#Cindy is a fucking boss

[dolybun]

Or girl

#angelcore #dollcore #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #girlblogging #lana del rey #lizzy grant #this is a girlblog #angelic #dollete aesthetic #alana champion #long haired men #older daddy #coquette dollete #alanabc #wolfiecindy #cindy kimberly #just girly thoughts #just girly posts #just girly things #gaslight gatekeep girlblog #girl boss gaslight gatekeep #female manipulator #lana del ray aka lizzy grant #lily rose icons #waifugirl #waifspo #waifu #dollette #please fuck me #nymph3t

[lexusrouge]

Just played through an ending of armoured core!!! I will be spoiling a little about the last couple bosses so warning if you’re planning/already playing it!!!

THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME I WAS THINKING ABOUT HOW MUCH FUN THEYRE FUCKING HAVING?!!! Why the FUCK DOES THE AI GET TO HAVE TWO DIFFERENT FUCKING ULTIMATES AND COMBOS WHILE IMMSITTING HERE WITH NOTHINGNBUR SHOT GUNS AND FUCKING MACHIN GUNS????

#Rusty’s my favorite btw #armored core #FUCK the last boss #oh my god this is like the fifth time From Soft makes a handful of bosses that are insanely fucking difficult by merit of shit they pull #Walter ended up being another favorite with Cindy being a close second #fuck Michigan #fuck that level with him #it was already a pain in the fucking ass to kill him in the arena

[evaunit-00]

just signed up for a woodcarving class with the girl that got fired with me at the pottery painting job i had a few years ago <3 :)

#txt #we got fired bc we three away signs my boss had made stating that masks werent required at table anymore #it was 2020 and the tables were like maybe 3 feet apart #antivaxxer type biatch #but yea she fired us for that and then denied my request for unemployment #fuck you cindy im wishing u the absolute worst

[foone]

Idea: interspecies TF but it doesn't go like a werewolf movie, over in seconds or minutes, but like HRT.

Every morning you look in the mirror, pulling your mouth open to get a better look at your canines. Is it just you or are they a little bigger?

You turn your head sideways, seeing how much your face is stretching into a snout. You occasionally catch yourself looking at your hands, seeing how the skin on your palm is hardening into pawpads, how the tips of your fingers are stretching, your nails coalescing into claw tips.

You spend a while looking online at r/TFtimelines/, looking at other furries with a mix of envy and lust. God, you hope someday you can look a tenth as monstrous as them. You look up doctors in your area to see their ratings for bottom surgery (which is getting a tail), and wonder if your insurance will cover it.

It's not all physical changes, of course. You're noticing how your emotional state is shifting. You're staring at spreadsheets at work, in need of another coffee, and you have that thought again of just running into the woods. Your clothes seem tight and restrictive on you, and you know it had nothing to do with the fact you've gained 5 inches in height over the last year. It's more to do with feeling you shouldn't need to wear this business formal nonsense, you should be covered in fur and hanging out in the lonely woods, not in a crowded office moving numbers around for your boss.

Ugh, your fucking boss. It's getting harder to not listen to him talk without inadvertently thinking about what it'd feel like to rip his throat open with your teeth, and leave him as a warning for the others not to mess with the wolf...

Not that you'd ever do such a thing, of course... But those pills you're taking every morning have been waking up millions of years of instinct that are saying "this supposed leader is weak and ineffectual and doesn't deserve your loyalty. Kill him. Take his place, or his poor leadership will get you all killed when the winter comes."

You sigh, and keep typing on the keyboard. One day you'll come out to these anthrotypicals. You'll be recognized for the mighty wolf you are, and they'll stop treating you as just another human.

You make a note to email HR about that "I'm a human" CAPTCHA they put on the company's website. They don't know, of course, but they should be more considerate. Not everyone wearing a pantsuit and operating a boring Dell computer is a human, after all.

You glance at the clock and think about getting dinner once this slog is over. You'd been a vegetarian before starting your transition, but there's a new steakhouse that's opened up on your walk home, and every time you walk past it, you keep thinking about biting into a nice steak... Rare, of course. It's probably just the smell. You can smell so much better now, and from what you've heard from others, it's only going to get better.

Well, better is relative. You've learned the downside of having a better sense of smell. It's sometimes unbearable walking to work on Wednesday, when everyone has their bins out. So much rotting food and spoiled milk and bacteria festering in all those cans waiting for the trash trucks.

It gets better once you're in the office. The AC kills a lot of the smell. But now you can tell exactly how many days it has been since your coworkers have showered, and you'll never look at Simon from accounting the same way again.

And it was a bit of a faux pas (or should that be a faux paw, ha!) when you congratulated Cindy on the baby she was expecting... She hadn't told you yet. She hadn't told anyone yet, other than her spouse, but you forgot that it wasn't as obvious to everyone else.

You don't know how that can be overlooked (oversmelled?). The hormones are all different. Was there really a time in your life when you couldn't smell this? Huh. You can't remember anymore. This is your new normal. You've come farther than you think. You should have taken more pictures at the start, so you could compare them to now, but it was so hard to look at yourself then. You looked so... Human. Ugh.

It's getting easier to look at yourself in the mirror in the morning. Your fur is coming in. Your body is changing in so many ways. You're finally starting to look like you.

#my creations #Trans #TF #Furry

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary - The reader and Miguel finally meet… Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

three

I hate this. Oh I despise it. This feeling, this day, this music and this fucking limp legged Christmas tree that taunts me from my window.

So many employees and all of them are proving themselves to be nothing more than incapable. All For morale.

For fucking blue elephant.

Truth be told, I could give less of a shit what the Daily Bugle says about me or my company. I could, but not Jessica Drew. Not my right hand. That’s why there is that stupid music, that pathetic tree and that is exactly why I have been forced to stuff red, silk handkerchiefs in my pocket.

All my girls respect me, but Jessica? They worship her. She’s the epitome of the perfect boss to weak minded people.

And fucking Jessica wants to sit in a circle and trade presents with our employees. Just the thought makes my fingers curl, hand balled into an intolerant first.

Presents. It makes me think of lilac, of Lacy.

Lacy is a smart girl, one of my smartest actually. And instead of being buried deep inside of her, using my dick to try and find the spark that once captivated me within her, I, the CEO of my own fucking company have to entertain the persistent brat downstairs.

No puedo más, no puedo más. No. Puedo. Más.

I huff out an annoyed breath and stand, a minute longer where I brood in my seat and I’ll leave the hire to interview herself. I busy myself with gazing out of my floor to ceiling glass. New York greets me like a betrayed brother, icy and bitter. All of the city is strung with icicle lights and nauseating colors for the holiday. So loud and happy, so infuriating.

My reflection mirrors me, cold and in charge— as it should always be. Yet today, today doesn’t feel like it. Today, I have to cater to stupid Cindy Moon and the fact that she’s incapable of being wrong. No Lacy, no sleep.

I never do, anyways.

Time passes slow as I wait, as I gaze out into my city from my castle. Jessica calls my leather seat a throne, and it couldn’t be more fitting.

An agonizing gathering of fleeting moments before I hear Cindy Moon’s heels clicking to the rhythm of whatever the fuck is playing on that radio. There are more footsteps beside her, but those are much less graceful.

Must be the girl.

Great.

I wait for the knob to turn, I wait to be over with this. I have no intentions of taking her on, none at all. I’ll let her down cordially for sake of morale and I’ll find Lacy and get to the bottom of why I don’t feel her anymore.

Not in the way you feel passion when you fuck, no. The excitement, the reminder with each stroke that you’re alive. You don’t have to search for it anymore… but it always fades, and onto the next muñequita that makes my dick stand.

But fucking Lacy. So pretty in her Lilac with those big blue eyes. I thought she’d last longer. She’s too sweet to get rid of so early.

