. But most importantly, the raw passion and lust filling the air intensified the experience, drawing both you and Cillian deeper into this illicit encounter.

"We taste fucking perfect together," Cillian groaned as his tongue entered your wetness once more, driving you wild with pleasure. He then suckled upon your clit, bringing you closer and closer to climax. Your body trembled violently, unable to contain its release any longer. With every thrust of his tongue, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you utterly powerless against his expertise.

At long last, an earthshattering orgasm ripped through your entire being, nearly knocking you off the bed.

You tried to suppress your screams and moans, knowing that Cillian's wife was asleep next door, but it proved futile. The intensity of your climax coupled with Cillian's masterful manipulation pushed you beyond all reason. Your insatiable hunger for his touch consumed you entirely, transforming your senses and Cillian stopped quickly to cover your mouth with his hand.

"Ssshh, you need to be quiet," he cautioned tenderly, kissing your forehead delicately before pulling away, recomposing himself. However, his gaze remained hungry and predatory, making your heart race even faster.

"I am sorry. I will try harder," you reassured him while Cillian slowly positioned himself between your legs.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, running his thumb over your smooth skin. Your nipples hardened under his touch, aching for more contact.

"Now spread your legs a bit more for me and let me fuck that sweet little pussy of yours full of cum," Cillian commanded, his tone dark and demanding. Without hesitation, you obeyed his command, opening your legs wider to grant him better access.

"No, wait..." you began to say as Cillian positioned himself and guided his erection toward your entrance, teasing the tip around your wet entrance until you were both desperate for penetration.

"You need to pull out before you cum. I left my pill at home, so I didn't take any tonight. It should be fine, but just in case, you should not cum inside me again tonight," you warned him and Cillian nodded reluctantly before, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed forward, allowing only the smallest portion of his cock to enter you initially. Your muscles squeezed tightly around him, welcoming him inside your warmth.

"I will just have to cum in your mouth then when I am done fucking you," Cillian growled possessively, claiming ownership over your body. He proceeded to start thrusting into you, starting with shallow movements that built into harder ones as he got lost in the rhythm. Your moans and gasps filled the space, creating a symphony of pleasure that reverberated between the two of you.

Each powerful stroke brought him deeper inside you, causing both of you to lose control, surrendering completely to the primal nature of your connection.

"You feel absolutely amazing. So warm and tight. And I love how greedy you are," Cillian praised as he continued thrusting into you with forceful strokes. Your body trembled underneath him, your walls contracting repeatedly around his member.

He held your head firmly, pinning you to the bed as he spoke harshly, "you are mine to fuck, just mine!"

 His words stung like a whip, reminding you both of whose body you belonged to during this tryst.

"I am yours to fuck, Cillian!" you cried out, losing yourself completely in the act. Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I am close," you told him fiercely, pressing your lips to his neck as your eyes closed, feeling his strength flow through you.

Cillian responded with fervor, speeding up his pace dramatically, rocking your world with each plunge of his length inside you.

"Yes! That's it! Good girl! Take my cock!" Cillian commanded, sealing his lips around yours with a fierce, dominating kiss that left you both craving more. His large hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you in place while he continued thrusting into you with such force that you found yourself unable to speak coherently. All thought processes ceased as the pure physical sensation took complete control over your mind and body. Every movement he made felt electrically charged, sending shock waves throughout your system.

As Cillian pounded into you with increased vigor, the bed shifted beneath your weight, hitting the wall multiple times until, finally, you came, hard and fast.

As the euphoria hit you, time seemed to stand still - and then everything rushed back in one tumultuous torrent of sensation. Forcing your way past your limit, you met Cillian's gaze with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. The look he gave you, however, suggested something different altogether – he wanted to make you cry out for him. With one final forceful push, he claimed victory over your body. You screamed, the sound muffling slightly against his palm.

Still, there was enough noise to alert someone nearby and, as soon as you had peaked, Cillian struggled to contain himself any longer.

Without warning, he pulled out and released his seed all over your belly button, watching intently as the sticky substance dripped downwards on to the sheets.

"Fuck you look so hot, covered in my cum," he growled, tracing his finger along the path it took before collecting some of it and bringing it up to your mouth.  Reluctantly, you opened your lips, allowing him to feed you his essence. As you swallowed, the bitter yet enticing liquid combined with the salty residue of arousal and sweat sent shivers racing through your veins. This marked a turning point between you two, blurring lines and reinforcing the bond of deceit that would consume you.

"That's good, isn't it?" he asked softly, his voice laced with both admiration and tenderness.

"So good, although I wish you could stay and sleep here, with me, tonight," you exclaimed, longing his closeness as, slowly and unbeknownst to him, you were developing feelings for him.

"You know that is not an option," he said dismissively, not looking directly at you as he got up. "I am married, remember? And if this wasn't bad enough already, my wife is asleep right next door," Cillian quipped lightly, avoiding direct eye contact with you, feeling guilty towards you as well as her.

"I know. It still would be nice to share another night like the one in the hotel," you admitted sheepishly, glancing sideways at him with a wry smile with was a suggestion to which Cillian agreed.

"I think that could be arranged when we are back in Dublin after this trip," he replied, smiling slightly. 

Your cheeks flushed red with excitement, hoping that day would come sooner rather than later.

Cillian reached down to the floor, reaching for his briefs and putting them back on. His eyes were lingering fondly on your face for a brief moment before he was walking towards the bed again and kissed you goodnight.

He turned off the lamp near the bedside table and exited the room quietly, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. Leaving you alone, wrapped in his aftermath, savoring the memories of what just transpired between you two, the thrilling sensual interlude continuously playing on loop in your mind.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, especially Danielle, who slept oblivious in the adjacent room, you allowed these thoughts to become a constant companion, driving you wild in ways you never imagined possible as, slowly, but surely, you were falling in love with a much older married man, and you knew that this was a disaster to happen.

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[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Framing Escobar Chapter 8 La Gatita

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog festuring porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: Threat to Reader; vomit/vomiting; food and alcohol consumption; Unsolicited Photos; Survaillance of Reader, Canon-Typical Violence; Canon Divergence; Javier Peña Has a Big Dick (Narcos); Grumpy Javier Peña (Narcos); Sweet Javier Peña (Narcos); Protective Steve Murphy (Narcos); Sex; Rough Sex; Choking; Unprotected Sex; unprotected piv; Penis In Vagina Sex; Power Dynamics; Javier Peña Smut (Narcos); Fluff. Let me know if I missed any!

[AO3]

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“The kitten.” You say to yourself as your stomach drops like a lead balloon. Your fingers tremble violently as you tear open the envelope. You feel your knees go weak as the thundering roar of your heartbeat fills your ears.

The stack of photographs in your hand make you feel sick. Bile rises in your throat as you leaf through them all. One for every day you had been out on the street in Bogota and Medellín over the last two months.

But they pale in comparison to what you see next. You look over the last four and you can’t hold back the bile rising to your throat as you run to the sink. The watery vomit burns your throat and tongue as you empty your stomach contents.

You stand trembling over the edge of the sink for a moment, glad you had chosen to wear your hair up. You straighten back up and lay the photos on the counter. Four separate shots of you at the bar. Every single round you had bought that night recorded in the photos.

It was targeted.

You try not to panic. But you aren’t naive, there’s a very real – potentially lethal – target on your back. You jump again as you hear a rhythmic knocking at the door and your blood runs cold.

It’s just Javi, just Javi.

You repeat over and over in your head as you quickly fill a glass of water and gargle before spitting into the sink. You rinse the glass and the sink as best as you can before re-applying your lipstick. At the last moment you grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder, one hand in the bag already wrapped around your gun.

You could feel your hands trembling against the pistol but you take a deep breath and look through the peep hole. Relief rushes through you and you wrench the door open maybe a little too eagerly.

“Evening-,” Javi’s voice catches in his throat as he takes you in. You are similarly stunned as you slowly drink him in. He’s in a tight black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His buttons are fastened almost as low as your neckline, showing off the smooth tan skin beneath. A thin gold chain glitters against his chest. His beige slacks hug his hips and brush against the maroon dress shoes at his ankle. His sunglasses are nowhere to be seen, he’s clean shaven, moustache trimmed neatly, and his hair is slicked back with pomade.

“You look amazing.” You breathe and Javi snaps back to reality as his dark eyes meet yours. His tongue drags across his bottom lip slowly as he seemingly battles with a thought behind those glassy eyes.

“I have no words for how beautiful you are tonight.” He says breathily as he begins to extend his hand out to your cheek. He pauses, realising he might be overstepping but you step forward and press your cheek gently into his large palm. He trembles at the contact as you place a soft, chase kiss to the base of his thumb.

“I’d ask you in,” you purr, the photographs forgotten for now. Javier Peña is all you could think about, all you want to think about right now, “But I need to know what this surprise is.” you finish as you take his wrist gently in your hand.

You pull his hand from your cheek, and you see the disappointment on Javi’s face. You smirk before pulling his thumb to your lips. You lock eyes with him as you press it between your lips, torturously slow. You groan at the sharp hiss that escapes his mouth.

“Cariño...” he growls, but it’s clearly all he can manage as he watches you – transfixed – as you take his thumb up to the first knuckle and suck gently before slowly pulling it back out. A ring of lipstick is left just below the joint and Javi exhales through his flared nostrils as you watch his eyes swim with desire.

“Come on, Peña, if this goes well, I’ll leave lipstick somewhere else.” You drop his hand and turn to walk towards the stairs. You make it two steps before your spun around, Javi pulls you tight against his chest and the look he gives you sends the heat of arousal straight to your already aching core.

“You’re going to pay for that cariño, and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.” He growls as his fingertips brush against your jaw.

“I’m counting on it.” you say with a hum as his hand finds your throat. He holds you tightly, but not painfully, as he turns your head to the side. His nose finds your ear, pressing against the sensitive skin, and he breathes slowly over your neck before placing a soft, lingering kiss on your trembling flesh.

“Going to put that bratty little mouth to good use.” he hums against your skin before abruptly letting you go. You almost collapse at the sudden lack of sensation and glare up at him. But you suppose you deserve any teasing you get.

“Come on, Peña, what’s so important about this surprise?” you ask with an indignant huff punctuation your question.

“Oh, you’ll see.” Javi hurriedly pulls you by the hand down the stairs and as soon as you’re in the truck you notice a look on his face you can’t quite discern. You cock your head at him and narrow your eyes.

“You trust me?” he asks and you want to say no, to fuck with him, but something about the look in his eyes makes you reconsider.

“Yes, Javi, completely,” you answer and his face lights up. as he leans over to the glove box, his forearm brushes against your knee and you gasp, unable to hold it in as the electric current ghosts over your skin.

“Put this on,” he orders as he hands you a red silk scarf.

“You mean around my neck? Or?” you tease, already knowing what he means but you couldn’t help it. You love watching him roll his eyes at you when you’re bratty. Almost on cue his dark eyes roll as he shake his head.

“Turn.” He says and you obey this time, your body trembling in excitement as the smooth fabric covers your eyes. His hands make quick work of the double knot, and you’re fully blindfolded as you feel his calloused hands brush against your skin. Small, lingering touches move down your spine before he pulls away, the rumble of the truck snapping you back to reality.

***

The truck stops and you’re practically vibrating with anticipation as you try and figure out where you are. The warm night air hits you as Javi gets out on his side, in a matter of seconds your door opens. You smell the hints of tobacco, and his cologne as he gently touches your hand. You swivel in your seat and press your hand into his. Slowly he helps you out of the vehicle and is guiding you up a flight of stairs. You can hear music as you ascend the steps, the smell of street food on the air. You’re still trying to figure it out as he brings you to a stop.

“Javi come on when can I take off-?” the silk falls away from your eyes and you gasp at the sight before you. You were at the edge of a plaza filled with lights, stalls, and most importantly artists painting, sculpting, singing, dancing all around you. You turn to Javi with tears in your eyes and he looks down at you with a triumphant smile.

“Javi what is this?” you ask, your lips parted in awe as you fight the urge to kiss him.

“It’s a monthly festival of art, I thought you might like it.”

“Like doesn’t cut it Javi, this is amazing,” your voice is barely more than a whisper as you hold back the tears of joy. A single tear betrays you and before you can wipe it away Javi’s soft lips catch it on your cheek. You lean against him and breathe him in, the gesture melting all remnants of ill will from your mind.

“Come on, let’s get some food, and a drink,” he says softly against your skin before nudging you in the direction of the food stalls. You don’t argue, the butterflies in your stomach not enough to disguise the ravenous hunger that has suddenly crept up on you. Javi offers you his arm and you take it, relishing the contact.

“No argument here.” You say as you squeeze against him.

You spend the next few hours talking to local artists, vendors, and musicians, with Javi’s help where your Spanish failed you. You eat too much food and drink maybe a little too much beer. But you didn’t care, you’re in your element.

You’ve already bought a few small knickknacks to put on some of your the bare surfaces in your apartment. But it isn’t until you see the last vendor’s work do you truly fall in love with something so much you have to have it.

The stall is filled with oil on canvas art of the jungles and rainforests of Colombia, bright splashes of jewel tones intermingled with the dense greens and rich browns of the jungle. One stands out to you more than the others. An intricate painting of a hummingbird drinking from a bright pink flower. Somehow the artist has managed to capture the iridescent blues, greens and purples as well as the speckled reds and oranges on the underbelly and tail feathers.

“That’s a colourful puffleg,” you say softly to Javi as you stand transfixed.

“That’s a stupid name,” he scoffs and you jab him softly in the side.

“I didn’t name it, cabrón,” you grumble as you hail the artist as he finishes up with another customer. You enquire about the painting in Spanish, not needing Javi’s help this time and all the while you can feel his gaze on you as he caresses the column on your spine with two fingers. The artist wraps up the piece and you hand over the money.

“¡Buenas noches!” you call to the vendor as he is already pulled away by another interested party.

“You happy there, cariño?” Javi whispers in your ear and you lean back into him, you nod as you feel his arms wrap around you, careful not to jostle the wrapped canvas in your hands.

“More than happy, Javi,” you say with your eyes closed, savouring the moment as you feel Javi’s chest rise and fall against your back.

“Wanna head back to mine?” He breathes as his hands fall to your hips and his lips brush the top of your head.

“No, let’s go back to mine, I’ve got a brand-new Laphroaig twelve I’d like to share with you.”

“Deal, come on, I’m desperate for a taste,” he whispers against your scalp and you don’t know if he means the whiskey or you, but you didn’t care.

***

Your back hits the door with a hollow thud, you haven’t even made it inside your apartment. You hold the painting out to the side to protect it from Javi’s forceful embrace. His lips are moulded against yours as he licks hungrily into your mouth. His hands are fisted in the fabric of your dress, slowly pushing it up your thighs as his knee presses between your thighs.

“Been thinking about that moment in the stairwell for weeks baby. Feels so good to be able to kiss you again,” Javi breathes as he breaks the kiss, panting heavily.

“Same, Javi, fuck. I just had to be sure,” you groan as you hold him back, your eyes locking with his as you place your hands either side of his face.

“I know, baby, but I’m in this one hundred percent, no-one else, only you.” He breathes as his eyes flutter shut, his lips ghost along your left hand as he nips at the heel of your palm.

“So, do you want that drink, or are we just going to cut the shit?” you ask as you twitch under the sharp, blissful nibbles on your skin.

“Fuck the whiskey, all I want is you,” he growls, and you smile as you turn to open the door. You set the painting down for a second but the moment your hands are free Javi crowds you from behind.

His painfully obvious erection presses tight against your ass as you struggle to concentrate on the task at hand. His one hand is steadied on the doorframe, the other is on the inside of your thigh, riding up against the tight fabric of your dress as your vision blurs pleasantly. The painting is forgotten outside your apartment as you lose yourself to your desire.

You finally manage to unlock the door and you’re falling forward before Javi catches you with ease, He twirls you around as he pulls you against him. Your hands fly to his shirt and you hastily free him from the oppressively tight shirt scraping your nails down the exposed flesh of his chest. The guttural groan that bubbles from his throat has you like putty in his hands.

“Javi, take me to bed,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“As you wish,” he grunts as he picks you up, his hands firm on the meat of your ass as he presses you against him. His lips are on yours once more, the kiss hungry, aggressive. He stalks through the apartment and as soon as you’re across the threshold of the bedroom he throws you onto the bed. He stands at the edge of the bed and drinks in the sight of you, dishevelled hair, swollen lips, glassy eyes full of desire.

“Javi, c’mere,” you mumble as you squirm under his gaze. He unbuckles his slacks and lets them drop to his ankles. He kicks them off along with his shoes and stands there, thumbs in the waistband of his tight white briefs as he looks down at you hungrily.

“Javi please,” You beg. You reach behind you to fumble with the zipper on your dress as Javi drops onto the bed, his knees either side of your hips as he snatches at your wrists, pushing them above your head before transferring them both to his left. His large hands have no trouble keeping you in place as you tug against his grip playfully.