My clock is taunting me, my patience running thinner as I turn and narrow my eyes at the halted shadows under the oak door. Slowing my breathing, I listen. Are they whispering?

Cindy Moon, warning the new hire about me.

I shake my head and take a moment to adjust my silken pocket. Alright, I’ll play generous for the holiday season and walk slower to my oak door. I’ll give them a chance to come inside, to respect me.

One step closer, and closer, two more strides and I’ve reached it. And they? They’re still playing school girl on the other side.

I tug the door open with brute force, prepared to spit a sarcastic insult at little Cindy Moon who has gotten very close to being fired far too many times today.

I don’t get the chance.

A mess of ivory cloth and pink ribbons falls against me, so light and soft I believe her to be a feather for a moment. She gasps, french tipped manicure gripping at my navy suit desperately.

My eyes slim even further, jaw tense and tight. Cindy’s eyes are the opposite. They go wide as saucers, eyebrows pointed and high as she catches a glimpse of the place where my jaw twitches.

I’m annoyed.

The stupid little thing scurries away with only a, “Sir!” and a nod. Lucky girl. Evading her final day with me.

I take a moment to close my eyes and imagine that instead of being here, with an idiot on my chest, I closed my laptop and grabbed my bag. I walked downstairs and met Lacy in the cab, I took her home to my apartment and got her nice and warm by the fireplace. I wrapped her strawberry blonde hair in my fist and started fucking her hard enough so that she couldn’t walk for a week, fucking her so hard I managed to forget how far away the spark feels. So hard that I began to feel excited again, alive.

That’s not how this evening played out, though.

My eyes force themselves open and wander down to the mess of frizzy tresses splayed against my suit. The potential new hire is clumsy, and her face is pressed up against my chest. Thankfully, she rushes to steady herself as quickly as she can.

Dios mío…

Her hair stands tall as if it’s laced with lightning bolts, evidence of the friction my suit caused. Her face is flushed as a reminder of her embarrassment and her skirt is wrinkly and frayed.

My eyes wander down further.

Her shoes are too tight for her feet, her tights are too tight for her curves, and she’s wearing… teddy bear socks?

I’d laugh if I wasn’t at my last straw with the idiots around me. Who told her that wearing this to see me would be a good idea?

Must have been my cruel girls on floor one. That’s why I keep them there, because they’re cruel. Because they’ll send anybody away that’s a waste of my time.

Maybe they’ve fallen sick with this disgusting holiday spirit, maybe it was the morale or maybe they wanted to get a good laugh out of watching the girl with ribbons in her hair and teddy bear socks sob her way out of my building.

The stupid thing, she fails miserably at trying to brush down the electricity in her hair and smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. Her manicured hand shoots out to meet me. I only stare at it.

“Good evening, sir.”

I just look on at her, she shrinks. I don’t have time for this today, and I’m grateful knowing that she’s already made a bad impression. This will be quick.

“Follow me.”

She does, stumbling behind me like a deer with a broken leg. I collapse into my throne and place my glasses to rest on the bridge of my nose. My hands make quick work of finding her paper.

I nearly lose my composure when I do.

¿Cómo es posible?

This girl, this very stupid girl that has been waltzed into my office by Cindy fucking Moon has no chance here.

She has no references, no former places of employment, her bank account is pathetic and the only properties she owns are a shitty little apartment in the city and her pink ribbons, wrinkly skirt and teddy bear socks, apparently.

It’s a wonder, how she managed to convince her way into here. Most of my employees are women, how I enjoy it, so I know she didn’t put that mouth to use. It’s a true mystery then.

A mystery.

I’m curious.

I glance up at her under my brows and am unsurprised to see her standing straight as a pin, awkwardly.

“Sit.” I command. She does.

Good girl.

She collapses into the Italian leather uncomfortably, it practically swallows her. She looks small, underfed. Dark circles hide behind whatever mierda she put on top of them to keep them away. She’s tired. She’s a mess.

A mysterious mess and as I look more at her and her teddy bear socks, I want to know why.

“What’re you doing here?”

My voice makes her jump, that excites me. Reminds me I’m alive, and my words hold power in my building. I like it. Excitement… just what I’ve been needing.

Maybe I can entertain her, just for a little.

“I- um…”

Oh. Her voice is soft, but low. She stuttered, but her words don’t shake. It’s unexpected. She keeps surprising me.

“I’m here for the seasonal position? Morale?”

Fucking morale.

Stupid girl… just when I was starting to like you.

“Are you asking me or telling?”

She blinks at me, and if it weren’t for how observant I am and how well I’ve become at reading people, mostly women, I’d take her as a bland little damsel with no brain in her pretty head.

But I see past it.

She’s digging her nails into my Italian leather. She doesn’t like the way I’m speaking to her.

Good, I like that.

It’s fun.

“I’m telling you, sir.”

Ahí está. Un fuego.

Her voice is sharp and curt, she’s tense. She’s… annoyed with me.

It’s obvious to me that she’s had no experience at all in a professional setting at any point in her life.

I push my glasses up with my thumb and clasp my hands together, leaning back in my seat. Eyes staring into hers, watching… observing. The silence makes her squirm, she’s uncomfortable.

I keep it going.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me questions?” She whispers.

My gaze wanders again, past the ribbons and wrinkly skirt. Past the tight tights and manicured fingers. Right down to those teddy bear socks.

“What’re you wearing?”

“That’s not a relevant question.” She snaps back immediately.

I shift in my seat, more excitement. More liveliness. More surprises.

“It’s a question.” It’s a statement, but it sounds like a command. She answers me.

“They’re for luck.”

Hmm.

I’ll give her a break, for now. With a sigh I grab her paper again and glaze over it quickly.

“You’ve got not a single reference, no former places of employment and no credibility. Answer my first question again, what’re you doing here?”

She’s gone silent again, picking at the white polish adorning her fingernails. I allow her a quick moment, the lucky thing speaks before I do.

“I know how this all looks. If I were you I’d turn me away too…”

“I might.” I interrupt as she takes a breath.

Her nose twitches. Does it always do that when she’s annoyed?

“I know. But give me a chance to answer your question, like you asked me to.”

Maybe she’s not so stupid. I wave my hand as a gesture for her to continue, and with a sharp breath, she does.

“I won’t bullshit you and pretend that me walking out that door wouldn’t be bad for me, because it would. I need this, and I don’t expect that to change your mind either… but it’s the truth. I do need this, and it makes me perfect for the job because I’m gonna do everything in my power to keep it. To perform the best I can. Besides, if it’s a grave mistake on your end sir then, I’m only here for one season. Then you are free of me. I know I may not look it, but I’m determined. I’m obedient and I am capable and I know I can do this better than any other blonde broad that’s set to sit in this chair after me. Trust me.”

She’s desperate, but she didn’t have to give me that speech for me to catch onto that. No, she’s a pretty girl. I can tell from her nails and her ribbons. Office work doesn’t seem like her first choice. It makes me wonder, what has she been doing all this time?

What made her come here?

Her gaze falls onto her teddy bear socks and she must take my silence as an answer, she uses her tight shoes to scrunch them up at her ankles. She’s disappointed in them.

Pretty girl for pretty work.

Maybe she’ll last. Quizás me he vuelto loco.

Carajo.

“You’re hired.”

��️’s: @laysmt | chap 3 song 🎧:

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel smut #miguel 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fluff #spider man #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #Spotify

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 8 (conclusion) [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, unprotected piv (you should get it at this point), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, car sex, this shit is sappy as fuck okay, gimme a break, married bliss, face-fucking, lingerie, reader is #1 javi supporter forever, fingering, descriptions of bombing, blood and injury, anxiety, fear, extremely protective!javi, feral!javi, pregnancy, happy ending (obvi who do you think you're working with)

word count: ~ 11.4k (as a treat bc it's over)

a/n: we've reached the end!! thank you all so much for your patience as i've worked on cross-posting this fic. your support is unreal and i love all of you so very dearly xoxo

chapter eight: siempre

It’s noon. The clock is grating in his ears, and he's tempted to take out the batteries. The paperwork is tall as his head, and it's going to be a late night. There are a number of things he would rather be doing. A person he'd rather be seeing. 

Chris Feistl pokes his head in the doorway. "Got a lady here to see you, boss."

Javier already sees his girl just outside the door, bent over Cindy's desk, chatting away. Well, he can mostly just see her ass—it's facing him, for God's sake. He admires it for a moment, then turns back to his work without looking at Feistl. "The lady's my wife. Show some respect."

He's busting his balls (for the most part), but Feistl ducks his head out. "Got it, sir."

When she gets to the door, she's all smiles. "Hi, handsome."

Javier gets up, twists all the blinds in his office closed, and pulls her into a kiss. "Hey, baby," he mumbles, dragging his mouth along her jaw. "You look beautiful."

She's wearing a pale blue sweater and a floral-patterned skirt that swishes around her thighs, and her sneakers are blinding white. It's springtime in Bogotá. 

Her soft gasp melts his bones, sucks the tension in his shoulders away. "They'll think you're trying to fuck me, Javi," she whispers, but she doesn't sound like she cares all that much.

"Don't care." He smiles into her cheek when she giggles, ticklish from his breath. "Maybe I am."

She laughs again, cupping his face and turning it toward her. "How about lunch first?" she suggests. "That way, you can have me for dessert."

He shakes his head and pulls her in again just so he can cover her face with kisses. "I fucking love you."

She digs around in her purse and brings out a plastic container. He's hit with the smell of empanadas, and suddenly he remembers he didn't eat breakfast. "C'mon," he says, picking her up around the waist and setting her down on his desk. She crosses her legs and hands him the bag, grabbing him one last time to kiss him on the lips. He watches her skirt slip up her thigh and rests his hand there, where her hip meets her leg. He rubs small circles with his thumb over her soft skin and toys with the waistband of her panties. He won't fuck her here, not really. Too much risk of someone walking in, and nobody sees her naked but him. Still, it calms him to touch her.

"You've got nosy employees," she says. "Cindy's the only one who hasn't asked me about the nature of my relationship with the boss."

His jaw ticks. "Pendejos."

"Hey, it's okay." He fingers trail up his arm. Her smile is coy, but he knows exactly what that look means. "I like them knowing it's me you come home to."

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. "Fuckin' right, baby," he says, leaning in and nipping at her lip. She chases his mouth like she's starving. "All yours. Todo tuyo."

She reaches around and pinches his ass. "And you're not my boss."

Javier nods vehemently, already kissing her on the lips. "Yes, ma'am."

"Eat, honey." She pulls away but he keeps leaning in, cradling the back of her head with the hand that isn't squeezing the flesh of her thigh. She laughs into his mouth at his eagerness. "You gotta eat, Javi."

"Okay. Okay." He stops kissing her and squeezes her hip. "Okay."

"Insaciable," she whispers.

“How's the new desk?” he asks her, settling in with his lunch. “Bigger than mine?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She reaches across his desk to pour some coffee from his Thermos into his corny World’s Best Husband mug. She takes a sip and then offers him one. He drinks. “I’ve got a corner spot.”

He frowns. “They put you in the corner?”

She looks at him fondly. “It's got a window, my love. It's perfectly fine.”

When they returned to Colombia, she began to poke around for new jobs. I don't want to smell like coffee all day, she said with a pout. And Jorge called the other day—he’s retiring. The café will go to his son. 

You aren't worried about the money, are you, baby? he asked her. 

Do I need to be?

He shook his head vehemently. No. 

Then I’m not worried about the money. She grinned into his mouth when she kissed him. I’ll still make you coffee. 

She found a position at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia as a counsellor’s receptionist. It's a starting position, but given experience in her teenage and college years as a peer mentor, lifeguard, tutor, and babysitter (among other things) helped her secure the job with ease. Besides, everyone she meets falls in love with her. 

“Corner desk,” he grunts. “You're only scheduling all his appointments for him and fielding all his calls.”

She lightly shoves his chest. “Play nice. He’s a good boss.” Her fingers play along his tie. “Are you a good boss, Agent Peña?”

“Mmm. Better than fuckin’ Alberto.” He watches her fondle the tie around his neck, slipping her fingers behind a button of his shirt to feel his warm skin before they retreat again. 

“And if you were my boss?” 

Her eyes are wide and innocent when they lift up to meet his, and blood rushes to his cock at the game she's just begun. After seven years together, he knows her tricks, but she’s the best at getting under his skin, clawing at his brain with her dainty fingernails and plucking exactly the right strings. She knows he likes how it feels to put her beneath him and take control. To lose himself in her body because it's too damn sweet, too soft, and he wants to keep her safe from the world that's burned her. 

“If I were your boss,” he says, watching his fingers trace mindless patterns on her bare thigh, “you'd get the biggest desk. You'd get a personal coffee machine. Four windows. Secretaries.” He begins to kiss her, everywhere but her mouth, just following the path his mouth wants to explore. He whispers his promises into her cheek, her jaw, the spot below her ear, her throat. She smells like linen and jasmine and fresh air. “As many breaks as you want. Paid vacation.” He grins against her throat. “Paid maternity.”

She clicks her tongue, but her pupils are swelling, engulfing her irises. “Special treatment,” she scolds. “They'd think I was doing the boss favours.”

“Eres especial,” he says into her ear, bringing her lobe briefly between his teeth. She shudders. “Why shouldn't I give my best employee the best treatment? Hmm?”

She hooks her thumbs into his belt loops and tugs him closer, beaming up at him. “I can guess how I’d thank you.”

“Yeah?” He squeezes her thigh, skates his palm up her side until he can reach around her back and press it flat against her shoulder blades, keeping her close. “Dime.”

“Empanadas, for a start.” Her fingers trail back up his torso, and he feels himself shivering beneath their travels. She slides them underneath his unbuttoned jacket and feels the strong muscles of his pecs, the soft plushness of his stomach, the body she loves so much she'd worship it like a deity. “Then, I’d get on my knees,” she says, sliding a button out of its hole and salivating at the sight of the trail of hair that leads down to the cock she wants so badly. His breathing shifts when she pops out another button and untucks his shirt to grant herself full access. He has to blink away the blindness when she slips her hands under his pants and her eyes spark with amusement. “No underwear, even at work,” she says. “Malo.”

“Never know when you'll need me,” he says. 

“So… considerate… my love.” She plants kisses down the line of his jaw as she takes hold of his cock. He boxes her in on both sides, planting his hands on the desk to steady himself. 

“Mierda. Baby, someone could walk in.” As much as he craves her hand around his cock, he doesn't want to deal with the fallout of his inferiors catching their boss in the middle of a handjob. 

She pouts, indulging herself with one drawn-out stroke up and down his length. He pulls her toward him by the back of her head and kisses her deeply. “I’ll give it to you later,” he whispers. “I promise.”

She tucks him, hard and aching, back into his pants. Her breaths are a little unsteady, her eyes blackened with lust, but at least they don't look like they went through with it. “You better,” she says, nipping his bottom lip. 

They part ways after approximately ten minutes of stalling: one kissing the other, then the other way around, then one remembering to tell the other something they'd spontaneously remembered. Te amo, they tell one another at last, untangling their hands. 

He can tell Feistl, Van Ness, and the others in the bullpen are fighting themselves not to watch her too closely on her way out, too afraid of letting curiosity win at the expense of their asshole boss’s wrath. 