“So needy, cariño, you miss me this much?” he purrs as he holds your jaw in place, forcing you to look into his hungry eyes. He hovers over you, his strong nose nudging along yours before dipping lower.

“So much, Javi, missed you so much,” you groan as his nose ghosts your jaw.

“Been playing hard to get for weeks hermosa, thought you didn’t want me anymore,” he presses a lingering kiss just behind your ear and the sensation makes you writhe under him.

“Always wanted you, Javi. Always.”

“You’re going to do what I say, ok?” he asks as he trails kisses down your neck.

“Anything Javi, anything,” you plead, your cunt aches as your arousal builds, you don’t know how much more you can take before you explode. He lets your wrists go and you go to touch him but instantly you’re pinned again. You huff as his hands pin your wrists against the sheets, his eyes blown out, his eyebrow cocked as if to scold you.

“I need you to stay still, you trust me?” he asks once more, and you nod dutifully.

“Say it,” he growls as his grip tightens on your wrists.

“I trust you, Javi,” you say as you force your body to still.

“Good girl, let me take care of you,” he says, his voice low. He slowly peels off your dress, your bra and panties in practiced, precise motions. You’re bare under his gaze as he palms his throbbing cock through his briefs to relieve a little tension.

He kneels at the edge of the bed, and you gasp as he pulls you down the bed by your ankles to meet him. He wastes no time, prising apart your thighs as he buries his face between your slick folds. His tongue is unrelenting on your clit as he flicks the blunt tip against your clit. You shudder under him as you force your hands to stay where they are.

“God, I missed how good you taste, the way you twitch for me,” he moans into your cunt as he presses two fingers inside you with ease. Your hips buck upwards to meet them as he buries himself in you to the knuckle.

“So eager, baby, feel so good squeezing around my fingers,” he hums against your clit as he works you up into a blinding peak. Your chest heaves and your breath comes in ragged gasps as he pushes you over the edge. The blinding euphoria has you convulsing and clamping down on Javi’s thick fingers.

“Fuck I wanted to make you cum again, but I can’t wait, baby,” he says raggedly as he pulls his fingers out, savouring your slick on them as he sucks them clean.

“Javi, please, fuck me,” you beg as you pull his pruned fingers into your mouth. You savour the faint taste of your slick on his fingers as he eases them gently in and out of your mouth.  

“Such a dirty little mouth,” He breathes as he frees his erection from his boxers, shucking them off to the side. He lines up against your core and your head drops back, the anticipation is killing you.

“Look at me, baby,” He growls and you comply, looking up into his pussy-drunk eyes as he eases into you. The pressure rocks through you as he eases in, sinking deep into you as you arch your hips up to meet him. Your hand falls to your clit and his eyes sparkle with arousal. You work at yourself as he fucks down into you hard. His balls slapping lightly against your ass as he fills you up.

“So hot when you touch yourself like this,” he growls as a hand falls to your breast, coarse fingertips rolling your hardened peak between them. You groan up into it as you circle your clit vigorously. His other hand falls to your throat and he holds it there, not pressuring but looking down at you as he holds it there.

“This ok?” he asks and you nod firmly, he smirks but doesn’t accept that as an answer, but before he can ask again you’re there, willing and eager.

“Javi, choke me, please,” you mewl, fluttering your eyelashes at him as his grip tightens.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth as the pressure builds on your windpipe, “Tap out if I get too rough baby, don’t want to hurt you,” he says as his grip tightens again.

The slight deprivation of oxygen thrills you, not unlike the blindfold over your eyes in the truck. It heightens your senses, and you feel yourself building higher to your orgasm as Javi fucks down into you. Your finger presses and rubs at your clit with just the right intensity as the pressure on your throat anchors you.

Javi pistons into you with desperation and your hips buck up to meet him with every thrust. You feel your orgasm building as Javi’s thrusts falter above you. You moan as he snaps his hips down into you, his hips slamming into you with such force as you feel pleasure streak through you. You cry out as you clamp down hard on his cock, coming with his name falling from you lips with every wave of pleasure.

Javi comes with a whine as you milk him dry. He empties inside you with two frantic, snapping thrusts before falling forwards. His head rests against your sternum as he pants through his own aftershocks.

“Fuck that was beautiful,” he breathes as your hands slowly press into the sweat-soaked locks at the nape of his neck. You pull him in for a tender, sloppy kiss and sigh as your lips part. Both of you are gasping for air, reeling.

“That was amazing, Javi. Fuck I’ve missed you,” you say as you hug your thighs against his abdomen, placing soft, erratic kisses to his forehead.

“Missed you too,” Your name falls from his lips, and you float on the full-bodied euphoria it brings you.

“Come on I need to clean up, and we need some water,” you laugh as you try to stop yourself from falling asleep with Javi still buried inside you.

Javi relents and lets you get up, heading to the kitchen to get both of you a drink. You head to the bathroom and clean yourself up. You slip on an oversized loose t-shirt before heading back into the bedroom. You had forgotten about the photos on the kitchen counter, but your stomach drops as you hear Javi swear from the other room. Your blood runs cold as you pad out into the open plan kitchen.

“What the fuck are these?”

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[bullet-prooflove]

Past Mistakes Part Fourteen: Plan B - Mike Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @nessamc @jayblackpanther @mysoulisasunflower @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @katluke25 @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @storiesofsvu @smellsliketeensspiryt @legit9thlunaticwarrior @xoxabs88xox @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @chavez-ashley @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @irishavengersassemble

Past Mistakes Series:

Part One: Try - Mike turns back up in your life after three years apart.

Part Two: Hope (NSFW) - Mike and you get reaquainted.

Part Three: California - Mike and you discuss the past.

Part Four: Favours - Mike asks Liv for a favour.

Part Five: Choices - Mike comes face to face with someone from his past.

Part Six: Truth Hurts - Mike begs you to tell him the truth about what happened three years ago.

Part Seven: Sharing - Mike and Joe have a conversation.

Part Eight: Buried - Mike discovers that McGrath’s misdeeds go far futher than he thought.

Part Nine: Complicated - Mike discusses moving forward.

Part 10: Feral - Mike returns to the apartment to find you’ve disappeared.

Part Eleven: Torture - You wake up in the basement.

Part Twelve: Fire - You and Joe discuss moving forward.

Part Thirteen: Lost Time - You and Mike get real on his porch.

The precinct is practically empty when you show up to Hate Crimes a couple of hours later, showered and dressed in fresh clothes from your holdall. The bruising on your left side of your face is starting to flourish, hues of purple bleeding into your skin. You feel more human, more like yourself. You know you can’t return to the girl you were three years ago, but the fundamentals are still there. Being around Mike and his things is familiar, he’s a safe space for you after what you’ve endured.

Captain Declan Murphy sits at his desk, toying with a pen as he reviews you and Mike perched in the visitor’s chairs across from him.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” He tells the two of you, jabbing his pen in your general direction. “The point was to get you out of here so that you could recover without McGrath breathing down your neck. Now I hear you’re sticking around for the time being?”

“I’m just here to give my statement.” You explain to Murphy, your hands coming to rest in your lap. “I’ll be out of your hair and the city tonight.”

Murphy leans forward, his eyes studying you. You’re anxious he can tell, it’s in the way you keep smoothing your palms over the fabric of your jeans, it’s a grounding technique he recognises. He doesn’t blame you. Tonight, was traumatic, he can tell you’re still riding the survival wave, you haven’t even begun to process what happened to you. He knows when it hits it’s going to hit hard.  

“Captain Benson and Sergent Khaldun are waiting for you in the next room.” Murphy tells you, tilting his head towards the office door. “The two of us can talk afterwards.”

There’s a lot that needs to be discussed but he wants you in the building for as little time as possible. He trusts his people, but he doesn’t want to give McGrath any opportunities to get ahead of this thing. They only have one shot and Murphy wants to have his ducks in order before he takes it.

You raise to your feet, your hand gently squeezing Mike’s shoulder as you brush past him, before you close the door to Murphy’s office quietly behind you.

“And you?” Murphy questions, tipping his head towards Duarte. “In light of your suspension, are you going with her?”

Duarte inclines his head in response. The suspension had come down a few hours ago after news of the raid had gotten out. McGrath had been furious, especially when he discovered the information had come from the Bronx Gangs Unit. The first thing he had done was call IAB about the undercover operation Duarte had been a part of three years ago. Murphy didn’t know the ins and outs, but the fact Duarte hadn’t been arrested spoke volumes. Whatever McGrath thought he had, there wasn’t enough evidence to support it.

It was a message, fuck with me and I fuck with you.

Duarte was stripped of his command until further notice and Murphy thought that might be a blessing in disguise. It would give him the time and space away from the job to focus on you. You needed someone in your corner and Murphy knows from the look in the other man’s eyes that Duarte would do anything for you.

“A guy I know has a place up in Mattituck.” Duarte tells him. “He’s letting me have it for as long as I need, no questions asked.”

Plan B, Murphy realises. Men like the two of them always make sure they have alternative choices. It’s coded into them from years of mistrust.

“You knew there was a possibility she wouldn’t go, didn’t you?” Murphy asks him.

Duarte tilts his head towards the window, he watches the rain patter on the glass before he answers.

“The best thing would have been for her to go to California but what’s best for me isn’t necessarily what’s best for her.” Duarte informs Murphy.” I wanted to give her some options. She hasn’t had a lot of them lately.”

Murphy nods his understanding before tapping his pen on the surface of his desk.

“She’s going to crash soon.” He says quietly. “She’s going to need you there when she does.”

“I know.” Duarte tells him, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “All of this right now, it’s just too much for her to process.”

“Have you talked about…”

The look Duarte gives him stops him in his tracks.

“She wants to move forward with it.” Duarte tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. “She doesn’t think she’s the only one he assaulted, she said he was too practiced with it.”

 “She hopes that others will come forward when the indictment comes down.” Murphy summarises before he leans back in his seat. “I don’t know how realistic that hope is. McGrath has been getting away with this for years. I wouldn’t be putting her through this if it didn’t speak to his motive behind why he suppressed the evidence she collected against the First Nationals.”

Duarte shakes his head. When he saw you in those surveillance pictures a couple of weeks ago, he had been so focused on getting you out he hadn’t stopped to think about everything that followed. He hadn’t anticipated any of this.

“I think it’s wise to get out the city for a little while. Give the both of you some time to recuperate without this hanging over you.” Murphy says softly. “You know it happened to her, but it happened to you too. You have to take some time to deal with that.”

“I know. Ever since she told me what happened…” Duarte says, his fingertips tapping the space where his heart resides. “All I can think about is how she handled it alone, how she spent all that time protecting me and I hated her for it. I thought she’d left me and…” He trails off pursing his lips together grimly.

He doesn’t have to say the rest, Murphy gets it. He’s lived through his own version with Amanda. It’s not the same, but he knows what it’s like to have your life flipped upside down. To think one thing and then discover another.

“It takes time.” Murphy says knowingly. “To come to terms with it, to adjust.”

“Yea.” Duarte sighs. “I know it takes time.”

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#mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you #captain mike duarte

[extasiswings]

Sorry if I'm too curious, but what you thought about Tim during these years? Because I see so many people wanting him back and then when I see LS comments I'm like🤢

Ah, Tim. Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim.

Tim suffers from what I like to call Mediocre White Man Syndrome. This is a condition that is defined by being a white man in Hollywood who has very little talent on his own, but will get extremely far in the industry by surrounding himself with exponentially more talented and creative writers whose success is then projected onto him by association. But you see, the problem with Mediocre White Man Syndrome is that said mediocre white man has to be put into a position where he can no longer fall back on the work of others to be revealed for his true self. Which is where the OG vs. LS comparison helps.

OG vs. LS is the perfect example of how a showrunner can be an absolutely terrible, talentless hack, but if surrounded by good enough people the end result will still be good enough to mask just how bad the problem is. On OG, Tim was working with a team of excellent writers and storytellers who had the ability to prop him up and smooth the edges of his bad ideas and/or steer him in better directions. On LS, he doesn't have the same cover and the difference is...stark.

But since I don't expect you to just accept this at face value, I have receipts. Subtitled: don't ever trust a bitch who can't write his own shit.

On OG, in the 5 seasons during which he was a showrunner, Tim wrote 8 episodes. Of those, all but one were co-written with at least one other writer (3 were in season 1 and were co-written with both Ryan Murphy AND Brad Falchuk). The only episode for which he has solo writing credit is the S2 finale which, as much as I can admit I love it, has some big pacing issues resulting from the fact that the main plot was started in the previous episode, Tim finished it in the first 20 minutes, and then had to fill dead air for the whole second half. [By comparison, the last episode Tim wrote for OG was 5x1, which he co-wrote with Juan Carlos Coto, and honestly imo you can tell who wrote what parts of the episode just by the stylistic differences and it's...not a good look for Tim (I'll give you a hint, the parts of the episode that truly jumped the shark? Tim)].

On LS, which is currently only 3 episodes into its fourth season, Tim has already written 10 episodes, all co-written, primarily season openers and finales.

Also on LS, Tim has primary creative control. Everything is his idea. No one is there to tell him no. When he says that he thinks that people being happy in relationships is "boring"? No one gets to be happy because he invents random drama for no reason. When he says that Carlos is going to be secretly married despite the fact that it does not match anything from S1 at all? Who cares, it's his world and we are subject to his whims. On OG, despite being showrunner, that wasn't the case. For example, things that were Tim's idea on OG: everything with Taylor (because he has some weird reporter fetish), the blackout arc. He also regularly spoke without planning anything at all and it's clear when you compare the things he said were likely to happen vs. what actually ended up on screen that although he may have signed off, the ideas were not his (hello, the majority of S4 and Eddie's trauma recovery arc in S5). Things that were other people's ideas/responsibilities: the will/guardianship situation, the tsunami arc, Buck Begins, etc.

If you want to dig deeper, on OG, 8/10 of the top 10 episodes (out of 87) were written by just 3 writers: Kristen Reidel (4), Juan Carlos Coto (2), Andrew Meyers (2) [the last two were written by writers who are no longer on the show]. Kristen is now the showrunner, and JCC, Andrew, and Lyndsey Beaulieu (who are also EPs) are clearly the core writing team - strong, stable, and consistent. Now, I have critiques of Kristen: primarily her copaganda (which has to do with personal preference) and her pacing (a more objective critique). But I have the same critiques of Tim (and much more), and at least Kristen has proven that she can write a fucking exceptional story on her own (hello? Fight or Flight? Athena Begins? Kids Today? Awful People?). And when you look at the series overall by the numbers? The top 50 OG eps (again, out of 87) are rated 8/10 or higher (and more than half of those are from writers who make up the core team now, including Kristen). For LS, that's only 15/ 45 (and there's no LS ep rated higher than 8.7). And those discrepancies have to do with the quality of the writing and the storytelling (of which Tim has been doing much more on LS than he did on OG, to LS's detriment).

Anyway, that's my spicy take of the night. The things on OG that were actually Tim's idea (like all the Taylor) were some of my least favorite parts of the show and the core things that I love about the show are things that other people were/are responsible for. And to be perfectly blunt, given his storytelling on LS, I am so happy that he no longer has control over OG (or anything to do with Buddie).

Mediocre White Man Syndrome. A Hollywood Staple.

#chapel talks #anonymous #salt tag

[blogger360ncislarules]

The season 2 finale of The Gilded Age brought many of the show's central conflicts to a head, including whether or not The Academy or the Met would win the opera war, who the Duke of Buckingham (Ben Lamb) would choose, whether Armstrong (Debra Monk) would ever stop being a pill — and most importantly, if Larry Russell (Harry Richardson) and Marian Brook (Louisa Jacobson) would ever get together.

The moment finally arrived in the season's final scenes, and it wasn't a mere chaste brush of a gloved hand either. Standing on the doorstep of the Van Rhijn household, Larry walked Marian home from a night at the opera in the early light of dawn. She promised that even with a move on the horizon, she would keep in touch with Larry. Larry's response was to kiss her, drawing a shy, pleased smile from Marian.

Executive producer and writer Sonja Warfield tells EW that the romantic moment came after she directly solicited creator Julian Fellowes. "Julian had long game plans to get them together," she says. "Back then everything was very chaste. You didn't really kiss somebody; you shook hands or something like that. So, I really did want Marian and Larry to kiss and asked Julian if they could please kiss at the end of the season. He granted me my wish."

Though Warfield warns that if they do secure a season 3 (HBO has yet to order more of The Gilded Age), it won't just be smooth sailing through the tunnel of love. Even if Marian will now have a newly empowered Ada (Cynthia Nixon) on her side against what will no doubt be objections from Agnes (Christine Baranski). "Relationships had their challenges in 1884, and they do today," she says. "The modern challenges aren't that different from those challenges. Yes, we're rooting for them. But everything will be complicated."

EW got Warfield to break down more of the finale, including Peggy's (Denée Benton) decision to leave the paper, Ada's sudden new wealth and its implications, and the possibility that Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) has sold her daughter, Gladys (Taissa Farmiga), to a duke solely to win a society war with Mrs. Astor (Donna Murphy).

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: You all brought Ada some romance this year, only to immediately kill off poor Luke (Robert Sean Leonard). So, I have to ask, why are you so mean?

SONJA WARFIELD: Because that's drama. And back then, most of the time when people had an ache or a pain, it did mean death. I wanted to disrupt the status quo with Ada. I just adore Cynthia Nixon, and her performance was mesmerizing to me, so I wanted her to be empowered to have a love. Agnes is oppressive, and so, I wanted for her to have love and to feel loved and to understand how that helped her in the world. The heart of the show, it's about the warring classes and Ada and Agnes represent that old money, and so, they need to remain intact. That's why he couldn't stay. 

Peggy decides to leave the Fortune (Sullivan Jones) paper. What will that mean for her future? She talks about a novel, but being a journalist seems like such a core part of her identity right now. 

In that time period, a lot of women were writing serialized stories for newspapers, so Peggy's done some of that too. There's versatility in her writing and in her work. Listen, Fortune is great, but he's a bad influence. He drinks a little bit; he's married. Peggy has a whole future ahead of her anywhere she wants to be. So I'm excited for her.

Will she be able to stay away though?

We shall see. He is pretty cute.

Watson (Michael Cerveris) gets this happy ending where he's going to actually go and have a life with his daughter. Will we continue to follow him and how that develops in the future? Or once he leaves the Russell household, will we not really check in with him?

Now, he's going to be living as a gentleman. We've already seen Turner (Kelley Curran) cross over. Anything's possible in America at that time.

Speaking of Turner, we learn in the climax of the finale that both Bertha and George did her dirty behind the scenes, both with the opera box and learning that Bertha wrote Mrs. Astor to get the new Mrs. Winterton kicked out of the Academy. If there is a season 3, how might that come back to bite them?

 Listen, she'll be conniving to take Bertha down. Turner, or Mrs. Winterton, will be in her orbit. There are crimes of opportunity that Turner will be looking out for wherever she can catch Bertha out. And remember, she was the maid and the maids know everything. 

One has to assume she already is blaming the Russells for everything.

Oh, absolutely. She's a smart cookie. She knows what's going on.

Season 1 ended with this very short-lived triumph for Bertha with her party coming off. But it wasn't enough. If there is a season 3, would that be similar? She won this battle. Are there more battles for her to win? 

The thing about power is that it's unquenchable. You get a taste of it, and you thirst for more. Bertha has her sights set on conquering American society.

There is a heavy implication that Bertha won the Duke of Buckingham by selling out her own daughter. Is that a fair reading of that scenario?

I think you're a smart woman and that's an astute reading. Sadly.

George also looks quite concerned with whatever might be happening with the Duke. And we did see him early in the season pledge that he was supportive of Gladys marrying someone she actually loves. So is he also suspicious? Is he still determined to stand firm to that promise?

That's something that will be tested, and we'll have to see where George and Bertha land. This season was great because we saw them, probably for the first time with their marriage, in some real jeopardy that they had not experienced before. What I loved about that is that they still emerged as this power couple, and so we'll see if they can sustain that and how much their marriage can take. Parents often want different things for their children and that can be challenging. 

We've really seen the servants branch out a lot more this season, whether that be going to the opera or this overarching plot line with the alarm clock. Are we trending toward a situation conceivably where servants are leaving their profession or their power dynamic is in flux?

That's the difference between America and the U.K. You're born into a position there, but in America it's supposedly the land of opportunity. Turner married up; we'll have to see what happens with Jack and how he fits into this new world, or if he gravitates back to his old world and what really happens with it. Businesses go bust, anything's possible. 

We've pretty much exclusively seen Larry interested in architecture to this point. So what would going into the alarm clock business potentially look like for him? 

Money. He's young and he gets to explore a lot of things because his father's a mogul.

In the final moment, Ada warns Agnes that things might be a little different. Historically, Ada is pretty good natured. So her being in charge, what do you conceive that looking like? I feel like we're gearing up for the battle of the century between these two sisters. 

Here's the thing, fighting with a sibling is so different than fighting with somebody else. You can go in and you can go deep and you can go back. It's so charged and it's so conflict ridden. At the same time, you can be at each other's throats and then the next minute, you can hug it out. What I love is that Ada didn't just get a lot of money. She was really empowered to be independent with Luke in that relationship. So the power dynamics, it'll be fun to watch what happens.

Does she hold any resentment toward Agnes for how domineering she was that we could see come out?

Listen, Agnes pushes people. Even if you were forgiving and didn't have resentment, she might stir it up again.

This cast is known for its stellar lineup of Broadway talent. Who would be your dream to join the cast next season?

Sutton Foster. That would be big fun.

#the gilded age #hbo

[notasnowmann]

The Rockefeller Republican: Part Two | His Cross of Gold

"In the end, it seems that the only thing that got crucified was the President himself."

- Unknown Bourbon Democratic Delegate, 1908

A Commoner's America

Upon entering office, Bryan set to work to reverse the damage done by Rockefeller. The first step was to fulfill what Bryan had campaigned on in 1896: the Silver issue. With the Bourbon Democrats and Goldbug Republicans largely neutered following his landslide victory, Bryan quickly set out to turn America into a bimetallic nation.

With support from the remaining Silver Republicans that didn't join the Democratic Party, Congress passed and Bryan signed the Bimetallism Act, commonly called the Shafroth–Teller Act. Shafroth–Teller fulfilled the desires of the free silver movement, and so many Americans finally put the issue to rest.

With that issue settled Bryan pivoted to another critical issue. Though the Great Coal War was put down and many strikers were arrested, Rockefeller's panicked and brutal response left agitated unions and even more agitated coal miners. The issues of the strike had not been fully resolved, and the President feared that if he didn't reach an agreement with the unions, there would be another strike.

First, John Mitchell had to be released from prison. The UMWA President had been arrested in the last days of the strikes, but his support was still vast among coal miners and the UMWA itself. Thus, though it was controversial among many in the Democratic Party and across America, Mitchell wound up out of prison a little over a year after he was arrested, much to the cautious joy of the UMWA and many unions.

This was followed by a meeting with a commission formed by the Bryan administration to reward the miners for some of their demands. Ultimately, the miners got a nine-hour workday while wages were raised by 12%.

Smooth Sailing...

The rest of Bryan's first term went relatively smoothly, with him focusing on trying to finally fully alleviate the effects of the Panic of 1893 and deal with the ongoing rebellion in the Philippines. Though the war Rockefeller left him was finished by 1902, the Moro people's rebellion had yet to be put down. Bryan, having run with the endorsement of the Anti-Imperialist League and having condemned the annexation himself worked tirelessly to get the Philippines some semblance of independence.

While he worked on that, the Republican Party was still at odds with itself over the disastrous end of Rockefeller's presidency. The party was fiercely divided between the progressives, led by the likes of Robert M. La Follette and Theodore Roosevelt, and the conservatives, led by the likes of Mark Hanna.

Come 1904 these divisions were on public display, and though the party attempted to put together a competitive ticket in conservative Senator William B. Allison and progressive Governor Franklin Murphy, Bryan's successes, the legacy of Rockefeller, and the party's open divisions proved to be too much for the GOP to overcome. Bryan won the 1904 election in a modest landslide, nowhere near as dominating as his victory four years prior was.

...And Then the Wheels Come Off

From the start of Bryan's pursuit of the presidency in 1896, the Bourbon Democrats resented and opposed Bryan at every turn. Though they were limited in what they could do following Bryan's landslide victory in 1900, his modest landslide in 1904 also saw the defeat of several pro-Bryan representatives as the former Populist Party all but disintegrated.

In the 1906 midterms, Bryan had hoped to further legitimize both his faction within the Democratic Party and his presidency as he privately made plans for a third term. The midterms would destroy these wishes, as both the Republicans and Bourbon Democrats made gains. His path to renomination in 1908, difficult as it was, suddenly became supremely more difficult.

In With The Old

The 1908 Democratic National Convention was among the more tumultuous of the party's history, with a bitter divide between a host of Bourbons, favorite sons, and the incumbent Bryan. As the convention wore on, many Bourbons coalesced around former Secretary of State Richard Olney, who had served under Grover Cleveland.

Despite Bryan's pleas, the convention nominated Olney. In response, Bryan and his delegates staged a walkout of the convention and nominated their own ticket, consisting of the incumbent Bryan and Towne.

The Democratic split paved the way for a rejuvenated Republican Party, helmed by Roosevelt and Indiana Senator Charles W. Fairbanks, to easily win the 1908 elections, though not without a surprise showing by Eugene V. Debs and his Socialist Party. With reclaimed majorities in both houses, it seemed that the country was set to move on from Bryan's experiment.

Unfortunately for the Democrats, Bryan was not so keen to simply let his movement die out. Recognizing that there was no room for his movement in the current Democratic Party, Bryan instead announced the creation of a new party: the People's Party, referencing but ultimately acting as a separate entity from the former Populist Party.

A Square Deal

Roosevelt had promised the nation during his campaign a "Square Deal" of natural resource conservation, consumer protection, and the control of corporations. Though the third point often got him attacked by Olney as being too radical and Bryan-esque, Roosevelt's ideals proved to be strong enough to get the public's approval.

With the help of James Rudolph Garfield and Gifford Pinchot, Roosevelt was able to easily able to set up the Forest Service, established several national parks, and issued several executive orders to protect forests and wildlife.

On the consumer protection front, Roosevelt turned to an issue that Bryan had tried to deal with before petty stonewalling by the Bourbons - abuses in the food packing industry. Public outcry following the release of Upton Sinclair's The Jungle had reached an all-time high, and Bryan's perceived inaction did little to help. With the collaboration of progressive Republicans and members of the People's Party, the Pure Food and Drug Act was able to be passed.

But the 1912 elections were fast approaching, and Roosevelt still had to act on his corporation control. Utilizing the 1890 Sherman Antitrust Act to an extent not even seen by Bryan, the President quickly brought several antitrust suits against numerous trusts, including the Northern Securities Company and, controversially, Standard Oil, still under the control of the Rockefeller family. This extensive use of the act, which he continued to use through the 1912 election, generated immense controversy.

Despite this criticism, Roosevelt easily coasted to reelection against a Democratic Party struggling to forge a new identity and a People's Party that was still in its early stages and still held the perception of being a region-locked party. One of the few noteworthy events that occurred was the surprise election of the disgraced former president John D. Rockefeller as New York Governor; he was only nominated because the previous nominee had died and others refused to accept it. Yet it seemingly revived his political prospects, and there were rumors starting to circulate in party circles.

Yet even with all that, the country looked set for four more years of the Colonel.

It Takes That to Kill a Bull Moose

On October 17th, 1913, Roosevelt attended the Miller High Life Theatre to give a speech on his plans to expand the Square Deal. The crowd showed support for the ever-popular President, yet there was a quiet tension in the air.

Shortly after Roosevelt had removed his speech from his jacket, a man by the name of John Schrank shot Roosevelt in the stomach. The president collapsed as he began to profusely bleed, and as those in attendance began to swarm and savagely beat Schrank, the country as a whole changed.

Fairbanks would be sworn in the next day, his conservative beliefs being looked down upon by many progressives as another civil war threatened to brew in the Republican Party. But Fairbanks was an ailing man, his health starting to fail him, and as storm clouds began to gather in Europe, America was headed for very rocky times.

#alternate history

[eclecticcrafting]

A Stranger's Offer

Description:

Roxanne Stone, a Magi woman, has never left her hometown of Kore. Feeling trapped and wanting to look for something better than what Kore could offer, she starts to seek a way out.

Oliver Tull comes from the big city of Dorath, having left after his sister's death to become a doctor in the small town of Kore.

As Oliver and Roxanne start dancing along the lines of romance, Oliver needs to go back to Dorath for a family affair. Promising to return, Oliver leaves for Dorath. In his absence, Roxanne is offered an opportunity to leave her small town for an adventure.

A mysterious old man looks to recruit adventures to locate and obtain the Three Objects of Power, Roxanne quickly volunteers and is joined by her lifelong best friend, Azmi, and Oliver's clinic clerk, Petra. When Oliver catches wind of the journey, he comes along for the ride for himself.

The first Object of Power is located, but with it comes some serious family secrets for Roxanne.

Part 1 - Harvest Party - Roxanne's POV

Length: 8157 words

Silk-like fabric ran over my skin as I swam my way through the kelly-green dress. I fussed with the mess of fabric until I found one sleeve, then the second, then the neckline. As soon as I could see again I smoothed the fabric against me and looked myself over in the mirror. I reminisced over why this was my favorite party dress: the vibrant satin shined as I moved, and the sleeves were gentle on my shoulders and came to just above my elbows. The V-shaped neckline rested at the top of my bust without exposing too much. The waistline of the dress sat nicely at my natural waist. As I looked at myself, I gathered handfuls of the skirt and turned too-and-fro in the mirror. The swish of the skirt was delightful, and I spun in a circle just to feel the skirt pull out at its length.

"Perfect," A giddy smile stretched across my face as I smoothed the fabric back into place.

Quickly, I finished the look. I gathered my nude dancing heels, brushed my hair and pulled it half back, and donned a rose quartz necklace. The look was simple, and simple is what I liked best for the Harvest Party.

I placed my hands on my stomach and focused on my breathing, I felt like I was fluttering. There weren't many social events in Kore and this was the biggest one, most of the town's young adults would be present to celebrate the large harvest the town had. Ol' Man Murphy cleans out his barn every year to let the young adults have a space and mingle with each other. The Count had large parties that he opened for all, but this party was different - it was for us specifically, without the pressure to impress the community.

A brisk knock sounded on my door and Darien popped into the room. He had his dark brown hair pushed back away from his face, he wore a simple purple dress shirt and light pants. The musk scent that wafted in after him made me suspicious – he never wore anything like it.

Darien looked at me and chuckled lightly to himself as he crossed his arms, "are you expecting to get whisked away tonight?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same question," I said as I waved my hand in front of my nose.

Darien tucked his nose into his collar and gave a quick sniff, "you're fine," I told him as I walked past him into the hall, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I think so," he smoothed his shirt down as he walked more into the apartment himself, "Do you know if Jackson is going?"

We turned briefly to look at the door that was across from mine, I shrugged in response and went to knock on his door. "Jack?" I called.

The door swung open as soon as I knocked. I stepped back from the door and pulled my fist into my chest from the sudden surprise. Jackson had a wide smile and some of his blond locks fell into his face. He took a few strides towards the stairs leading to the shop. Once he was far enough from us, he did a causal spin with arms held wide. He was dressed in a light blue button-down shirt and similar light pants to Darien.

"I have gone every year I could go, I am not missing one just yet," Jackson chuckled and was ready to lead us out.

Together the three of us descended the steps and entered our family's shop. The shop was lit with a few floating orbs, mostly concentrated in a corner. I looked to see our mother kneeling on the floor reshelving some books. Her blonde hair pulled back in a messy top knot.

She heard us approaching the front door, and she looked up from her perch, "heading out?" she asked as she used her wrist to wipe at her face, her fingertips blackened with dust and dirt.

"Yes, ma'am," Jackson responded, he opened the door for us, the shop bell chiming in response.

"Well, have fun, and come home in one piece!" She waved and went back to her project.

Once I was fully in the night air, my skin started to pucker as the night was already brisk from the setting of the autumn sun. I clutched my hands around my arms and waited for my brothers to gather.

"Cold, Anne?" Darien asked as Jackson shut the door behind him, "You can still grab your coat."

"No, I will just end up leaving it," I shrugged, "plus I am sure I won't miss it as the night goes on."

"Anne, you don't need to be bringing anyone home just to warm up, that is quite rude honestly," Jackson said in a dry tone as he looked up the road.

I started walking, my brothers following suit, "I really don't think anyone that I bring home would complain too much," I said flipping my hair off my shoulder and then giving Jackson a cool glance.

"Right, right, says the spinster still living at home with her mother," Jackson teased back, this caused Darien and I to both start busting out laughing at his audacity.

Up the road, there were a few other well-dressed individuals walking to the farmlands. A few couples, a few women grouped together, and a few single men nervously trotted along.

As we walked, we passed by the medical clinic in town. Locking the door was a tall man dressed in a white shirt and black pants. His red curls glistened in the moonlight. When he turned, he was carefully tucking his keys in his pocket and looked up to see Jackson waving him down.

"Oi, Doc, are you coming out this year?" Jackson called out.

Oliver laughed a little and called in kind, "Yes I am! I think after three years, it's time." We stopped walking as Oliver walked to us, "Is it okay if I walk with you? I am afraid that I may get lost without some help."

Jackson looked over Darien and me, "Of course, Oliver, Magi are always happy to help a friend," Darien smiled, putting a hand in his pocket, and started walking again. Jackson and I fanned out a little to envelop Oliver in our group.