Javier locks himself in his office for the rest of the day and tries to bury himself in his paperwork so he can tamper his erection. But the second he gets into his car—a shiny black Chevy that makes him miss his beaten truck—and begins to anticipate coming home to her, he has to drive home squeezing his length to relieve the insistent pressure against his pants. 

She waits patiently on the bed, flipping through a magazine with her ass up and her legs kicking. She's wearing nothing but a shift of blue lace and panties, and she's shaved, bathed, and giddy with excitement as her husband turns the doorknob to their new apartment. 

The DEA gave him a bigger place with his promotion. It's spacious, clean, and it was heartless before she brought all their possessions back inside and spent their first night back breaking in the kitchen. Being back in Bogotá is familiar, visiting an old friend, but it carries everything they longed to leave behind the first time they returned home. The long nights, the dead ends, the never-quiet nights. Covering her with his body when gunshots sound outside, even though they can't reach their haven. The screams and shouts and peeking around corners, running across rooftops. Late at night, when they're through with dinner and sex and showering, he's laid on her chest and told her how he wants things to be different. He’ll do things by the books. He won't let things get out of hand the way they did with Los Pepes. He won't let the job kill him. 

He says her name so slowly, so darkly, that it's like he's never tasted the sounds on his tongue before. It's like he's rolling the name around his tongue to savour it, a rich treat, something to wrap around his heart. She turns her head and says sweetly: “Hi, honey. You’re home.”

Javier shucks off his jacket so fast she hears a rip and stalks toward the bed. She locks her ankles together and pretends like she needs a stretch, arching her back and lifting herself up onto her elbows. His hungry eyes, black in the dim light, are fixed on her ass as the shift slips to the side and reveals the flimsy thing that exposes damn near everything. “What the fuck,” he says, “did I do to deserve this?”

She hums like she's pondering it. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

He says nothing, only grabs her hips roughly, suddenly, making her yelp as he forces her onto her knees, her back arched deliciously for him. He sinks his teeth into one of her cheeks, and her whine crescendos to a moan when he yanks her panties down her thighs and fixes his mouth to her cunt. 

“Oh, Javi!” she squeals. Her thighs tremble when he latches his lips around her clit and sucks, his mouth hot and wet. She grasps for a purchase on the bedsheets, but he's relentless, the obscenity of the noises he urges out of her mouth and the squelching of his expert motions against her drenched cunt echo in their home as he feasts on her as if she's water in the desert. His tongue breaches her entrance at the same time he smacks her ass. She lurches forward, moaning long and low, but he grabs her hips and keeps her attached to his mouth. 

He licks her clit with aching meticulousness, pressure, wet, hot, and he groans into her pussy with such desperation it's like he's frustrated that he can't sink himself into her completely. She loses all control of her arms and her cheek pushes into the mattress. It's so good. It's too good, so perfect, she can't—

Oh. 

Fuck. 

He's moving, abandoning her clit, but he doesn't stop at her entrance. His mouth carves a path upward until she feels a push, a pressure at her other hole. She gasps out a wet, “Javi, oh my—,” but his tongue indulges, giving in, licking at her asshole until all she can do is moan, burying her face in the mattress. 

He grunts, slapping the side of her thigh. “Louder,” he demands. “Can’t hear you.”

She chokes on her groan this time when he dives back in, this time teasing two fingers at the entrance to her cunt and pushing inside. She's so wet they give into him easily, and the teasing at her tight hole makes her sob with pleasure. She tries to string words together, but they break and crumble. “Fuck, fuck, oh, shit… Jav… unhhh, I can’t… Fuck!”

He just keeps her fixed to him until she breaks, freezing around his fingers and coming so hard she pushes them out with a burst of wetness. He kneads and soothes her red ass while she comes down, panting hard against the mattress, but he doesn't quite relent from tasting her asshole, licking gently until she can't hold herself up anymore. 

Javi kisses the welt on her cheek and sits back on his haunches, hauling her up against him “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans into her throat, holding her tightly, the fabric of her slip bunching under his fingers. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m married to you.”

She leans her head on his shoulder and beams drunkenly at him. “Wanted tonight to be for you,” she says, her words slurring together. 

“That was for me,” he says, splaying his fingers over her rib cage. He nips at her earlobe. “You taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Javi,” she sighs, reaching up to keep his mouth latched to her throat. 

“Hmm.” He sucks at her pulse until he knows it will bruise. 

“Stand up, please,” she says sweetly. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

His hand, keeping her steady against his front, tightens around her waist. “Fuck,” he rasps into her hair. “Get on your knees, baby.”

They scramble into position. Javier begins to shed his shirt and pants, but she’s looking up at him, eyes wide, and he realises she wants to do it for him. “Go on, bonita,” he urges. 

She grins, standing up on her toes and kissing his jaw to his ear, sucking on the lobe while her fingers make slow work of the buttons on his shirt. He grunts, grasping her hips and fisting at the feeble slip covering her torso. “Want this… fuck, want this fucking off,” he complains, grumpier with each second he can’t feel her soft body curve up against him. 

“But I wore it for you,” she says, teasing, migrating to the shell of his ear then the spot beneath. He’s hard, leaking, twitching in his pants, so desperate to feel her underneath this pretty silk that he’s willing to tear the fucking thing into shreds. 

Her fingers are deft as they work out each button, and her mouth against him makes his skin buzz, his brain condensing with a thick fog that only parts for her: her body, her touch, her laughter, like bells, as she guides his hands around her back to the clasp that keeps the little slip secure. 

She slides his shirt off as he works the clasp open, slipping the blue fabric off her shoulders and exposing her to him. He’s happier already, his hands finding her hips and pressing her up against him, thumbs caressing her ribs to make her shiver while she unbuttons his pants. 

She begins to kiss her way down his chest, lavishing him with such fond attention, such reverence and care, as her lips find every mark on his body. Scars and birthmarks and freckles—she kisses each one, licks others, and hums happily all the way down, adorning his body with the smell and the imprint of her. He tips his head forward to watch her sink to her knees, his hands regretfully parting with her hips and instead finding her head. He cradles it gently as she continues to worship him, enjoying the way his breathing grows staggered, methodical, like he’s trying to remember how to do it. 

She slips the button out on his pants and brings them slowly down his thighs, his cock tapping against his stomach. She licks her lips, and he takes himself in hand. 

“You want it, baby?”

She nods, hands steadying themselves on his strong thighs. “Please.”

“Open,” he says gruffly. She does, parting her lips for him and squeezing her thighs together so she won’t give into the urge to touch herself. He slaps the head of his cock against her tongue, once, twice, three times, and she mewls like a whore. He grits his teeth and rests the heavy weight of him on her tongue. Like a good girl, she does nothing until he makes the command, but she looks so fucking happy, wide-eyed and teary just from tasting him, that he doesn’t have the heart to tease her. 

He’s through with teasing himself, too. “You want me to fuck your mouth, bonita?” Again, she nods, humming against his cock and making it twitch on her tongue. He threads his fingers through her hair and holds her where he wants her. “Tap me twice if you need me to stop.”

She just keeps looking up at him with those eyes, so full of trust and admiration, and he manoeuvres her head closer to him, his cock sliding through the hot, slick walls of her mouth until he feels the head pressing up against her throat. She swallows around him, breathing tediously through her nose, and he goes blind with the fucking tightness of her, how good it feels to have her on her knees for him, here only to please him. 

“That’s fucking it, baby.” He pulls out until he’s resting the head on her tongue again, but this time it slips out greedily to lap at the precum dribbling from the slit. “Fuck. Be fucking good. ¿Claro?”