Oliver glanced down at me and I noticed one of his eyebrows raise in response. Oliver smiled a little and looked away. I felt a flush cross my cheeks from his smile, it was a soothing feeling, but I started to feel a flutter in me rise again. I cleared my throat with a small cough, the noise seemed to catch Oliver's attention as he turned to look at me briefly.

"Has it really been three years in Kore for you?" I asked as we walked.

"Yes! I can hardly believe it." Oliver said.

The road up ahead was getting denser with attendees, all the childless or unwed young adults of our little community. As we passed, men and women glanced our way. Some with friendly waves and hellos, others with cautious awe. Our family was the only family of Magi in Kore, there were two other individuals who were vastly different in personality but were both reclusive in nature. Our family was the only one that made regular appearances and participation in the community.

Oliver was from a bigger city and was most likely more exposed to more Magi, though I never had gotten much of a chance to ask him about it. When he first moved here, he did receive some suspicion of being a Magi himself since he was an herbalist and associated with our family frequently.

As we neared the barn, music could faintly be heard in the air. The fence posts had ribbons and lights leading the way. The people that were on the road with us were getting antsy, and some started skipping and trotting up the path. I looked at my brothers, Jackson had kept his pace steady and was looking around as he walked along. Darien was obviously scanning the crowd.

I wasn't sure who he was looking for, he usually kept his affections private. To see him excited to meet with someone was refreshing as he normally just worked around the shop. Darien scanned and scanned, with a slight downward pull in his smile as he kept going.

Suddenly, Darien shot his arm up and started waving at someone. Soon I could see a small-framed brunette jumping up and down in the crowd, two thin arms waving excitedly.

"I have to go, you two are on your own this year!" Darien said as he ran off to greet this girl in a purple dress who stepped away from her own group to wait for him.

I looked to Jackson, who had the same puzzled look on his face as Darien (who was the most responsible and even-keel of the three of us) took off to wrap his arm around an unnamed girl.

"We won't bother him," Jackson gave a stern warning.

I looked to Oliver who had raised an eyebrow at me, I then returned the same eyebrow raise to Jackson, "We won't bother him tonight" I rephrased.

"Correct," A mischievous look ran across Jackson's face, "tomorrow is fair game."

The three of us continued walking towards the barn. Oliver was taller than most of the crowd here, unfortunately for me I was a little on the shorter side of the population. Jackson wasn't much shorter than Oliver, so I depended on the two of them to help navigate through the crowd.

"So, is all of this about the harvest?" Oliver asked as he worked on picking a path through the crowd.

"Mostly, once the harvest is finished, the community comes together to celebrate a job well done, but it is also a night that men will shoot their shots with women, women will turn them down, people get drunk and others dance until their feet are blistered." Jackson jabbed a thumb at me, "They nicknamed this event 'the Ballroom of Romance' as it is many times over the night that people get together, or engaged, or something."

"There is nothing like this in Dorath," Oliver said in awe.

"Well, even with the Count's parties, this is nothing in comparison. Think: for the people by the people," Jackson fanned out his hands with every word of his last statement.

"Usually, the three of us stay somewhat together, you are welcome to stay with us if you want some familiar faces," I offered. I had been watching Oliver soak this all up, he was in utter amazement as we reached the barn.

Inside, the ceilings were high and the building was fairly large even for a barn. In the center, there was a large wooden dance floor with people moving in sync with the music. A band with fiddles, flutes, and lutes, all of it was filling the space with beautiful music. There were many people around talking and laughing, there was food and drink offered at the other end of the barn.

Across the way, I saw a familiar white fluff bobbing between people towards us. Jackson saw the friend coming towards us and looked at me, I met his gaze, and he flicked his eyes to Oliver and back to me. I furrowed my brow at him.

Are you here with Azmi this year? Jackson's voice entered my mind. It was a bit louder than I was expecting as it was like he was talking at his normal volume right into my ear.

No, I am not, I'm stag this year. I thought back at him. Jackson shifted his attention to Oliver.

"I am going to grab a drink, would you like to come with me, Oliver?" Jackson asked.

Oliver seemed startled by the shift in attention, but he collected quickly, "You know what, yes, I could use a drink after this week," Oliver laughed and followed Jackson to the refreshment table.

As they left, a burst of energy popped out of the crowd and swept me up in a hug. I had muscular arms around my waist and the room spun in my vision as I was swung around.

I let out a quick squeal as I heard a joyous voice, "Annie! I am so glad to see you here!" I was set down, and I was greeted with a large smile. The man in front of me had white curly hair and matching lashes, tan almond skin, and purple eyes melted as they looked at me. Azmi was back from his travels just in time for the Harvest Party.

Azmi was one of the two individual Magi in Kore, he lived closer to the forest than the town. He had been a permanent fixture in my life as my parents took him in as much as he would let them - he had no parents of his own but was much like a stray cat that loved his independence. Azmi always found comfort with my family, but as he grew older, he traveled often, for longer and longer periods of time. He never really mentioned what he traveled for, but he would either come back with interesting stories or fascinating gifts.

To see him here at the Harvest Party was a rare treat, as he never had rushed to come back for specific events.

"You're back!" I said as I gripped his shoulders. His smile was softened, and he gave me a peck on the forehead.

"I am glad I was able to make it because you look fantastic!" He said, "I almost didn't make it in time either, I had met some other Magi on the road and stayed with them for a while."

"You need to tell me all about it!" I begged, then the music changed to something lively, causing Azmi to grab my hand.

"I will later!" He led me to the dance floor.

Quickly, we found some space and assumed a position as we have many times before. Our palms met between us at shoulder height, Azmi's free hand behind his back, and mine held my skirt to exaggerate the swing as we orbited around each other. We switched to opposite hands around waists and rotated in the opposite direction. Azmi took my hand and spun me out, then back to him. Bringing me close enough that I could feel his chest rising with every breath.

In unison, all the dancing pairs matched our movements to the temp of the song. Flowing dresses, laughter and smiles, the crowd moved together in the folk dance. We never looked away from each other, sure in our movements.

In Azmi's face, I could see his excitement to be back. We had not seen each other for roughly three months this time, but it was as if there was never any distance. I never had my heart set on seeing him at this event, as he is like an ocean tide - he will go but he will always eventually come back.

The band brought the song to a close and all the dancers paused to applaud them. I turned to Azmi who was already watching me with a broad smile.

"I'm going to find Jackson," I told him, "We have Dr. Tull joining us tonight,"

Azmi's expression shifted from pure joy to a strained polite smile, "Dr. Tull? I never thought he could break away from his work long enough to have some fun," Azmi's voice was cool.

"Be nice, Azmi," I warned, "It is his first time out, we want to show him a good time."

Azmi didn't say another word but clasped his hands behind his back and walked with me off the floor. Nearby I saw Jackson and Oliver.

"Where is Darien?" Azmi questioned, his fluffy white hair bouncing as he swiftly looked over the room while we approached.

"Darien apparently had a secret date tonight," Jackson said, taking a sip of wine.

"Oh?" A sly grin snuck onto Azmi's face, "I think I need to find my old friend and let him know that I have returned with amazing stories of my most recent travels!" The bravado in his voice was thick, he then disappeared into the crowd.

The three of us watched him leave, weaving in and out of people. "You may as well have released a snake in a bird's nest," I told Jackson when I could no longer see Azmi.

Jackson didn't respond, but he took another sip from his glass. Oliver being the tallest, had the best vantage point of seeing Azmi hunt through the crowd for Darien.

After a long moment, Oliver stopped watching and turned to me. I just noticed that he had two glasses when he started to hand me one.

"Here, Rox," He gave me a glass that was half full of white wine. The scent was sweet, slightly tangy, and familiar.

I thanked Oliver and took a sip; the distinct flavor of snowberry wine was strong in my mouth and the tang radiated down my body as I swallowed.

"I didn't know you danced!" Oliver said.

"I don't get to often," I continued sipping the wine, "But I will when I get the chance!"

"Well, you are fantastic and a marvel to watch," Oliver's words were seamless, but he blushed at what he said just a second later.

"I mean... You really show grace... and enthusiasm... and you could obviously dance well and could easily find a place in a royal court if you wanted to and" Oliver was sputtering. Jackson just watched as Oliver's obvious horror of not being able to stop continued to grow, Oliver kept rambling making Jackson cough to hide his laughter. Oliver's complexion had started to turn bright red, enough to match his hair. His words had tumbled out of his mouth like eggs falling out of a basket.

"Oliver," I said sternly and he quickly stopped talking, I softened my expression "Thank you, it means a lot,"

When he had quieted I asked him a question in turn, "Do you dance at all yourself?"

"No, not much. I mean sometimes, on my travels I learned a thing or two but I feel I mostly have two left feet." Oliver responded quickly then took a long drink - draining his glass.

"I will be right back," Oliver said and nearly ran away. Once Oliver was out of earshot, Jackson turned to me.

"I think he likes you," Jackson teased, nudging me with his elbow.

I brushed Jackson away from me, "Or he could just be nervous about being out of his element," I snapped and took a drink from my glass. Out of nowhere, a young man I have seen around town a few times approached us.

"Um, Miss Roxanne, may I have this dance?" His voice was smooth and he offered his hand to me.

I agreed and handed off my glass to Jackson. He made a face when I handed off the glass, but I just waved in response as I was led back to the wooden dance floor.

Once again, all the dancers moved together. My current partner was nothing like Azmi. He had tugged me this way and that - showing that he was a lead dancer that didn't have complete trust in my ability to follow.

At the end, we clapped and parted ways again. I scanned for Jackson and saw that he had moved to talk with some peers of his. Oliver was out to the side, sitting on a hay bale that was laid out as makeshift seating. There were a few people having polite conversations with him, but his body language showed that he was not completely invested.

I walked to Oliver and as I approached, he perked up. "Did Jackson leave you to your own devices?" I questioned. Oliver politely stood up as I neared.

"Oh no, my former colleague called me over, apparently a few from Dorath made it out this way as well," Oliver said as a blond man with a bushy beard nodded at me.

"Former colleague from Dorath? That is quite the trip just for our little town," I reached out my hand to shake the colleague's, who gave a firm squeeze in return.

"Yes, well, I was traveling near and decided to make the trip," His voice sounded gravelly as he spoke, "The name is Doctor Arthur Muller. And you are quite divine on the dance floor, Miss...?"

"Roxanne Stone," I introduced myself, "and thank you,"

"Always welcome, Miss Stone," There was a smile in his voice and eyes but it was hidden under his beard, "Perhaps I may be able to steal a dance myself?"

"Perhaps, though I was saving the next one for our good doctor," I smiled at Oliver and placed my hand on his arm. Oliver's face started to blush again and his smile was uneasy. He looked down his long Roman nose at the floor to avoid meeting my eyes.

"But of course, I would hate to steal away what the 'good doctor' has been waiting for," the man gave Oliver a slap on the shoulder, "before the night is through, I hope" Then he walked away from us.

"Rox, you could have just told him no," Oliver nervously chuckled.

"I know," I said as I took the cup out of his hand and set it down on the bale. I looped my arm through Oliver's and led him to the floor with a small amount of resistance.

"I was curious as to what that 'thing or two' you learned was," I told him as we started to find a place on the floor.

Oliver's mouth opened and promptly shut as I stopped us just shy of the center of the dance floor. He carefully looked at his fellow dancers and assumed the same position: one hand on my waist and the other holding my hand. I gently placed my free hand on his shoulder, without the dancing heels his shoulder was as far as I came up to him. Being this close to him, the foot-height difference felt very obvious. His hand was lightly trembling as he held mine, and the hand that was on my waist was barely there.

The dancers around us galloped around the perimeter of the floor, Oliver worked to keep pace as we dipped our torsos high and low. Soon, we stopped and he grabbed my hand so I could spin out. He tugged me back, I stopped with him behind me and my arms crossed over my chest. He bobbed to either side of me and I turned in kind to meet him, keeping time to the music. We turned out and rotated around each other, with clasped hands up. My free hand was at my skirt and his behind his back. I turned into him and he clasped me to his side and spun with me.

We continued to dance the rest of the song with more ease. He relaxed and let me move with confidence. It was clear he was a natural at this. As he moved more he let his guard down and watched me more.

I saw his nerves melt away as we danced, and his face was lit up with joy and confidence. The more I watched him, the more I studied his features. His eyes were the same color as cobblestones in the sunshine. His face was long with a well-defined jaw that tapered to an almost point. His nose was long, thin, and the bridge of his nose was slightly arched. His hair was short on the sides and back, with the length mostly on top, with his hair parted towards the right. The length of his hair naturally fell over his right eye. His sideburns ran long against the sides of his face. His skin was creamy in color, and the pale color exposed his emotions way too easily.

Never have I really looked at Oliver, he was gorgeous in his own right. I could feel his broad shoulders and muscular chest under my hand. I could feel his warmth, strength, and steadiness in his hands on me. This was the first time we really touched beyond handing the other something. There was electricity with how we moved together - at first we stumbled a little, but now we are gliding together more seamlessly than Azmi and I ever did.

The song ended and we applauded the band again. Oliver had a large smile spread across his face.

"It has been years since I danced like this," Oliver's smile was large enough he closed his eyes in pure joy. "Thank you, Roxanne,"

"No two left feet to be found," I said as nudged him, "but anytime at all, Oliver." I smiled in return. He looked down at my hand that was now on his arm and met my eyes.

"Perhaps I could steal you for one more," Oliver's expression was purposeful and courageous. Nothing like the blushing mess he had been just moments before. His gaze was hot as he stared me down. Now I felt my own cheeks alight with heat, and my heart fluttered. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I was wordless.

Everyone if you so wish I thought but couldn't bring myself to say.

I swallowed, "Yes, of course," I smiled at him. His eyes were intense and I couldn't pull away. When I agreed he softened and took my hand.

We danced swiftly to the next song, and neither of us worried about the other's movements. We smiled and laughed. I got to see the carefree side of the studious doctor. I grew to appreciate the feeling of him picking me up and swinging me as we danced. His hands were becoming familiar despite our height difference there was no struggle for us to match each other. Oliver was slowly becoming bolder with his movements, but the song had ended right when he was getting started.

"Do you want something to drink?" Oliver asked as we finished dancing to the current song. There was a certain ease to him now.

"Yes please," I said, Oliver then started to offer his elbow to me, but there was a hitch of hesitation. It seemed as if his nerves started to surface again. The scarlet started to return to his face and he looked ahead as he put his arm back to his side.

Assertively, I laced my arm through his as we walked off the floor. I looked up and could see the blush creep into his ears and he tucked his elbow closer to his body but not so much to signal me to let go. He stared straight ahead as we walked to the refreshments. Once we reached the table, he handed me a plain cup filled halfway with snowberry wine. He grabbed one for himself as well, then led us to a free bale of hay to sit at.

Once I was seated, I took a long sip of the wine. It was a little warmer now, but still very sweet. The flavor hit my tongue and I savored the tanginess. I took a deep breath and looked at Oliver.

He was stiff and awkward next to me. I noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt had been undone. His white skin showed as well as some subtle tufts of red chest hair to poke through. The skin was tight and hinted at his muscular structure. I sucked a breath in and averted my gaze.

I traced my finger over the rim of my cup, not knowing what to say to him. Still searching for words, I took another long sip.

"So..." I started as I removed the cup from my lips, "Why did you decide to come out this year?" I asked.

"Hmm?" Oliver hummed, "Oh, I heard so many people come through the clinic talking about it over the last three years, it just felt like it was time to go," Oliver gave a small chuckle before continuing. "When you were passing the Clinic, I was still trying to decide if I was going to go or not. So when Jackson invited me to join, it felt like a sign."

"Well, I am glad that you joined us," I said and I - awkwardly - placed my hand on his forearm. Oliver gave me a soft look, his hair had fallen a little, fiery red curls veiling his right eye, making his gaze a little more intense. I felt heat rising in me again, my ears tingling and I felt my palms starting to sweat. I removed my hand from him and finished my glass.

When I finished my drink, I felt warm and a little wobbly.

"There you are!" Azmi's voice called, I heard Oliver sigh a little as Azmi came to me, Oliver's hair swayed a little as he turned to watch Azmi almost skip up to us, with a purposeful expression.

"Pardon me, Dr. Tull, I am going to steal Anne for a dance," Azmi said as he grabbed my hand before I could say a word. Azmi pulled me up from my seat and led me away. I looked over my shoulder to cast a glance back to Oliver who I exchanged a puzzled look.

As Azmi and I passed through I locked eyes with Jackson. I nodded my head back to Oliver, hoping he understood.

The song that was played was slower and more intimate. As Azmi and I joined the floor, He wrapped his arm around the small of my back and held my hand firmly in a gentle grip. His purple eyes watched me intensely as I assumed my own posture with my arm around his shoulder. Azmi leaned in to whisper in my ear, drawing himself closer to me.

"I know who Darien is with," There was an uptick in his voice, hinting at a smile.