She whimpers, and it’s the sound she makes when she wants him to give in—to use her the way he wants, to put his pleasure in her hands. To take. Javier’s nostrils flare when he takes her down all the way until she’s trying not to gag on him, her nose pressed up against the hairs at the base of his cock. She moans at the same time he does, and then he really begins to move. 

She wants him to fuck her throat; so he fucks her throat. His hands keep her head in place while his cock follows the path of her mouth, sliding along her tongue as she sucks him in deeper with the way she swallows and constricts. She’s a fucking pro, malleable and eager in his hands, keeping herself aloft and still so she can’t hurt him as he fucks her throat with little care for slowing down or keeping it gentle. She doesn’t want him to. And he can’t bring himself to care, not when she feels so good, not when his wife is on her knees and sucking the life out of him like his own personal pornstar. “Fuckin’—fuckin’ take it,” he says between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering at the first indication that he’s close. “You gonna swallow it?”

She hums, fingernails scratching his thighs in her eagerness to express the yes without letting him fall from her mouth. In case he doesn’t get the message, she reaches for him with both hands as he continues to thrust into her mouth and gently squeezes his balls. 

He steadies himself by slapping a hand against the bedpost. “Jesus. Fucking hell. Gonna—gonna fucking come.” She’s so wet she can feel it dripping down her thighs, and the urge to touch herself is unbearable when he pulls out with a choked groan, jerking himself twice before he’s placing the head of his cock on her tongue and watching all of his cum spill into her mouth. 

She’s fascinated and oh-so turned on by the way he twitches, his cock bobbing and pulsing as she takes all of his spend and happily laps the rest of it up until he can’t produce another drop. For good measure, she slips him back into her mouth and pulls off with an obscene pop, swallowing him all down. 

Javier isn’t sure if he’s dreaming when he finally pulls her to her feet, but the way she gently guides him to the bed to let him sit, climbing onto his lap, makes him so desperate for it to be real. 

She sighs into the crook of his neck. Her voice is raspy and used from his assault against her throat, but she doesn’t seem whatsoever displeased. “I love you,” she tells him, scratching her fingernails at the nape of his neck. He purrs at the feeling, letting himself fall back until they hit the mattress. 

He kisses her temple. “I love you. You and your smart fucking mouth, you and that little tease of a dress.”

She snorts. “You loved that little tease of a dress so much you nearly tore it in two.” 

“Mmm, love what's underneath more.” He rolls them over until he's on top of her and flicks his tongue over her nipple. She giggles, threading her fingers through his hair. 

“That mean you'll buy me a new one?” 

“I’ll buy you”—he bites her nipple and lifts his hand to squeeze her other breast—“whatever the fuck you want.” He nudges her cheek with his nose. “That was a nice surprise, baby. Mi hermosa esposa es tan buena conmigo.”

She hooks her foot under his knee and uses the leverage to roll him onto his back again. She fondly traces the shape of his ribs, making him shudder beneath her. “I want you to know,” she says, “you're going to do so well. You're gonna shove it in Stechner’s face, mi amor. He thinks you're gonna drown, that you're gonna lose to all that red tape. But you won't.” Her eyes meet his, and there's a vacuum in the room. It punches all the breath from his lungs. It sucks all the air away until his hands on her body are all that can give him oxygen. He grips her hard, arms strong around her waist, and she cups his face in her reverent hands. She loves him. And he can feel it. “You are going to win, Javier. Ganaras. Eres un buen hombre (You will win. You are a good man). My husband doesn't lose to assholes who want to see him stumble.” Her mouth sets a hard edge. “¿Claro?”

Javier makes sure she feels every press of his fingertips into her back as he makes his way up to her shoulders, across her collarbones, and tucks her hair behind her ears, cradling her beautiful face above him. “Nobody”—he shakes her head around a little, gently, just to get the message into her brain—“has believed in me the way you do. No way I’m going to fucking let you down.”

A bright smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. “The only way you could ever let me down,” she tells him, “is if you're putting me on my knees.”

“Fuckin’ fox,” he mutters, shaking his head as he leans in and presses a long kiss to her forehead. He lets his mouth linger there for a while, imagining he can hear the patter of their heartbeats, synchronised. 

~

They've barely been back in Colombia a month, and Bill Stechner is already making Javier’s life a living hell. But the way his wife is storming around the kitchen and clanging pots and pans like she's on a personal goddamn war path, you'd think Stechner had slapped her mother and kicked her dog. 

“Exploiting you,” she hisses, mostly to herself by now since she's talking so fast and barely looking at him. “That snake… He’s exploiting you just so some asshole senators will throw money at their little puppet show. Does he even know… Do they… The fucking nerve…” She’s visibly shaking with rage when she begins to chop onions on the cutting board, and the tears that well in her eyes are not from the vegetable. 

To her credit, she's a fantastic cook, and Javier trusts her with a knife. He doesn't typically like to interrupt her furious rants, especially not when she's wielding a weapon. 

But he realises he should have intervened when she picked up that knife. Because in all her angry trembling, the knife has slipped and cut her palm on its way to the floor. 

“Fuck!” she cries out. 

“Shit.” He rushes around the counter and puts the knife safely aside before he’s at her side. It makes him wince to see his wife squeezing tears of pain out of her eyes, to see the blood dripping from her closed palm. “Open your hand. We gotta wash this, baby.”

Still shaking, she does, a sigh leaving her mouth in a tremor. “Slipped. That was stupid. ‘M sorry, Jav.”

He shakes his head, guiding her to the kitchen. “No sorries,” he says, turning on the faucet. “Looks like you made a blood sacrifice, baby. Tryin’ to put Stechner under?”

She scoffs, sticking her palm under the water. “A lady never bleeds and tells.”

They're silent while the blood turns the rush of water beneath her hand red. Outside, the birds chirp, the sun shines, and the winds rustles the trees outside. 

“He told me something,” says Javier, frowning at the cut on her palm. “Stechner. I was so fuckin’ mad finding out all the bodies in that jungle were for show, and he just told me that if anyone takes something like that as personally as I did, they're in the wrong line of work.” He grinds his teeth. “He should be right. But fuck, I don't want to be distant. I want it to feel shitty. Is that batshit crazy?”

She turns off the faucet and hands him a bandage from the first aid kit beneath the sink. She knows he likes to have something to do with his hands when he isn't smoking. He begins to tear it open. “Javier,” she says, “you aren't batshit. You've dedicated over ten years of your life to fighting these people, the things they do. Of course you're going to take it personally. I'd be scared to look at a man who sees the things you have and shrugs it off. As for wanting it to feel shitty… I hate to see you punishing yourself for things you can't control, mi amor, but I understand. I just want to be able to help you get yourself back out when you go deep inside that head of yours.” She taps his temple with her good hand, dropping it to squeeze his shoulder. 

“I can't pretend to understand everything. But when I was with Nicolás, I would loathe myself for being so… idle. He'd go off and fuck other women, break fingers if someone so much as cheated him at poker, and, well, he turned me into a cash source. I didn't do anything to stop him because I thought he was it for me. But this war…” She searches his eyes and tries to shove her words into him. “This isn't it for you, Javi.

“You're not a puppet,” she says fiercely, still sniffling as he presses the bandage into her palm. “You're a real hero.”

“Shhh.” He presses his mouth to her temple, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. Hero. Something about that word in his wife’s mouth doesn't sit right inside him. But she truly believes it. He lets her words sink into his chest, and all he gleans from them is faith. Her faith in him and the work he does, her faith that he can get the job done and finally rest. 

Maybe he can. Maybe, when it's over, he'll be able to let the dust settle. So far, he's spent his whole life kicking it up. 

~

“¡Señora Peña!” calls a voice from the staff lounge across the hall. “¡Tu esposo esta en las noticias!” 