"Who is it," my question was rushed.

"Her name is Sarah, she is traveling from Sorsa to a different city up north with her parents. They are taking a week's rest here before resuming travel. She said they were seeking safe haven with a distant relative of sorts."

"Where is Sorsa?"

"It's a coastal city, very southeast of here," Azmi took a quick pause, "It's quite nice there, you would love it."

"I still need to travel with you eventually,"

"Yes! I haven't forgotten. I am just trying to find a great spot for your first excursion with me." Azmi's voice got low and his arm around me a little tighter.

"Rox," Azmi started as he turned us, something longing in his voice. As we turned though, I saw Darien on the floor with the girl that he ran off with.

"Is that her?" I asked, but Azmi didn't answer right away. He turned us so he could see what I was talking about.

"Yes," Azmi whispered back. I turned us around so I could really get a better look.

Darien had an expression I have never seen. He was gazing down at her, his hand posture was gentle and polite. He had an easy, lopsided smile and his green eyes never shifted from her.

Sarah had long mousy brown hair that was pulled back with a ribbon headband. Her dress was layered, purple on top but the top layer split down the middle to expose a flowing white skirt.

Before I could really study her face, Azmi turned us again. "Don't be suspicious," He whispered, turning his face more into my ear.

"What does her family do?"

"I believe she said her family farmed but their lands were destroyed which is why they are moving."

"How much longer is she here?"

"Maybe about two more days?"

"How did she meet D?"

"She apparently came into the shop one day, he was working the counter, and he gave her a protection charm."

"Really?" I hummed, this tidbit made me wrack my memory for when he was working the counter recently, as I may have crossed her path too. "How did you get this information?" I turned my face more into Azmi to playfully question him.

He laughed and pulled away from me a little to look at me, "I stole a dance because I knew D would be too nice to stop me," Azmi had a mischievous tone to his voice.

He knew that my brothers and I were sticklers for most polite conventions, particularly in public spaces. Our parents reminded us as we grew up that we could be looked at differently due to being Magi, it was important to put the best foot forward. Darien was the one that took it most to heart.

"This is why I keep you around," I winked at Azmi.

The band ended the song, and the crowd broke away from the dance floor as the band readied for the next set. I grabbed Azmi by the arm and walked through the crowd buzzing to find Jackson.

By this point, my head and eyes were feeling fuzzy between the wine and dancing. I was still coherent enough to enjoy myself. We found Jackson and Oliver by the refreshment table again, not far from where I left Oliver. I grabbed a third cup of wine and looked at the two. Oliver's eyes flicked to my arm in Azmi's, who gripped it a little tighter as we arrived. Oliver then avoided looking at either Azmi or myself. I felt very aware of Azmi by my side when I looked at Oliver, who became more focused on his drink or on Jackson.

I looked at Jackson myself, "Azmi found out who she is," I exclaimed.

Oliver's brow furrowed in confusion and then looked at me, but once our eyes met his eyebrow twitched and he looked away quickly.

"I would hope so with how he ran off," Jackson had a cocky smile to him now.

I detailed all the information Azmi had told me about her. The information wasn't much but it was a start. Jackson and Oliver listened intently, exchanging glances here and there and sipping on their drinks. As I talked and sipped wine myself, I felt a little fuzzier. Normally, I can hold my wine well, but this feels stronger than it has been in previous years.

"Sorsa? That's about a week's travel from here to begin with." Oliver thought aloud.

"Have you been?" I asked.

"Yes, twice, it is a lovely little town on a warm coast, it was also probably one of my favorites to travel to."

"Really? Do you travel often then?" I have not seen Oliver leave Kore over the last 3 years now that I think about it.

"I try to, the exposure is good for the mind," Oliver added with a brief smile.

"It certainly is," Azmi chimed in, being polite but unimpressed.

"Well, we will have to get more information from D tomorrow, thank you Azmi," Jack nodded.

"Just remember, my help isn't always free," Azmi said in a cool and playful tone. Jackson and Azmi exchanged brief looks - Jack must have said something to him as Azmi shifted his weight and loosed my arm from his side.

"Anne, I will talk with you later," Azmi squeezed my hand and kissed my temple before he walked off.

Oliver carefully watched him leave as he tapped his finger on his cup. Once Azmi was gone, he spoke again, "So, I take it that you and Azmi are very close?" Oliver's tone was careful.

"Yes," I smoothed my dress, my hands were sweating, I refilled my glass as we were standing next to the refreshment table. "We basically grew up together, he is my best friend." I studied Oliver's face, which looked slightly solemn under his half-smile.

"Azmi became a part of our family at a young age, but his love for travel was too big for Kore. He travels a lot too, I have asked to come with him a time or two, but he is very particular about how he travels."

My words about my relationship with Azmi kept tumbling one after another. I couldn't stop. Oliver's facial expression shifted from polite conversation to confusion, to interest as I kept talking.

Anne, pull it back. Jackson's voice was in my head again. I snapped my mouth shut and took a nervous sip of wine but the glass was already empty. How?

I contemplated refilling the glass, but Jackson's watchful look made me anxious. My heart was fluttering, I felt my nose warming, and my eyes were starting to work harder on focusing on my surroundings.

"Have you had a chance to travel?" Oliver asked me as I set the cup off to the side.

"I haven't been outside of Kore," I shook my head.

Oliver looked to Jackson, "Our mother travels frequently, I have gone with her a few times to help procure new items for the shop, but that was the most I have done myself."

"Well, travel is often better with the company," Oliver agreed, he seemed stiff when Azmi was here or when he was brought up in conversation. Now, he seems to be relaxing.

"You haven't really left Kore since you got here, have you, Oliver?" Jackson responded.

"No... I used to love to travel, but since I have been here I haven't found the time or reason to go." Oliver added, Jackson's eyes shot briefly to me then back to Oliver.

"Sounds like some...thing is keeping you tethered here," Oliver gave an uneasy grin and raised his eyebrows in response.

"Something like that," Oliver looked down his long nose again, "The clinic and herbery have been keeping me fairly busy."

"Whelp, I hope that is a good thing," Jackson put firmly patted Oliver's shoulder but something caught Jackson's attention off to the side.

"Well, if you two will excuse me, I think it is my turn to dance," Jackson then handed his cup off to me as I did to him before. I looked at it in confusion, but Jackson just waved at me as he left.

"Ass," I muttered and I heard Oliver sniffle back a laugh, I examined the glass and noticed that there was still about half of the wine there. I threw it back and set the cup on the table.

I felt hot, the air in the barn had warmed a lot from the bodies and the lights, and the wine was also very warming. I felt dizzy and I was losing focus. I knew I still had to walk home too. I took a deep breath and looked at Oliver who was looking around the barn again.

"I think I am going to take a step outside, I need to cool down a little," I said and ran my sweating palms down my skirt.

"I think I will step out with you, I could use some fresh air myself," Oliver said, my eyes then fixed on his shirt.

A second button was undone, his chest didn't have a lot of hair but the red strands contrasted against his pale skin. The shirt had opened some to hint at a well-defined chest. The urge to run my fingers over it, to feel the coarseness of his hair, to feel the taught muscle under my hand, washed over me. I was able to keep my hand to myself thankfully, by looping my arm through his again.

When I took the slightest step I stumbled into his side, "Damn heels," I mumbled and collected myself again.

"Darling, I don't think it is the heels," Oliver teased. He pinned my arm to his side and held his hand over mine as we walked out together. As we walked, not many noticed us, though there were many people, so many people, when did there become this many? They moved out of our way but were invested in their own affairs.

When we exited, the air was crisp and cold. I sucked in a deep breath and felt my body adjust to the cold. On the back of my neck, my hair raised, and my skin puckered with goosebumps. I pointed off to the side of the barn where there were fewer people and Oliver led the way.

Together, we crossed the grass and rounded the corner. My head was fuzzy, and my eyes felt heavy. On the way, I tripped once but Oliver was ready to steady me. Once on the other side of the barn, we both leaned against the wall. It was cool and solid; it was so nice.

My arm was still looped through Oliver's, he was incredibly warm in contrast to the cold air. I pulled closer to his side and a shudder jerked through me.

"Cold?" Oliver asked, and I kicked off my heels and rested my head at his shoulder.

"Yeah, a little," I shrugged, another shutter.

Oliver released my arm to wrap his around my shoulders. I felt a flash of warmth burst through my chest and stomach. I was tingling at the touch, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Better?" Oliver adjusted next to me, I looked to see that he was now looking at me. His eyes were searching for something, and his face was starting to turn red, but he didn't seem like he was too terribly nervous.

It was odd... when others were around, he was anxious when around me. When we were alone, he was confident and seemed like a different person. He was such a cool and collected person normally with a ready supply of sarcasm. I didn't see him much outside of a professional atmosphere, but there were a few times he joined our family for dinner, and he was always comfortable with us.

Tonight, seemed different, he kept switching between swagger and worry.

Right now, he watched me carefully, his intensity was back. His red hair fell against the right side of his face; his arm was gentle across my shoulders. I could see his heart pounding furiously in his neck, but the sound of mine was overwhelming. He had a half smile drawn across his lips, and his skin smelt salty with a lingering hint of the herbs that he sold at the clinic.

I took a chance, "Just a bit," I teased him. His grip around me got a little tighter and he turned to stand in front of me.

Yes. I gulped hard as his hands started to move. The arm around my shoulders dropped to my waist, and his other tilted my chin up. He slowly leaned down to me, his breath hitched and his lips hesitated at mine.

He left just a teasing space between us, I could feel his breath shake. My eyes moved to meet his. His gaze was soft, I could almost feel the upturn of his lips as he was stopped in front of me.

"My, your heart is pounding," Oliver teased, his fingers were close to my throat as they rested on my chin, there was no way that his trained hands wouldn't have been able to feel my pulse.

I could barely breathe, what is he waiting for?

I tilted my chin up just a fraction and that was all he needed. Next, his lips were on mine. He started out slow and gentle, but when he tried to pull away slightly - I followed. My fingers were wrapped up in his white shirt, he moved the hand that was under my chin to my back.

He moved from being gentle to hungry. He kissed me harder, and I returned the passion. His body was long against mine as he had engulfed me in his embrace.

I moved my hands to be around his shoulders, and as I adjusted - so did he. He quickly picked me up and pressed me against the wall. My knees straddled him, letting him mold to my body. I gripped his shirt in one hand, the other laced through his hair.

His hands were firmly on my legs, his thumbs pressing into my thighs. I pulled lightly at his hair, to which he released a soft moan and dug his fingers a little harder into me. Oliver pushed all of his weight into me, and I squeezed his waist with my thighs.

He was warm, and I could feel his firm muscles against me. I used my lips to open his and there wasn't even the slightest protest. We tentatively explored a bit further.

My mind was in a tizzy, was this real? He felt very real under my grip.

His hands held onto me, and his hair was soft and textured. Oliver parted from me briefly to catch a breath of air. He then moved his hungry searching from my lips to my neck. I felt my grasp on his hair get tighter, I was panting.

Something stopped in me though.

I pulled back on his hair gently, "Wait," I told him.

I felt Oliver's teeth against my neck in a grimace, but he pulled away from me. He searched my face as we were nose to nose with each other. The pressure of his weight against me was satisfying but I wanted more. I tilted my head back against the wall and breathed.

Once my breathing evened out, I returned to look at him - his eyes never left me. He was told to wait, and wait he did.

"I should probably go home," I told him, I felt him release a breath and nodded solemnly. He placed me down on the ground, but I stumbled over my abandoned heels.

"I can walk you back if you would like," Oliver offered as he helped me steady myself.

"Yes please," I responded as I used his arm to gain balance while I replaced my heels. I could feel my heart still pounding away.

"Let's go find your brothers before we leave," he said, and I nodded in agreement. I was starting to fade.

Oliver wasn't quick to break what was left of our embrace, but when he did move, he leaned away and looked off the way we came.

"Well, it looks like they actually found us," Oliver said, his tone serious. I questioned him as I followed his gaze.

There at the corner of the barn stood both Darien and Jackson. At this distance, I couldn't tell their expressions, but I could feel them.

Fuck.

I let my touch on Oliver drop and he moved away from me as well. I could see Darien turn to Jackson so he could say something. Both of them stood straight and watchful of us.

Oliver offered me his arm and since I was still teetering a little, I took it. Together we walked towards them, their expressions becoming clearer. One was perplexed, the other smug.

"Oliver is going to walk me home tonight," I told them, then they wordlessly parted for us to leave. I didn't meet either of their eyes as we walked past.

Just before we were out of earshot, the two called in unison "Tomorrow,"

Fuck.

Tomorrow will now be filled with more questions for me than Darien at this point. I sighed at the thought.

Together, Oliver and I walked back to town in silence. Our arms were still linked, but I dared not cast a glance his way. Instead, I chewed on my bottom lip in thought.

How much did they see? Why were they outside? Why did I let this happen? What does this mean?

The questions swirled in my head as we walked.

Eventually, we arrived back at the shop. Oliver let my arm go and took a step away from me. I finally looked at him, his expression was soft if not remorseful, but there was a kind smile. His hands were in his pockets and he was avoiding looking at me directly. His hair was still tasseled and his skin flushed.

Most of the night, he was some shade of scarlet. I chuckled at the sight of him and he got a look of concern in his eyes.

"What?" There was a quake of fear in his voice.

"You blush a lot is all," I kept my tone soft.

He returned my smile and bit his lip a little in thought. He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up a little bit more, and he started to turn away.

The thought of him walking off without a word made my heart heavy, but I held it in. I pursed my lips as I reached for the door. Still watching him, I started to turn it, but Oliver stopped in his tracks.

Oliver whipped back around. He took three strides to me and grasped my upper arms. He quickly pecked me, this time quick and gentle. He was so soft, it was as if he wasn't even there.

"I am sorry, I couldn't just leave like that," Oliver spoke against my lips. Then he gave me another peck. This time there was no question in it, he lingered a bit longer this time as well.

He parted from me and then stepped off the porch. "Have a good night, Rox," Oliver said as he started to leave again, there was a new glimmer in his eyes.

I took a deep breath, "Anne," I called after him. he turned around on his heel and looked at me. His eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Come again?" A toothy half-smile was flashed at me.

"It's Anne, if... if you want," I crossed my arms in front of my chest as I repeated myself. Oh, Gods. I couldn't watch him anymore as my face felt flushed and my body was tingling at what I just said.

"Well..." Oliver's tone was light, "Have a good night, Anne." This time, I left first - almost running inside.

Once I was in the shop, I pressed my back into the door. My hands were cool against my furiously blushing face.

I squeaked a curse to myself as I replayed the scene in my head.

What just happened?

#Amature Author #wattpad writer #my writing #fantasy writing #writeblr #A Stranger's Offer

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Ryan Murphy said that he doesn't care about what people say or write about him and that he stopped reading stuff about him years ago. He said that's what he did for the Dahmer show as well. He only learned that the show was a success due to people texting him. Allegedly. When I heard that i instantly thought that this is so unfair to Evan, who is standing there with his own face as one of the representatives of the show. And Ryan, being the mastermind in the background, can just pull his tail back in when things get too uncomfortable and disappear into anonymity. So disgusting. He does have the opportunity to get any misconceptions about the show fixed, he has the power to reach out to the victims families and apologize for the lack of communication, he has the power to reach out to press and tell people that they are attacking the wrong guy. Ryan is the one who is to be held responsible about anything that went wrong with the show, but he rather chooses to plugs his ears and let the actor take all the heat. As if the psychological burden of playing a serial killer wasn't enough, now Evan is also left to deal with the burden of being expected to be the spokesperson for JD and to smooth the waters with the victims families. And if that wasn't enough the guy isn't even allowed to struggle with his own mental let alone talk about the role affecting him because "it's insensitive to the families". All whilst Ryan Murphy is leaned back and already working on his next Monster project. Sick.

alllll that. i think ryan murphy cares about ryan murphy, and little about anyone else. i don't expect the man to hop on twitter and defend evan from trolls, but when you know the way YOU handled certain situations only made people misdirect hate towards the actor you selected, and someone you claim to consider like family, i do think that it isn't too much to ask that in some interview, somewhere.. you at least acknowledge that you want to take the heat off of him. but nope. he never will.

[sacredencounters]

The Wrath of God

Do you fear God? When you pray, do you meet The Lord with the proper respect to which he is owed. I am observing Now a days it seems that everyone thinks he is their personal friend. They pray to him with no respect or regard to his Power and Kingdom. Its done in a fashion that people seem to brag about for instance, "I talk to God like this" then what follows is this ignorance as if they are talking to their friend from school/work or around the way. Where is the respect? Where is the approach of honor? The lack of respect for authority is alarming. There are many false prophets, preachers, pastors, bishops and others that are purposefully attempting to dismantle his authority to make it more acceptable for the masses, whereas the masses needs that FEAR OF GOD to discipline them. In the olden times there was a healthy fear of God that people respected. Now, people have turned away from authority. 

I blame the false leaders, the ill mannered parents and society as a whole for not upholding the values. I have been watching Sermon after Sermon and I see a common theme of disrespect. From the self proclaimed Apostle Gino, William Murphy, Mike Todd , Joyce Meyers, Joel Osteen to name a few. They preach the word as if they are walking on eggshells in front of their own congregation. Worried about public opinion and not delivering the fullness of the word. In addition to TD Jakes, I indeed believe that this man was called to the ministry at one point in time by God but through his greed and his sinful acts he has fallen into a pit that only repentance will save him. Yet, in his efforts to save his church he wont admit to any wrong doing but when you take a covenant with the occult, no longer are you fit to leads Gods People. 

Romans 16:18 reads 

For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people.

Serving their insatiable appetite for fame, money and love by the world. You can clearly see their values do not align with the Good book. Engaging in sin that defiles God and our temples [the body]. Conversing with other fellow Christians, there is this brainwashed response;

Matthew 7:1-2 reads 

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Yet, I counter that with Ephesians 5:11 which reads,

Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.

Its not judgement, only God can do that. I am not here to Judge or condemn but I am here to shine light on darkness.  I can not sit here and watch the masses drink from your chalice expecting  Living Water but in fact your serving Infested Pond Water. A message with no concrete value that isn't supported by scripture and doctrine. Glorified Lukewarm Motivational Speakers with the audacity to say the God sent you to deliver that message. I rebuke you. 

These people you call "leaders" have conformed to the World and do not stand apart as Gods appointed. Why is that do you wonder? Did it ever cross your mind? Did it feel odd? To witness your preacher engaging in World Music, Worldly activities, Worldly social gathers, Worldly speech? There has to be a moment you see the forest from the trees. We need to wake up before they lead you into the Lake of fire. 

Romans 12:2 reads 

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

We are not meant to operate as the World does. That is not true Christianity, God did not instruct us to work this way. Yet we have pastors/bishops and other leaders of the church at Beyonce concerts and playing worldly music inside of the churches to appeal more to a younger crowd. Is this for profit ? Its certainly not for God!

I encourage you to think about your church ? Think of its foundation. Does it truly align with the word of God, the acts of God? and morals of God?. If it doesn’t then you need to Run! Before you follow any man who is flawed you first make sure that he is in proper posture to lead you to God. 

Through my research and connection with God I realized I had a Sacred Encounter.  

#tdjakes #apostlegino #miketodd #joycemeyers #joelosteen #christian faith #christian living #christianity #faith #faith in god #jesus christ #prayer #christian bible #faith in jesus #jesus #Beyonce #sacredencounter #salvation

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

Mirror’s Image | Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Being with Javier feels like paradise. Being fucked against a mirror by Javier feels like euphoria.

Rated: E

Word Count: 2.7k

AO3 Link

Masterlist

A/N: I’ve been on my loving pedro bullshit again so here is some mirror sex with javier peña

When working as a DEA agent in Colombia, there were rarely ever moments that called for celebration. However, the raid based on information that Y/N had spent countless hours and sleepless nights collecting and deciphering was definitely one of those moments. Several tons of cocaine, crates of firearms, and multiple high-ranking and very wanted narcos had been seized with no casualties, along with new information about how Escobar was smuggling things in and out of Colombia. 

Even Carillo, who rarely ever smiled, had seen all the work Y/N had put into organizing the raid and was hiding a grin when he announced a celebratory dinner at a bar down the street from the embassy. Y/N was heading back to the police cruisers for a ride back to the embassy when Javier appeared suddenly at her side, his voice low and his hand sliding into her back pocket. 

“You have no idea how sexy you looked pointing a gun and shouting orders hermosa, I almost took you right then and there,” he whispered, leaning closer so that only she could hear him. Y/N could feel her cheeks heat and a spark tugging deep in her stomach. The two of them had been secretly seeing each other for over a year, not even clueing Murphy in on what they were behind closed doors. 

“Javier! What if someone sees us?” Y/N whispered harshly, although she wished she could lean into him and finally feel his hands on her properly after the long day they had had. His hands were always warm and soft against her skin, a juxtaposition from his perfectly calloused fingertips that would leave marks on her sides for weeks. The thought of him holding her up against the wall, bruising her thighs as he drew orgasm after orgasm from her was enough to make her feel an even more powerful surge of sparks in her abdomen. 

“Don’t worry hermosa, I’ll have you all to myself tonight,” Javier leaned into her neck and lightly bit down on the edge of her earlobe, sending shivers down her spine and intensifying the sparks in her core. Her eyes fluttered shut as Javier pulled away, walking in the opposite direction as if nothing had happened, a confident swagger in his gait. 

Y/N had to bite her lip to keep from moaning, now frustrated and wanting a certain someone between her legs, and it wasn’t until Carillo’s voice startled her out of her thoughts that Y/N took her eyes off of Javier and his immaculate frame. 

“You alright there Y/N? I thought you’d be heading back to get ready for tonight?” Carillo was an intimidating man, his shoulders and chest broad and a no-nonsense sort of look that was plastered on his face at all times. 

“Oh! Yes, um, I was just distracted for a moment, yes I’m heading back right now, I think I’m going to take a shower and get all of this grime off of me,” Y/N chuckled nervously before she rushed into one of the cruisers getting ready to leave for the embassy. She still had a couple hours before she had to arrive at the time Carillo had given everyone, and although Carillo was a stickler for punctuality, Y/N would still have time to unwind in the shower and prepare for the night. After all, if she wanted to spend the night with Javier like he had teased her earlier, she might as well make it worth her while. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s shower was the first time that she had been able to fully relax over the past few months. Almost all of her time had been spent pouring over evidence and tracking down witnesses and information, so the steam was a welcome treat for her aching muscles. Y/N stood beneath the rainfall setting of her shower, slowly kneading at the knots in her shoulders. She hadn’t realized just how long it had been since she had done something as indulgent as taking a hot shower for longer than 20 minutes. Her only true indulgence had been Javier’s company whenever they decided to spend the night together. After a long shower that was desperately needed, it didn’t take long to finish getting ready and begin the drive to the bar. 

It wasn’t a long drive, only about 10 minutes, but it gave Y/N the opportunity to listen to the radio and reflect. So much had happened within the two years that she had been working with the DEA in Colombia. The first 10 months or so had been filled with helping Javier and Murphy on cases, all while dealing with dangerous narcos and dodging the flirtatious advances of Javier. 

It wasn’t until Y/N had gotten shot in the stomach on one of their assignments that Javier had realized that the reason why he hadn’t been frequenting the best brothels of Bogota for the past couple months was because of Y/N. Only 4 weeks later, the two had begun secretly seeing each other after work, meeting up at restaurants where no one they knew could run into them. 

But Javier had promised that once Y/N had gotten her big break on a case, they would go together to HR and officially fill out the paperwork stating that they were a couple. Y/N had just gotten her big break on a case. She knew that the raid wouldn’t be the only thing that she would be celebrating that night.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a couple of drinks, everyone seemed to have loosened up and were engaged in loud conversation with one another. Y/N, however, kept glancing over to Javier, who was seated next to her. He always looked attractive, but Y/N could practically feel the sex appeal that was coming off of him in waves. He was wearing a button up with the top few buttons left open, revealing his smooth, tanned chest. She didn’t blame the lingering eyes of other women in the bar, after all, she had been one of them not too long ago. 

So far, they had been careful about any public displays of affection, but after the stunt that Javier had pulled back at the raid, Y/N decided to throw all caution to the wind. Carefully, she placed her hand on his knee under the table. She could feel how he tensed slightly under her touch before relaxing again. Y/N waited a few moments before she began slowly running her fingers up his thigh, taking her time to draw flowing patterns like vines.

It wasn’t until she was only a few inches away from his groin when his hand suddenly seized her wrist. He leaned in close, just as he had done at the raid, but this time there was an edge to his voice, like he was straining to get the words out. 

“What do you think you’re doing hermosa?” his words were almost like a growl with how deep his voice had gotten. 

Y/N blinked innocently at him, an expression that did not match what she was attempting to do with her hands. 

“What do you mean, Javi?” a smile was starting to spread across her face at Javier’s raised eyebrow. His grip tightened slightly around her wrist before he released her, standing up abruptly. Pulling an almost empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, he stalked off towards the back door of the bar, presumably to smoke in the back alley. 

Y/N had certainly gotten a reaction from him, he was always so… responsive beneath her touch. She would pay for it later though, a thought that had her mouth watering and her thighs clenching together. Recalling the memory of his face between her thighs or her front pressed against the balcony window as he pounded into her from behind, teasing her and forcing her over the edge more times than she could count was enough to make her desperate for his touch. 

Y/N waited until the song that was playing over the speakers had begun transitioning into the next before she stood to follow him. Y/N knew where to go, the door to the back alley was in the service hallway next to the bathrooms, a trip she had taken multiple times before for various drunken smoke breaks.

She almost had no time to react when she was suddenly pulled into one of the bathrooms and pushed up against the door, forcing the air out of her lungs. Javier’s mouth was on her neck within seconds, tracing the line of her jaw and down to her shoulder.

“Querida, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, his lips still tracing her neck. 

“Mmm, why don’t you show me, mi amor?

Javier’s lips were on hers within seconds, his hands roaming across her body like he couldn’t get enough of her touch and the feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips. 

Y/N couldn’t help but moan, Javier tasted of his usual whiskey and cigarettes, a combination that was always intoxicating to her. He wasted no time in beginning to unbutton the buttons of her blouse, trying to rid her of as much clothing as possible so that he could touch more of her. 

Their kiss quickly became frenzied, both of them chasing a high that only the other could give. Within moments, Javier’s hands were on Y/N’s waist, turning her around and pressing her up against the mirror covered wall.

“Look at how perfect you look for me querida, looking like a fucking angel for me,” Javier’s voice was deep and raspy as he mouthed kisses over her neck, slowly and with purpose.

Y/N used her arms to brace herself against the mirror, looking at her reflection through her lashes. She looked absolutely wrecked, her hair was a mess, lips puffy, and the heaving of her chest from her panting was on full display. Javier stood behind her, giving open mouth kisses to her neck as his large hands traveled up her abdomen, squeezing one of her breasts in his hand. 

“Look at how beautiful you look for me, hermosa,” his voice now a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. 

“Javi, please! Do something, I- I need you to touch me,” Y/N was pliable beneath his touch, she could feel his cock gliding over her folds, teasing her as she arched her back. 

Without warning, Javier thrust forward, sheathing himself within her in one, swift movement, forcing a gasp from her lips. He stilled for only a moment before setting a punishing pace. Each thrust drove deeper and harder into Y/N, slowly pulling her apart and driving all rationale from her. 

Y/N moaned as she watched their reflection in the mirror, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, the glimpse of Javier’s curls from behind her shoulder, the indentations of her waist where his fingers held her, and the way his cock looked every time he entered her. All of it made her stomach spark in arousal. 

With one particularly hard thrust, Y/N let out a cry, her arms giving out and her body pressing up against the cold mirror. She could see the condensation building from their gasping moans and the heat of their bodies. 

“Oh my god, Javier, r-right there, fuck-” a broken moan escaped her lips as he continued fucking into her, his fingers coming to grasp her thigh roughly.

“You like that princess? You like how I fuck you?” Javier growled, his hand pressing even deeper into the flesh of her thighs and waist.

“Yes, oh my god, yes!” Y/N’s moans echoed slightly off of the tiled walls. “God you feel so good, don’t stop Javi,”

“Always look like a fucking vision on my cock, don’t you? Always feel so fucking good for me, because you are all mine,” he said, biting down on her shoulder. A thin sheen of sweat was layered over Javier’s beautiful, tanned, olive skin, emphasizing the flexing of his muscles with every movement.

With his right hand, Javier threaded his fingers through her hair, grasping it in a vice-like hold at the back of her head, and roughly pulled her up so that they made eye contact through the mirror, Y/N’s mouth falling open in arousal at his actions. 

“Look at how gorgeous you look for me, coming apart on my cock,” Javi had a smirk on his face, like he knew that she was completely at his mercy. “You like it when I fuck you like this? In the bathroom while everyone thinks you’re out smoking?”

Y/N couldn’t even attempt to answer properly, her mind too clouded with euphoria and the building of her orgasm, each rigorous thrust pushing her further over the edge. 

“Come on, answer me amado, you like being fucked like this?” Javier’s brought his hand down in a firm slap to Y/N’s ass, drawing a shocked yelp from her lips. 

“Yes! Yes, I love it Javi, please I- I’m going to cum, don’t stop!”

It only took a few more thrusts before Javier’s hips began stuttering and losing their steady rhythm.

“Where do you want me querida?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper in her ear.

“Inside, please I want you inside me Javi,” her voice was a breathy moan, a sound which always drove Javier over the edge. 

Y/N’s orgasm washed over her, her vision temporarily going white from the euphoria she was experiencing. Only moments later, Javier’s low moan registered next to her ear as he came, filling her up with his cum. 

Javier was still pressed to Y/N’s back, both of them panting as they tried to catch their breaths.

“You always look so beautiful after I fuck you, mi alma, I swear its like you were sculpted by the gods,” Javier mumbled as he pressed gentle kisses to her shoulder, just like he always did after he made her fall apart beneath his touch. Y/N loved this Javi, this was the Javi who woke up early on the weekends to go to the farmers market to get fresh fruit for her, the Javi who danced slowly with her in his living room to his old vinyls, the Javi who no one else but she got to see. 

“Mmm, you always take such good care of me, amado,” Y/N was met with a soft grunt as Javier wrapped his arms around her midsection, pulling her even closer to his body. 

“I’m going to show you just how well I can take care of you tonight, after all, you deserve to be worshipped,” he said as he continued pressing kisses to wherever he could reach. Javier had always been soft and gentle after sex, after years of meaningless sex with informants and prostitutes, he craved the caring touch he only got when he was with Y/N. 

A comfortable silence passed between them before Javier slowly pulled out, his cum slowly beginning to drip down Y/N’s thighs. Y/N barely registered that Javier had taken a damp paper towel and was cleaning up the mess he had left inside her. 

Y/N turned, leaning back against the mirror to watch Javier as he began getting redressed. Only a moment later, he began redressing Y/N, tenderly moving her body to put on her blouse and skirt. 

Y/N hummed, her hand coming up to caress Javier’s cheek lovingly.

“See? Like I said, always taking such good care of me,”

A longing look crossed over Javier’s eyes before he took her face in his hands, pulling her into a slow, passionate kiss. When they finally parted from their sweet embrace, Javier rested his forehead against hers, letting his eyes flutter closed in content and happiness.

“Te amo, mi alma,”

“Te amo, Javier,”

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fanfiction

[dummysmile]

Absolutely loved the minghao as a bf fic! Can you please do a similar one for Joshua as well! Cannot find much for shua baby 😋😘

MASTERLIST REQUEST HERE

note: I'm sorry, this took awhile! Tumblr doesn't load requests as quickly as I thought.

----------------------under the cut

love language: Touch AND affirmation

Touch:

so, basically you allow him to do whatever

he's cute so I don't blame you

he cuddles you 75% of the time

he'll cuddle you after work and tell you alll- about his day

"Me and the guys did this awful game and all I could think was holding my face between your boobs."

He enjoy's holding your hand, not really.

^ only because that means he most likely can't wrap his whole body around you

Affirmation:

having someone as humble as josh means you have to remind him that he's so much more than he lets on

he loves hearing affirming words while you stroke his hair

y/n: "I saw a tweet today talking about you. You truly are my amazing boy."

and to that he'll blush and his face in your...you guessed it. in the boobs.

Relationship (general):

Probably the most stable relationship

like there is full trust because the both of you just click.

he's the cutest little thing

example, when you're feeling down he'll bring out shua-bot just for you

"Shua bot wants to know why the pretty y/n is sad. Shall I eat your toes?"

he teases you pretty much all the time

which will turn into a competition

did I mention ya'll are mad competitive?

"Why are you trying to out laugh me?" y/n: "are you mad because I have a louder laugh?" Shua: "oh yea? AHAHAH"

Y'all progressively got louder -_-

y'all relationship mainly consist of those elements: Teasing, competing, and cuddling.

It gives 'high school couple everyone believes is gonna get married after graduation' vibes.

Seventeen

they're all 50/50

they hate when you come to the studio because everyone gets off task

Vernon: "Y/n, you should totally join the band!" Jeonghan: "so we can kick you out, that way you can sign a NDA and pretend you don't know us." :D

but love when you come to boring events

Jeonghan: "I wish you didn't have to leave. Please take me with you!!"

you know how Josh is quiet? mhm, once you're in the door frame he's DK + Seungkwan.

Joshua get slightly jealous T T

"everyones Eddie Murphy?" cue eyeroll

Carats are trying to find out who's bruising their joshikins (???)

Comfortability:

Super comfortable

like nothing's awkward

occasionally when you're in the shower he'll rip one out, turn off the light, and lock the bathroom door from the inside.