She bolts to her feet and scrambles out of the counselling office. “Is he—”

Alberto Estrada’s laugh eases some of the tension in her bones. Your husband’s on the news can only ever be good or bad. “He's fine. Better than fine, from the sounds of it,” he says, indicating the headline. 

She meets him in front of the television and muffles her burst of giddy laughter behind her hand. DEA arrests Gilberto Rodríguez. 

A film crew has set up outside the Embassy and a reporter details the arrest with what few scraps of knowledge they have. Debajo de la escalera… se rindió… Agente Javier Peña… 

“¡Vete a la mierda!” she whoops at the television. “Fuck you, Rodríguez!”

Alberto toasts his cup of coffee toward the television. “Agente Javier Peña,” he announces in his powerful voice. “Making the world a better place and fucking over the godfathers!”

Sara and Carlos, fellow counsellors, wander into the room at all the commotion. “Dios,” gasps Sara, her hand flying to the rosary at her throat. “Es cierto. Señora Peña, you better kiss your husband for me tonight.”

“And me,” chimes in Carlos, grinning at the reporter on the screen. 

I’ll do more than that, she thinks. 

Back in the office, a phone begins to ring. She looks around at each of her coworkers and her boss, bouncing on the balls of her feet, until Alberto booms, “Pick up the phone!”

She hurries back to her desk, teeth worrying her lip, and nearly drops the receiver in her excitement. “Consejería académica.”

“You watching the news, bonita?”

She grins, slipping into her desk chair. “Was he really under the staircase?”

She can hear the hushed tone of his voice, the distant cheers outside his office as his employees celebrate without him. “Cowering,” he confirms. “Then surrendering. Almost didn't find him.”

“But you did.” She twirls the telephone cord around her finger. “I’m so proud of you, Javier.”

“Proud enough to take the afternoon off?” 

Her heart lurches with glee. “You really wanna?”

In his office, blinds drawn, lights dim, and door locked, Javier is knocked breathless at the sound of her voice: so hopeful, touched with such trust and joy. He could drown in it. Outside, the celebrations have begun early, an unspoken agreement that a win like this merits the rest of the day off. They’ll go to a bar and brag about being part of the arrest of a godfather of Cali. Javier just wants to see the smile on his girl’s face. “Yeah, baby. Wait for me. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice.”

“Maybe I should be taking you somewhere nice,” she purrs, “being the wife of the Javier Peña and all.”

Damn it if that doesn’t sound like a tempting idea, with the drop in her voice and the significant interest in his jeans. “I gotta get out of here, honey,” he grumbles. “Thought Cindy was going to drop down and start polishing my shoes.”

She hums. “I don’t think I like the sound of that. Should be me polishing your shoes.��

Javier chuckles. “Get that pretty ass out of your corner desk and wait outside for me.”

She practically jumps to gather her things. Professor Estrada grants her the afternoon off. She bursts out the front doors of the campus community centre and bounds toward the car whose passenger door opens for her. Javier scoops her up in his arms and kisses her deeply. He slips his sunglasses onto the top of her head. 

“Get in the car,” he says, pecking her nose. “We’re going out.”

~

Going out has come to mean a very different thing to Javier Peña since his face started getting plastered all over the news.

He would have taken her dancing, but too many people are out celebrating the monumental arrest, and too many people will recognise him for it. He doesn’t want to shimmer under a spotlight, and he especially doesn’t want any narcos out on a revenge kick spotting his wife and deciding she makes a pretty target. 

So, he drives them out to the countryside, where the lights don’t choke the life out of the stars, parks in a flat field that probably belongs to somebody, and he cracks the trunk of his car. They sit back there and share a box of caramel-filled chocolates he swiped from the Embassy’s flurry of celebrations. It’s more than enough to just be here, his legs entangled with hers, breathing in tandem in the back of his car beneath the blanket of stars.

“You’d think I saved the fuckin’ president,” he says. 

“Maybe you did.” Her eyes slide from the horizon to him, drinking in the sight of his face under moonlight. His pouting lips, the moustache that always tickles her skin, the shining, tanned skin visible behind the half-buttoned polo. Sometimes, it feels surreal. She’s looking at a painting, a statue, a work of art that is anything but real or touchable. And then she’ll slide her hands beneath the collar of that shirt and feel the ineffable realness of his strong body, his warm freckled skin, and she’ll know she’s somehow slipped into the painting with him. She’s become a sculpture meant to encircle the marble of him. 

He rubs his thumb in circles over her ankle bone. She’s discarded her shoes, her sweater, all but her dress. His brow lifts at the way she watches him, devours him. “Enlighten me, bonita.”

“Maybe, five years from now, Gilberto Rodríguez wants to make a statement. Maybe he makes an attempt on the president, who maybe supports the war on drugs. Maybe the attempt works.” She shrugs. “Maybe, in making that arrest, you avoided all that.”

Thinking in possibilities has never been the most effective course of action among Javier and his colleagues. But coming from her mouth, it makes sense. It sounds beautiful. The faint light of the moon casts her skin in silver. He squeezes her ankle. 

“Remember that story you told me,” she muses, “about when you were sixteen, and you broke your ankle sneaking out to see a girl?”

He huffs. “Not my proudest moment for you to remember, baby.”

She laughs, nudging his thigh with her foot. “It’s just… When you told me that story, I saw this look in your eyes. It’s the same thing that happens when you smile—really smile. Like a spark of life. I used to be afraid of it sometimes, when I didn’t know you the way I do now. I thought there were parts of you I would be better off not knowing. But I think it’s my favourite part about you.” She shuffles closer, and her fingertips brush the whiskers on his jaw, the reminders of the late nights he’s reacquainted himself with since his return. “I love seeing you filled with life,” she says softly.

He wraps his arms around her waist and feels the frown lifting the pressure from his brows as her fingers migrate there, smoothing the imprints of memories there. He leans into her touch as she makes a canvas of him, softening the tension in his face with her gentle hands. When she finally slots her mouth over his in a featherlight kiss, he keeps his eyes open for a moment, trying to drink—no, drown—in the dizzying reality of her. Her confession wraps around his heart until it bursts with the pressure. He can’t hold enough of her. He can’t grasp at enough of her skin, keep enough of her body in his hands before he feels dissatisfied. His entire body buzzes for her. He doesn’t want to simply press her to him. He wants to feel how it feels to live two lives, to feel two loves. 

He is grappling for a purchase on the moonlight that coats her skin in stardust. 

Her lips are sweet and salty with caramel and chocolate. He tastes it on her tongue when he cups her face and encourages her mouth to open so he can consume a bit more of her. Her sigh rattles through him until it's inside his very bones. Her arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer. He takes a handful of her ass to shift her up onto his lap. 

For a moment, they just look at each other. Her chest heaves. Her eyes shimmer. He grins up at her and she scans each line of his face, pasting it on her eyelids. 

Kissing her is like starving, pulling her nearer with every gasp they share, biting and sucking and tangling his tongue with hers until their bodies are too close to let a sheet of paper slip between them. 

Kissing her is feasting, indulging, refusing to deny the pleasure of it. A hand at her back, another at her jaw, wishing he had fifteen more hands, a hundred more years. 

Javier leaves her mouth and carves a path along her jaw, finding the spot beneath her lobe that makes her purr against him. She tilts her head to give him better access, and her throat is lit with a shaft of moonlight. He sucks on her soft skin, nibbling her lobe and sliding his palm up her back, lodging it in each groove of her spine. His other hand slides around to her front, brushing his fingers over her hard nipples and enjoying the way she begins to writhe in his lap. Toying with the straps of her dress, he licks at the groove of her throat until he's ready to leave a bruising, sucking kiss there. He wants her to fall apart under him, with only his touch, his mouth. He wants to salvage the pieces and tuck them between his ribs. He wants to breathe her. 