"Sorry baby, I was feeling silly. " He'll cackle

He'll toss out those I love you's like a frisbee

He bites too.

he'll go under the sheets and bite your booty cheeks

"I did that cause I love you."

kisses

JSDKHSJFHJSD

You know that "Can you feel the love tonight" song?

lets just say you be feeling it

that's a nasty boy

his hands steadily trace over your curves

his lips graze yours super slow and softly

he'll bite over your lips and tongue

Pulling it occasionally

it'll go on for minutes and feel like seconds

you'll have to beg him for seconds

and his lips are so smooth too..JEEZUS

arguments

He doesn't get "angry", he gets annoyed.

which is way scarier than angry.

He'll try talking to you about the situation

"Let's talk like ADULTS. I didn't pay the light bill"

if he feels like you're not listening or constantly blaming him he'll get annoyed

He speaks scary calm

"Okay, im a dumb bitch or not paying the light bill."

*eyerolls*

he doesn't do anything he just sits back and sighs while you talk

"You done?"

Thankfully arguments never happen unless they're playful

dates

Dinner dates are the only thing he knows

if he's feeling bold, he'll take you to a city event

you both switch between who pays

many pictures get taken so they can go to photo album

compliments don't stop

"you lookin good babe, sucks you have a boyfriend. OH WAIT, I be the boyfriend."

they're cute and corny that's all.

Sex

One word: switch

how ya'll day went determines who's in what position

He prefer bottom, but jeez this man is a HARD Dom.

"What the fuck did I just say?" He'll lash out, continuing to pound into you. He hums waiting for a response. "Not to cum." You mutter whining as you felt him insert a bullet vibrator into your ass. "And what did you do?" He seethed, teasing your rim. "I came." You cried out feeling nothing, but static and bliss. "But you keep adding fucking vibrators to me." You barked, as you neared your orgasm again. He flicked your mouth, showing he didn't like your tone. You got unfocused by the pop that you accidentally allowed yourself to cum again. "Did you just cum?" He stares at you. You violently shook your head no. "You're gonna lie to me? I felt that your pussy nearly swallow me whole." He whispers holding your face tightly. "Repeat after me: I'm a dumb slut who doesn't follow directions."

A whole cuddle bug after

"Sorry baby, you're so smart." As he lays in you boobs.

As a bottom, he's a whore.

"Please fuck me." "tie me up and do it." "Hurt me please" are some of the things you'll hear with him

he has a possession kink

"Mark me, so those staffs know I fucking belong to you."

he wants to own you, but also wants to be owned by you.

josh has hella kinks

Orgasm denial, degradation, choking, slobbing, restraining, anal, overstim, edging, you know throw in the whole BDSM dictionary. H

he's probably into it.

#joshua seventeen #seventeen #seventeen imagines #joshua smut #kpop headcanons

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Javier being kind of an asshole, allusions to sex, a ~moment~ in the bathtub, mention of PTSD and trauma, food mention, drink mention, ...feelings?

Word count: 4200

Author’s Note: It’s been so long! I’m sorry. It’s been pretty hectic and I’ve been doing my best to wrap up my other series’ and complete requests. I appreciate you all for sticking around and asking for updates on this chapter. I’ve mentioned it a few times, but PIFTL is very difficult to write. It deals with very sensitive issues and so not only can it be mentally draining to write, it takes a lot of time to research and edit. I won’t give up on this series though. I adore this story and can’t wait to share it all with you.

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Nina pushed off Javi quicker than a bullet leaving a gun, grabbing a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her naked body. “What the fuck Javier?” she spat.

Jesus Christ -- Javier had never made that mistake before. Moaning someone else’s name? He was better than that. It took him a moment to just process what happened, Nina’s yelling and accusations only a blur in the background. “Who is she, Javier?” Nina questioned, her tone venomous. That was enough to snap the agent out of his thoughts. Her cold eyes burned like wildfire as she glared at him. “Who. Is. She?”

“Uh…” Javier racked his brains to try and figure out a way he’d be able to save this situation. But the longer he took to answer Nina’s question, the more infuriated she got. “Informant.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You’d agreed to help him. But whether or not you’d actually be able to provide Javier with any relevant information was a different ordeal in itself.

“You’re still sleeping with your informants?” Nina gasped a little, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment. “Why am I not surprised?”

Javier sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling himself off Nina’s bed and grabbing his denim jeans that had been previously discarded on the floor. “C’mon Ni, don’t get jealous now. We haven’t been together for like, a year.” Javier hummed, zipping up his pants. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to locate his shirt. Maybe there was no fixing this. For a split second, he’d forgotten why things had ended with Nina, but now it was becoming clear again. He just had to get outta there. He needed air, and a smoke. 

“I let you cum inside of me and you moan out another woman’s name!” Nina exclaimed, shaking her fists in the air. “Javier Peña I fucking hate you!”

Javier offered Nina a small shrug of his shoulders before finding his shirt and buttoning it up. “I’ll see you around Ni.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Called him seventeen times Con, he’s taking the piss.” Steve grimaced, aggressively flicking to the next page of the Bogotá local newspaper.

“Will you just calm down? He’s our friend. We’re doing him a favour. He'll be back soon,” Connie sighed, glancing back over to you, where you had been sleeping on the sofa for the past two and a half hours. “She sleeps better than our Liv,” Connie noted. “Wish we could sleep as well as that.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “I’ll go check on Liv.” He announced at the mention of his daughter. He’d put her down for a nap about an hour ago in Javier’s bedroom.

“No honey, I’ll go. You keep working on your crossword,” Connie giggled before pointing her index finger into one of the blank squares. “Fourteen down: Los huevos revueltos.” 

“I would’ve got that,” Steve huffed, scrambling to write the answer down. He definitely would not have. The Spanish puzzle was made for infants and yet he was still struggling.

“Whatever Murph.” Connie rolled her eyes, leaving the table where they were both sitting at. 

The second she left the room, you woke up in a cold sweat, feeling dizzy and shaking from a nightmare you didn’t want to remember. Your cheeks were wet, tear stained and goose pimples pricked at your arms. You checked your surroundings in a fluster, not recognising the brown leather couch you were laying on, or the oak wood coffee table in front of you, or even the television pushed against the cream coloured walls. A man with blonde hair and mustache raced over to you, and dropped to his knees, holding you by your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” The man quizzed, his blue eyes searching to meet yours. You were horrified, the feeling of an unfamiliar man grabbing you like this. You screamed in terror, and defensively dug your fingernails into his skin. The man yelped out and stumbled back from you, hitting the coffee table in the process. “Fuck-- shit-- ow--” He gasped. “Connie!” he called. “Connie, she's awake!”

The way he yelled and screamed your name... it was like you were some kind of monster. You hated it.

The sound of footsteps padding into the living room alerted you, and a woman, not much older than you, knelt down in front of you. But unlike the man, she knew well enough to keep her distance. “Hi sweetheart, are you alright? I’m Connie, don’t be afraid. You’re okay.” she assured you, her voice sweet like honey. 

“Where am I?” you choked out, tears filling your eyes. 

Connie hesitated for a moment. “She doesn’t remember where she is?” Steve asked Connie with concern, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled himself together and shuffled over to you. Taking a note out of Connie’s book, he kept his distance. Connie briefly explained to her husband how your behaviour right now actually made a lot of sense, and how victims of PTSD can often have ‘memory blanks’.

“Darling, I’m Connie Murphy. I’m a nurse. And this is my husband Steve. Steve is DEA. He’s friends with Javier Peña. You know that name, right? Javier Peña.” She repeated his name slow and steady, allowing you to take your time to process the words. Javier Peña. Just like that, a wave of calmness washed over you. His name felt like home. It felt like safety. 

“I know Javi.” you whispered in admittance, shuffling around on the sofa. You could feel your lips trembling. It was strange. You were new to Bogotá, and you didn’t really have any friends, other than the late Rosa. And well, Javier too. He was a client, sure, but he was always kind and gentle with you, unlike your other customers. You’d like to think of him as a friend. Right now, he was the only person you had. 

“This is Javier’s place. He’s going to watch over you for a little while, okay?” Connie explained. “We are your friends and we’re not going to hurt you. I promise,” the lady soothed. She turned to Steve. “Bring over Olivia.”

“What-- why?” Steve quizzed, his eyebrows furrowing together in bewilderment.

“She needs to know she can trust us. Bring over Olivia,” Begrudgingly following his wife’s instruction, a wary Steve stood up and padded into Javier’s bedroom where Olivia had been left to sleep in a small, transportable crib. He picked up his daughter and carried her into the living room. “This is my daughter Olivia,” Connie told you quietly, smoothing out Olivia’s black hair. “She’s one year old. Would you like to hold her?”

“Connie are you fucking crazy?” Steve snapped.

“I’m a fucking nurse Steve, I know what I’m doing.” Connie hissed back, taking Olivia from her father. She looked back over to you and her deep frown turned into a comforting smile as she slowly handed you the baby. Connie’s hands never left Olivia, and she made an effort to support her head as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms.

Holding Olivia Murphy gave you a feeling of responsibility. If Steve and Connie were dangerous, they would never have shown you their daughter, let alone allow you to hold her in your arms. You contemplated everything and although it was hard, you decided that you probably could trust them. Still, it raised the question: “Where is Javi?”

Steve shook his head incredulously and stood up, grabbing the phone from one of the side tables and dialling his partner’s number again. You didn’t know what was wrong with the blonde haired agent, but you got the impression that he did not want to be here.

“Steve is going to call him, again. He went to get groceries. I’m sure he won’t be long.” Connie informed softly, and you nodded your head. 

“Your baby is adorable,” you announced quietly and Connie smiled, thankful you were beginning to talk a little more. Seemingly, you’d calmed down, which meant Connie’s comforting approach had worked.

“She’s a real gem, isn’t she?”

Javier was just a couple of blocks away when his carphone began to ring. He eyed up the display and read the ‘17 missed calls’, cursing under his breath. He clicked the accept button and continued to drive.

“Javier Peña. You prick.”

“Hi bestie.” Javier grinned, shaking his head at Steve’s introduction. Typical.

“You left us here for three fucking hours with some random girl -- who, by the way, is incredibly unstable, Javier. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but I’m not here for it. Where the fuck have you been? No, forget that. You better be home in the next ten minutes and you better have the ingredients for my fucking paella.” Steve growled before angrily slamming the phone down on the hook.

Javier couldn’t help but chuckle. Steve Murphy was ever the drama queen.

As he drove down the street, he made one final attempt to shrug off what had happened with Nina. Okay, yeah, saying your name was a little uncalled for. But she always got so needy and possessive -- even when she had no reason to be. Nina and Javier weren’t exclusive and hadn’t been for a long time, so, what was her deal?

What was even more concerning to Javi, was the fact he said your name in the first place. Nina looked rather similar to you. Not identical, but from a distance, there was a chance she could’ve been mistaken. Only, when he was pounding into her from behind, he wasn’t at a distance. In fact he couldn’t have been any closer, and yet he still said your name. He was really struggling to justify it. 

Sure, he’d been thinking about you when he was inside of her. But was that really so bad? You were clearly on his mind, and Javier just pinned that down to the fact he’d been out all day investigating the crime scene at the brothel. He’d been with you, he’d held you and comforted you. Fuck, even before noon he had been fucking your mouth. It wasn’t exactly unreasonable…

But moaning out your name… shit, could Javier really get past that? Was there any way to justify that -- other than the blatant and glaring honest reason that Javier refused to admit. He wouldn’t even let his mind go there. Whatever, it was fine. He was home now. The end of a long day.

Javier grabbed the groceries from the back of his car and buzzed himself into the DEA apartment block where he and Steve were living. Making his way over to his apartment, he opened the front door and set the brown paper bag of ingredients down on the kitchen counter. When he got home, Connie was just finishing up painting your nails a beautiful sea blue gel colour. She turned around and she looked up at Javier. Your eyes, however, were already fixated on him the second he entered the room.

“Where’s Steve?” Javier asked, diverting his gaze from the two women and continuing to unpack the food. 

“He went home. He’s pissed, Javi.” Connie admitted, shaking her head in annoyance and placing the pot of nail polish on the coffee table. She walked into the open space kitchen and nudged the agent.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Javier muttered, stacking the canned goods into a cupboard.

“I’m going home, but don’t think we’ve forgotten about the paella. Steve wants that fucking paella,” Connie chastised. Javier nodded his head but remained silent as he emptied his bag of shopping. “Unbelievable.” Connie scoffed incredulously, and opened the front door before slamming it behind her.

“Thanks Con!” Javier called, but there was no telling if she even heard.

Javier was half way through putting his shopping away when he heard your meek and softly spoken voice call his name in a questioning tone. His dark eyes looked over at you. You were sitting upright on the sofa and his face softened. Stopping what he was doing, he neglected the bag of groceries and padded into the living room to sit down next to you. 

“Hi.” Javier murmured, crossing his legs and adjusting the crochet blanket that was covering your lap. 

“Hi.” you replied, feeling somewhat shy and slightly nervous, for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“How are you feeling?” Javier asked, bringing himself to look at you.

“Um,” you fumbled at the blanket and thought for a moment. It was a loaded question. Other than the overwhelming feeling of distress and helplessness, you decided to give the agent a simple answer. “Well rested. A little thirsty.” 

Javier nodded. “How would you feel about taking a bath?”

You swallowed back a knot in your throat that you hadn’t even realised was there in the first place. “...Do I smell?” you asked, You stretched out and gave your underarms a sniff, prompting Javier to burst out into laughter. Shit, had you always been that adorable? Your nose scrunched up at the distinct smell of dried up blood on your clothes and your shoulders slumped sadly. Javi, noticing your change in demeanor, gently lifted up the blanket and wrapped it around your body.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he cooed. “Believe me, I get stinky too. It happens. Let me help you take a bath. Come with me.”

Taking his hand, Javier navigated you towards the bathroom. It was a small boxy room with barely any space to move around, and yet, to your surprise, it fit a bathtub. Javier twisted the faucet, and the tap began to run warm water. He picked up a bottle of bubble bath and a tub of salts. “I have a bad back,” Javier told you. “These salts really help me relax. And the bubbles are nice too.”

You nodded with a smile. As he emptied the contents into the tub, you watched the products swirl into a colourful abyss. “It smells like you.” you uttered, without really thinking about the weight of your words. Javier said nothing, and you both sat by the side of the tub in comfortable silence, watching as it filled up. He occasionally dipped his hand in the water, checking the temperature.

“Will you be okay?” Javier asked you, taking out a towel and folding it up on top of the toilet seat.

You weren’t really sure, but you nodded your head anyway. Just as he was about to leave, you spoke up again. “Actually, Javi, could you stay?”

Javier fumbled a little but smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

Javier had seen you naked countless times due to the nature of your job but for some reason, this time, it felt different. He’d never had a woman use his bathtub before, let alone be requested to stay in her presence as she got undressed and stepped inside. You slipped out of your sultry, blood stained dress and let it pool to the floor. Javi’s mouth parted as he took in your naked form under the amber tinted bathroom lights. 

You stepped inside the tub and almost slipped over, but Javier, as quick as lightning, grabbed your arm and steadied you. “Sorry,” he muttered, and your hand slid into his. As your fingers interlocked, you felt something. It was like a bolt of electricity, running up your arm, and judging by Javier’s reaction, he could feel it too. “I should’ve warned you. It can be a little slippery.”

You giggled and tried to tear yourself from Javi’s grip, but he didn’t let go of you once. Instead,  he helped you sit down comfortably amongst the bubbles and aromatic hot water. You moaned, feeling your body become indulged and your muscles soften. You smiled and laid back, the bubbles fizzing around your neck and chin, and Javier felt his heart swell in his chest as he noticed your lips curl into a smile. It was the smile he would kill to see, and he hadn’t even realised how much he missed it.

“Just relax,” Javier soothed. “I’ll be back faster than you can count to ten.”

Javier ran into the kitchen and took a glass from one of the cupboards before racing back to the bathroom. Kneeling down by the side of the tub, he dipped the glass into the water, filling it up, and gently emptied it down your hair. 

“Close your eyes,” he requested, continuing to wet your hair ample enough until it was ready to be shampooed. Taking the bottle of his musky scented shampoo, Javier squirted the thick liquid into your scalp and began to massage it in. You couldn’t believe how gentle he was, and how he was taking his time with you. You’d never in a million years imagine Javier Peña being like this, or acting this intimate, with any woman -- especially not you. To be honest, his own behaviours were even coming to shock Javier. But he just let his instincts take over. He wanted to protect you and make sure you knew just how safe you were. That was the most important thing on his mind.

Once he rinsed your hair, he grabbed some soap and a sponge, handing them to you. “Do you uh-- uh-- do you think you can wash your own body?” He asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “If not, that’s okay. I can help. But--”

You smiled and rested a wet hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Javi. I’ll be fine.” you promised, taking the sponge from him. 