“Javi,” she whispers, “please. I want you inside me.”

He nuzzles his nose in the hollow of her throat as he slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders until it pools around her hips. He nips at her collarbone and splays his hand over her rib cage, his fingers brushing the swell of her breast. The air is warm, but there's a slight breeze, and it ruffles her hair, tightens her nipples. She's a vision above him, a spectre one sees in a dream. 

He brings her down for another kiss, but this time, he wants to imprint his mouth on hers forever. He consumes her, sliding his tongue against hers, sucking and biting and slipping his fingers from her heaving ribs down to her panties. He teases the hem before he delves farther down and finds her clit. The mere pressure of two fingers pressing up against it makes her cry out, grasping his shoulders. “Javi…”

“You're so wet.” He nudges his nose against her cheek, urging her to turn toward him, to look at him. Her pupils have blown wide, her breaths shuddering as she gently rocks her hips against his fingers. “Easy, baby.”

Let me take care of you. 

As though she hears it in the way he circles her clit, she nods, resting her forehead against his. He slides two fingers through her slick and pushes them inside her. She gasps wetly, incapable of forming a word that doesn't sound like his name. The palm of his hand pressing hard against her needy clit, he works her open, right here in his lap, swallowing every gasp that wrenches from her throat when he cradles the back of her head and puts his mouth on hers. 

He knows she's close by the way she pulses around his fingers, rocking her hips into his hand. He curls his fingers against the spongy spot inside her and pulls them away abruptly. 

She pouts, unaccustomed to her husband refusing to indulge her. Her eyes are still glassy, her mind catching up to her mouth. “Wha… Why’d you…”

“Spoiled,” he grunts, biting her jaw. “You wanna come, baby?”

“Javi,” she coos, placing sloppy kisses down his throat, trying to tempt him into letting her come. His pretty little siren. It's fucking working, the way she grabs at him and grinds her hips against his hard cock. 

“You wanna come?” he bites out, grabbing her hips in a bruising hold that halts her movements. “Take out my cock and ride it. Be good and I’ll fill you up.”

That works. Her eyes are doused in black, her hands scrambling to unbutton his jeans. “So tight,” she grumbles. “These fuckin' things… Need them off, honey.”

Javier chuckles, helping her by lifting his hips so she can take off his jeans. Her mouth waters at the sight of his cock, leaking against his stomach. “Did you take a test this week?” he asks her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. 

She nods. 

“And?” he prompts. 

“Negative,” she breathes. 

His hands trace the curves of her sides. “Wanna change that?” 

Another nod, frantic. She reaches between them and takes his cock in her hand, slotting it at her entrance and fixing her eyes on his. 

“I love you,” she says, cupping his cheek. “I want all of you. Soy todo tuyo.”

In a swift and sudden movement, he lurches forward with his whole arm bracketing her back and sinks her onto his length. She moans, dropping her head onto his shoulder. He gently pulls her head back, exposing her throat for him to lick. Her eyes are drooping in her daze, the head of him nestled at her womb. He slowly grinds deep, and her lashes flutter. “Told you, bebita,” he says. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

She gives an experimental roll of her hips and feels him so deep, so thick and heavy in her belly that she shivers. “S’good,” she slurs. “Fuck, honey, it's so good. So big. Fuck me, please, please…”

He lets her take what she wants from him even as he grits his teeth against her throat from the achingly slow drag of her walls around his length. “Fuck,” he huffs into her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her some more. “Feel me? You fuckin’ feel it?”

She arches her back like a cat stretching out in a sunspot. “So deep,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. 

He swells with pride at the same time his cock twitches inside her. The hand not secured around her back shifts to her lower belly, and he swipes his thumb over her clit. Her shudder wreaks havoc on her entire body. “You're fucking perfect,” he grunts. “Hear me? Fucking perfect and all mine.”

She laughs breathlessly, addicted to the press of his cock against the spot inside her that wrecks her. “Is this what you needed? To fuck your wife in the middle of someone's field? Get away from the stuffy politics and just—ohhh, fuck—just fill me up with your big cock?”

Whatever blood remaining in his body floods his cock. He's mindless, growling, primal at the taste and smell and feel of her wrapped up in him. Her words make him pull her ever closer. 

“Just needed you, baby.” He kisses her deeply. “The rest is a goddamn bonus.”

“Such a gentleman,” she says, her voice pitching down into a moan when he continues to torture her clit. “Should've let me come if you wanted me so badly.”

He lifts a brow, bucking his hips up against hers. “That so?” 

She swallows thickly. “Spoiled, remember?”

Javier grins, sending she's getting close to her peak. “Want to come?”

“You know the fucking answer to that,” she whines. 

Two of his fingers find the tight seal of her cunt where he disappears inside her, and he pushes inside. She cries out, “Oh!” and Javier shushes her with that cocky fucking grin. 

“You can take it, baby,” he says, circling her clit to help her relax, help her take the stretch. She feels every groove, every knuckle, every sweet, slow, powerful pounding of his cock and his fingers in her soaked pussy. “That's it.” Javier kisses her from her lips to her jaw. “Thaaat’s it.”

She stiffens when her climax comes, freezing on his cock and clenching impossibly tight around his cock and fingers, choking the fucking life from him. He captures her melting cry in his mouth and fucks her thoroughly, pushing as deep as he can possibly go before he comes with a groan.

She's locked in position on his cock and he won't let her go. She wiggles her hips to take more of him as he spurts his hot cum inside her. Her eyes fall to where she's sat on him, watching it leak out of her and bead in the hairs at the base of his cock. She begins to giggle, drunk as always on the feel of him, them, together. “Like a Twinkie,” she mumbles. 

Javier makes a gruff noise, pulling her down with him and holding the back of her head while he kisses her. “Think that was it?” he asks into her mouth. 

“If it isn't,” she replies, pulling away and smiling wickedly, “I’ll still be in love with you.”

“Muy dulce,” he laughs, gently pulling her off him. She collapses, boneless, to the floor of the trunk, and he uses a napkin to wipe the remnants of his cum from her thighs. “C’mon, baby,” he says, gently patting her ass. “We need to put food in you.”

She hums, letting him lift her out of the car. He adjusts the straps of her dress on her shoulders. “You can put anything you want in me,” she says. 

Javier brushes his knuckle across her chin and clicks his tongue. “Must've fucked you good, honey. Can you walk?”

She just takes his hand and follows him to the passenger’s side. She slips into the seat and he settles into his, starting up the car. “I like your way of celebrating,” she tells him. 

He threads his fingers through hers and rests them on her thigh as he drives back toward the main road. “Did they at least get my good side?” 

She laughs, bringing their joined hands up to kiss each of his knuckles. “Every side is your good side, Javier. You’re the point of envy for every Hollywood star there is.”

“I could do without the sarcasm,” he says good-naturedly.

“Who said I was being sarcastic?” She shakes her head, tutting. “I’ll get it through that head of yours someday, vaquero.”

“Get what through my head?” He lifts a brow, turning onto the road.

She watches him, illuminated by the lights of the city as they drive back toward civilisation. “The things I see when I look at you,” she says softly.

~

Sometimes, a thing happens that seems totally senseless. It will happen suddenly, and the fallout will be swift. It will not make sense until long afterward. Out of the cataclysm, misery arises, and the dust will settle on a dimmer world. 

Possibility arises, too. Hope, even. But you must sift through the tragedy and the rubble before you can find it. 

The sun shines outside. It’s just after noon. She wears a blouse and a skirt, but it’s the former that makes her especially happy. Her husband bought it for her: a birthday present. Sara compliments her on it, and she happily confesses that it was a gift. 

He’s good to you.