“I’m going to find you some clothes to change into.” He told you. “Shout if you need me. I won’t be long.”

And he stuck by his word. Javier raked through his drawers and picked out a pale yellow button down shirt that he hadn’t worn in a few years and a pair of boxer shorts. Padding back into the bathroom, he presented you with them. “It’s not much but it’s all I have,” he told you. “I’m sure Con will take you out shopping at some point. Or we can hop on back to your place tomorrow to grab some of your stuff,” You smiled and stood up, making sure to be careful not to slip this time. Javier held out the towel for you and wrapped you in it. “I’ll leave you to get dried.”

When Javier went back into the kitchen, he figured he should put the rest of the groceries away, only to notice that the once frozen paella ingredients had become defrosted and been rendered completely useless. “Shit.” Javier cursed, pushing them to one side and running a hand through his hair. Looks like after all of this, he couldn’t make paella tonight. He knew he was about to get an earful from Steve at work tomorrow.

“Do you like pizza?” Javier called, rummaging around for a take-out menu and grabbing his phone from the counter.

“I do!” you called back, buttoning up Javier’s shirt and wrapping a towel around your head.

When you padded into the kitchen, dressed in Javi’s clothes, the agent felt his throat dry up. You were a sight to behold. You smelt distinctly like him, but you already looked one thousand times better now that you were clean and comfortable. You felt better, too. It was amazing what a bath could do to you. You shimmied onto one of the bar stools Javier kept by the counter and rest your elbows against the laminate. Javier passed you the menu so you could look over the dishes.

You agreed on a simple chilli pizza, which was one of Javier’s favourites anyway. Javi called the deli and asked for a large, planning on sharing it with you. Remembering that you’d mentioned you were thirsty, he poured you a glass of water and handed it your way.

“Steve is gonna be so mad at me tomorrow,” Javier chuckled, rubbing his temple. You peeked up from the glass that you nursed and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I promised him paella and I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. Not only that but he’s gonna ask me where I’ve been. He’ll know I wasn’t out getting groceries for three hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together and tilted your head. “Three hours? Where were you?”

Javier paused and absent-mindedly brushed a finger along his mustache. “I bumped into an ex at the store. Went back to her place and-- you know.”

Your eyes fell back into your glass of water. “Oh.”

Javier picked at his short fingernails and another sigh left his lips. “Shit, I just--” he shook his head. “Made a mistake. A very big mistake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeah, that would probably be for the best but how could he even begin to tell you what happened, when you were part of the problem? Javier figured it might even scare you away. “It doesn’t matter… she’s just…” Javier scratched his head. “She’s fine. It’s a ‘me’ problem, I think.”

The doorbell rang and Javier was grateful for the interruption. He paid the pizza delivery guy and sent the stone bake on the table.

“It looks good,” you smiled. “I’ve never had Colombian pizza.”

Javier’s jaw dropped. “You--?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Dulzura, how long have you lived here?” 

“A month,” you grinned, with a mouthful of pizza. “Tastes good.”

After you’d finished eating, it had gotten pretty late. You and Javier exchanged small talk, learning little things about each other. You liked it a lot. He had always been an enigma to you, and even though he offered little information, it was still something, and you appreciated that a lot.

“It’s been a difficult day,” Javier noted, folding the pizza box and throwing it away to be recycled. “You should take my bed.”

“No,” you insisted. “I’m fine on the sofa. Honestly.”

Javier sighed. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the sofa any longer. You’ll get back ache.”

“Then I’ll just use your bath salts.” You smirked in retaliation. Javier laughed and you relished the way small crinkles appeared in the corner of his honey coloured eyes.

“Please, take my bed.” Javier said, staring at you pointedly. His eyebrows were raised and his strong arms were crossed over his chest.

You were about to argue further but truthfully, sleeping in a bed tonight sounded like exactly what you needed. You took a few steps closer to Javier, a pool of butterflies swirling in your stomach as you broke any distance between you both. You wanted to kiss his lips so desperately, taste him once again. It was only earlier today you’d had your lips wrapped around his cock, and yet, so much had happened in between then and now. You wondered if Javier was thinking about it too.

“Get some sleep, hermosa.”

Your eyes were completely trained on his soft pink lips. You wanted to kiss-- you just wanted to kiss him. Just one kiss. Just one-- you leaned in and shut your eyes, and neared him, closer and closer... but Javier stepped away.

And you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

“Nothing personal,” he told you. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Nothing personal? How were you meant to accept that? You had literally sucked him off just a few hours ago and now he wouldn’t even grace you with a kiss? Maybe Rosa was right; you shouldn’t form crushes on clients. Especially not Javier Peña. You’d only get hurt. You tugged on the sleeves of his button down shirt and balled your fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Without uttering a word, not even a ‘goodnight’, you sulked away and into his bedroom.

Javier wanted to shout out. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, or even upset. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. It took him all the strength he could muster to deny you of that kiss. Your perfect lips looked so soft and delicate and if Javier could have it his way, he would’ve taken you in that very moment.

But you were more than just a sex worker now. You were a compliance in the hunt to catch Escobar -- and he had to be careful. No matter what, he couldn’t risk losing track of the bigger picture.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[balmasedas]

desperado / druglord!javier peña au. 

chapter one.

summary: reader is a dea agent. violence has arisen in the streets of colombia and she's determined to bring javier peña to justice. things take an abrupt turn when, instead of her finding him, he finds her and realizes they got much more interest in each other than just drug-related topics. 

warnings: only +18. overall, this is smut so smutty. canon violence. detailed warnings in every chapter. spanish traductions are in the notes, though for the sake of non-spanish speakers, spanish dialogues will be minimal and not relevant to the plot.

word count: 2.5k.

You throw your sweater in the backseat of your car before exiting it. In the morning, you had dug through your boxed-up winter clothes after shivering in your shirt-sleeves as soon as you got out of your department. Now, the temperature has risen to the seventies and you give yourself a clap in the back for deciding to wear something decent underneath. Spring in Colombia is a nightmare.

The crime scene is packed with local police and DEA agents. There are no civilian spectators this time, they know better than sticking their noses in the Medellin's cartel businesses.

Upon your arrival, you don’t need to identify yourself to the uniformed men guarding the perimeter. They know you well by then. You are the only female in the team that has to deal with these kinds of situations —gruesome, gut-churning, dirty shit. Not a very much "lady-like" job, some would express. For that, you have earned yourself the title of a gritty woman. Maybe because you were gritty, maybe because you were a woman.

Sometimes, though, you find yourself wondering why you turned down some run-of-the-mill desk job back in Virginia. It would’ve been a dull routine, for sure — hideous, even; but gossiping about some flash romance between two co-workers is less taxing than having to witness five rotting corpses at first daylight. 

"Jesus Christ," you lift your sunglasses to your head. Your partner, esteemed, weary agent Steve Murphy, turns around at the sound of your voice. 

“You’re up early.” he asserts, with a raised eyebrow. 

You purse your lips. “Had a bad night. Ran out of whisky at one am.” 

Not even Hugo, or Hughie for his gringo friends, could help you. You forgot that his daughter would be celebrating her birthday and his all-night store would be closed until the next morning. Normally, you would own an arsenal of alcohol, but it has been an abnormal week and a hell of a night —starting with the spiral of violence that has arisen in the streets of Medellin.

"Well, look at the bright side: your stomach is empty," Murphy mumbles.

Looking at the bodies in front of you, you can’t agree more: their hands are tied-up to the oxidated wire behind them, hanging by their arms. They are barefoot and scantily clad. There is a visible gunshot wound in all of their front heads, some flies are already hovering around the open flesh. A quick death to eternal torture, you suppose.

"When did you get the call?" you inquire.

He fiddles with his wristwatch. "About two hours ago." you only hum in response, keeping your eyes in front of you and paying no mind to Steve who only grows impatient at your silence. "You think this was Peña's job?" he adds.

You nod in denial. "If it was, it doesn't make sense." Not one bit. "Peña works underground, quiet, like a sneaky rat. I'd even say they're more well-behaved than most cartels. So why do this?"

Why such a declaration of violence? Why draw even more attention from the authorities? 

"Maybe he decided to toughen his punishments?” You scoff at his remark.

“He can do that without half the city knowing it. A ditch is much more subtle than a monument to death blocks from the US embassy.” 

Murphy smirks. “Seems that you have given it a thought before, Sarchie.” you narrow your eyes. He knows you hate that nickname. Your tendencies to boss him around had brought you consequences: the unofficial title of a Sargeant. Sarchie, shortened and friendly.

“Killing someone? Yes, you. Multiple times a day.” you put your sunglasses back on and walk away. The forensic police won’t be there until the next half hour, at least, and you are too disquiet to wait around. Plus, your stomach is growling, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “We’re gonna need their names, I’ll see what I can find. You have a little chat with the coroner and see if they can speed up the autopsy. The sooner the better, ok?” you spot the smirk on his face. You know what he’s thinking. You shut your car's door and point a finger at him through the window. A clear warning sign in your eyes. “Shut the fuck up and do it.”

(,,,)

Happy hour. You give up on the investigation and stop off at ‘Chiquita’, a popular local bar near your place. The prices are cheap, the drinks aren’t that good but they do the job. The place is crowded — hot couples with wet, glowing skin grinding against each other. Happy or horny or both. You take a mental note to have some fun later. 

As you sip at your bourbon and crack your peanuts, you let yourself dwell on what you found out about your case. You finally got the names of your five guys. For that, much research wasn’t needed: All of them had their IDs in their pockets and they were exactly who you feared they were: no ones. No ties to any big names, no official involvement in any cartel — at the most, a few minor possession charges. As for weeks, your few clues have led to nowhere and the enigma surrounding the Medellin cartel seems to worsen with every minute that passes by.

You hate mysteries. Colombia’s full of them. 

You take your second bourbon in one smooth shot and ask for another. You grab a colombian peso from your wallet and slide it across the wood. Your eyes stop at the picture of your parents that you carry around. It’s tiny and worn, just like your relationship with them. They haven’t heard from you in weeks, a fair deal, if anyone asked. They don’t have to deal with their fucked up daughter and you can focus on your work filled with dead ends and a ghost that haunts you while you’re awake: Javier Peña.

“¹Qué tomas, preciosa?” a velvety voice caresses your ears. A pleasant smile breaks quietly over your lips. Just in time.

You turn your head to the side. The stranger, with chocolate-skin and inviting eyes, is waiting for an answer. You tap your fingers against the glass.

"Bourbon," you say. "²Pero no me vendría mal un trago más." he grins and holds up two fingers to the barman. He sits at the empty seat beside you, he’s exuberating confidence. He’s offered you the bait and you'd taken it.

"³Algo más que se te ofrezca?"

You look him in the eyes. You know how the story goes from there. It isn’t any different than the one from last night, or the night before. As an apex predator, he's out for something to satisfy his hunger. He won't go home without reaching his goal and you're desperate enough to let him.

"⁴Sí. Hay algo más que puedes hacer por mi."

(,,,)

The fucking cat on the window has been staring straight into your eyes for the last fifteen minutes. Matias, the guy you've met hours before, is too focused on you to notice the awkward presence of the animal, so you don't bother shooing it away. 

He's enjoying himself, pounding into you in a symphony of lust bites and moans. But the sound of skin on skin doesn't match the intensity of your passion for this encounter.

It's not that his performance was terrible, it was just... soft. So soft, too soft. From the sweet nothings, he gasps on your ear to the gentleness of his grip on your hip. 

You aren't a sweet girl. If you were sweet, you wouldn't have traveled all the way down to Colombia to participate in the war on drugs. If you were fond of delicateness, you would've stayed inside and touched yourself to a Cristina Peri Rossi novel instead of searching for strangers at bars.

You don't like to believe you are a special case. On the contrary, you assume your attitude is the rule and not the exception. Not a hell of a woman, but a woman made of hell – waking up already worried about the hours ahead of you. How could you not? Your life is as wide and empty as the sky. Unstable, unpredictable. Anything can happen. A good meaningless fuck is the only moment you allow yourself to feel something — someone. By then, the detachment that gets you through the day disappears and raw feral emotion takes its place. 

You are addicted. It's like a drug, but worse. Drugs don't have feelings, people do.

You’d grabbed Matias' hand and wrapped it around your neck a few times but your request had been ignored; you’d even pushed his ass against your body so you could get closer to a feral touch, but he had insisted on something more caring and delicate. 

And delicacy just won't do. 

So, after a few tries, you give up. You lay still, under his heating body, dead eyes directed at your window. No emotion whatsoever, no release. Like a numb, stiff sex doll, rooting for his satisfaction. Forgotten until next time.

“⁵Donde?” he blurts in your ear. You evaluate your options quickly. 

“⁶Adentro.” Any other place would demandsñ more attention. By then, he would be aware of your passivity and asking too many questions. You don't answer questions, you make them.

His body tenses and trembles. You feel heat dripping between your legs but it doesn't come from you. He leaves a few small pecks on your neck — thankfully, the last ones for the night. Matias breathes over you for a few seconds before he gets off. You stare at the roof in silence, and when he asks if you finished, you simply nod.

You can't grasp what he says under his breath after you ask him, as nice as possible, to leave. What he does or doesn't vocalize, it doesn't matter. You won't be repeating with him. You never fucked the same person twice. 

Once you hear the front door shut, still resting on your bare skin, you lit a cigarette. The room is void of artificial light, and the cat is still in the same place, with his silhouette contoured by the gleam of the moon.

"Sneaky bastard." you chuckle, then get up from the bed and slowly approach it.

You stop at the wooded frame of the window, maintaining your distance. Not too close to scare him or him to scare you. He isn't a friendly guy. He isn't even yours — just a grumpy cat that stops by your department too often demanding some food. You tried to get him to come inside before, but all you had won from your offers were a couple of scratches. Nonetheless, the cat has seen more of you than many people have. So, even though you renegade from him, you found yourself inevitably attached. He's the closest thing to a family, after Murphy, of course. But Murphy hasn't seen you on your worst, yet.

"Hope you see the same shit I see." you grimace and shake your head. "Not like that, I mean... I should choose better who to fuck with. And they should choose better too." the cat remains silent –obviously– and you keep talking. "You could make yourself useful and spook them away before I have to." he meows, you roll your eyes and decide to leave him alone. "Then again, I could do it myself if I told them I hold long conversations with the stray cat that lives in my window."

You choose to take a bath and call it a night. You glide through the living room, though before you can reach the bathroom something stops you. There's a noise outside, some glass breaking down on the streets. You can ignore it, conflict isn't a foreign subject in Colombia, especially at late hours. But then it repeats itself a second time, and the third bugs you too much for you not to grab your night robe and take a look at it from your window.

The only light pole is out of order; there's not a soul in sight; music can be heard from afar. You see nothing out of place until you do.

Your car is parked across the street. All four windows have been smashed, the tires are flat. You barely waste time cursing before you flee out of your place. You thought the night couldn’t get worse but the world has a disturbing obsession with testing your patience. 

Once you take a step outside and approach your damaged car, you’re not sure where your chills are coming from. Perhaps, because of the unfriendly weather or maybe because you’re suddenly aware of how idiotic was your decision to go outside. 

Everything inside your vehicle is left untouched. There weren't objects of value anyways. You find no logical reason for someone wanting to wreck a car just because —yours, of them all.

Big red warning signs color your mind. Your eyes scan your surroundings with speed. It's a dark, lonely dessert. You're now sure that what happened isn't some random event. The victim could've been to another person, but you weren't just another person.

"⁷Discúlpeme, señorita." a voice throws yourself far from the source. You reach for your gun just to find nothing there. Damn you. "⁸Está bien?" you look at the man. An old man that, at first glance, doesn't represent a threat. His voice is gentle, his voice is tinted with a caring voice. You lower your defenses, just a bit, not enough to stay around.

"⁹Sí." you mutter.

Slowly, you walk back to your apartment. Old man glues his eyes to your form and you don't take your own off from his'. Before reaching the sidewalk, you trip with something. Your back collides against a car and you're ready to apologize when the owner exits it there’s not a sign of rage in his face. On the contrary, his stare is blank and his mouth doesn’t even twitch.

Bad news.

You intend to run, but another guy blocks your passage and two more appear at each side of you. You turn over to ask the old man for help, but he’s gone along with your last piece of hope. Can’t blame him, you would’ve escaped too if you had the chance. However, you can’t and the smartest thing to do is acknowledge it and work from it. 

You stay still thinking it will persuade them to opt for gentle treatment. 

How naive of you. 

A set of fingers dig into your arms, another one grabs you by the neck and lowers your head as they drag you into their car. Guarded by two of them who sit at your sides, a dark cloth bag is placed over your head and your wrists are restricted with a zip tie. 

All you have left now is your hearing, you pick up a few things: the engine roaring, the tires burning on the asphalt as you speed off, some spanish words thrown in the air. Nothing substantial, nothing of use.

You sit in silence and wait for the worst.

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