And it’s true. She sits back down at her desk and bites down on her smile to tamper it a little. She twists her rings around her finger. She cracks open the window to let in the gentle breeze. 

There's a split-second of quiet, and it's the birds that make her notice. 

They go silent. They usually chirp all day, singing happily out by the trees that line the paths. They're a beautiful choir, and now they’ve stopped singing. She barely registers the change. 

Outside the window next to her corner desk, there's a flash of light. She sees something small, black, lumpy and streaked with colour—blue, red, yellow—placed on the front steps of the adjacent building. The president’s building. 

She feels the world tip. It may just be the floor beneath her crumbling. Or it may be the force of the blast that knocks her off-kilter, sends her flying. 

She's unaware of the world for a moment. But when she awakes, she's crawling, ears ringing, out from the furniture that's cracked and splintered atop her. She watches her own hand tremble, and she hears the fuzzy noise of the sirens sharpen into focus, but she feels nothing. She only thinks. 

Help. 

Get help. 

In the next room, she hears a muffled cry for help. A booming voice, raspy with dust in the throat. She crawls toward the voice. It is all she knows. 

~

Something rattles his blinds while he's hunting underneath his desk for a file that slipped onto the floor. He barely notices the way the objects have shifted on his desktop.

Minutes later, he hears sirens screech by. 

There's rustling outside his door, and someone bursts inside. Javier doesn't bother to look up from the file. 

“Busy,” he says shortly.

Whoever’s standing there wastes no time with pleasantries. 

"There's been an explosion, sir." Feistl sounds shaken. "At the university.”

That gets Javier's attention. 

He stands up in a rush, papers fluttering to the floor, his head swimming.

“My wife—"

"We don't know yet," says Feistl.

That doesn't fix his mood.

His mouth has gone dry. Panic sets in, his terrible vision sharpening to red. "Casualties," he manages to get out, his voice a rasp.

"Boss, I don't think—"

"How many casualties?" he demands. 

He needs to know. He doesn't want to know.

Finally, Feistl meets his eye. "Three confirmed."

Javier can't stand up straight. He thinks if he lets go of his desk, he'll fall over. "They know who?"

"Police won't tell us shit," says Feistl, a bit bitterly. "Not our department."

He runs a hand over his face. He needs to put his hands around someone’s throat and squeeze until it pops. "Not our department,” he repeats under his breath, planting a finger on his desk like there's a speck of dust he needs to clean. “Not… Mierda... Los hijos de puta... It's my fucking department.” He feels his nostrils flare, an angry bull at the charge. “It’s my. Fucking. Wife.”

Van Ness stumbles into the office, breathing hard. His telephone cord is wrapped around the doorway, the device clutched to his ear like it's glued there. "One more confirmed," he says. "News just said so."

Phones are ringing non-stop in the bullpen. Narcos, they’re saying. Targeted attack. The school president killed in the attack. Attack. Javier's phone is silent. He stalks out the door, shoving past Feistl and Van Ness even as the latter tries to tell him it's no use, the place is cordoned off, he'll never get in. 

"Let him go, man," he hears Feistl mutter. "It's his wife."

It's a five-minute drive to the university. Javier makes it in one and a half. He barely shuts off the engine and he's halfway out of the car, sprinting straight past the guards manning the roped-off section with his badge on display.

The damage is ghastly. The university building has a crater in it, the rubble still smoking, the green campus grey and hazy with destruction. There are police vehicles, bomb squad, and ambulances surrounding the area. The air is thick and cloying with smoke. It infests his throat, viscous as syrup. It's nothing compared to how heavy the terror settles inside him. 

Javier checks every single one and feels the pit in his stomach swallow another piece of him when he can't find her.

Around the building, there's still nothing. Nothing but firemen pulling bodies, writhing pets, and unconscious people from the rubble. Nothing.

Not the flash of her eyes nor a lock of her hair. Not a thread of the connection that thrums between them. His own heart beats, but he cannot hear hers. He can't feel it. He can barely breathe. 

"We got another one over here!" one of them shouts.

Javier's feet carry him to the site. He doesn't remember the journey.

Three men uncover a woman's wrist. It's delicate and bleeding, a blouse stained red. 

She wore blouses. She wore one to work today. 

He stumbles backward. They keep pulling, unearthing, digging. His hand finds his chest and squeezes over his shirt. He wants to claw out his heart. He's lost his girl. He's lost his wife.

His fucking light.

They find her face beneath the rubble, and Javier wants to throw up.

It's not her.

It's. Not. Her.

"¿Señor Peña?"

He whips around. A man he doesn't know is limping toward him, dressed in a black suit that's become grey from dust. 

Javier doesn't have the fucking time for this. "Yeah," he says, short and clipped.

The man is middle-aged, greying, and wincing in pain when he comes to a stop. "Your wife... she found me. Pulled me out of a pile of rubble. Would've suffocated if she wasn't so quick."

Javier's breath escapes him in one punch. He barely manages to ask, "Where is she?"

The man gestures, and Javier follows. The ambulance is surrounded by civilians, some wearing shock blankets, some hacking and wheezing, some on their knees as they cry for their loved ones. All of them look... well, like they've survived a bombing.

And she's there. 

She's right fucking there, handing a cup of tea to a crying woman, consoling her like she's the one in charge. 

The man stops walking, rubbing his injured knee, but Javier breaks into a run.

He cries her name. He can't help it. He's sobbing like the day he was born as he reaches her, scooping her up into his arms like an idiot because God knows she may be injured.

“Mi amor.” A whisper and a prayer, a bone-deep sigh of relief. The thread between them plucks strong and true, hearts trading beats. 

She holds him tightly and begins to cry, too.

"Baby, oh, God, sweetheart, mi cielo," he chokes out, rambling, not caring about making any sense. He's holding her, kissing her everywhere, her cheeks and forehead and mouth and jaw. She's alive and in his arms and she's okay. "Me asustaste. Te amo mucho, cariño. Te amo... "

"Javi," she cries, her face in his neck, her hands in his hair. "I thought I was going to die. Oh, God, I thought… I love you, I love you, I love you.”

They're both a mess, bumbling and pulling each other closer.

"Sweetheart," he says again, wanting to see her, look into her eyes and make sure it's real, "let me see you. I have to see you're okay, baby."

She reluctantly pulls away, and his chest feels so tight it could burst. Her face is streaked on one side with grey and red—her blood, he realises with a dreadful start, dripping from a wound in her temple—and he looks down only to see a horrific bruise from her hip to her mid-thigh. It's so dark it's nearly black, a splotch of darkness tainting her sweet skin. Her skirt has ripped, and his first instinct is to cover her with a blanket so nobody sees her underwear; but he notices most people are missing half their clothes, too. "Fuck," he says, placing a hand on her stomach. "You get this checked out?"

Despite all the chaos, her cheeks warm. He meets her eye and says her name sternly. 

Her fingertips brush his tense jaw. "I didn't even notice it until they pulled me out, baby. My adrenaline's still going."

"Yeah, mine too," he says, leaning into her touch. "We're gonna get you to the paramedics. No more saving others."

"Model of the DEA," she says fondly, accepting his arm around her waist. She limps along with him until the middle-aged man blocks their path. Javier is so focused on getting her help that he almost raises his hackles, tells him to fuck off. He won't. He can't be a dick to disaster victims.

"Profesor," she says. "¿Estás bien? "

"¿Yo?" he says with a wry laugh. "Me salvaste la vida (You saved my life)."

Javier kisses her cheek—she isn't bleeding on her left side—and whispers, "Salvadora."

She squeezes the man's arm as they walk past. Javier finds two paramedics talking to one another by an ambulance, a shocked woman sitting in between them. "Mi esposa," he demands. "Ella nesecita ayuda (She needs help)." She gives him a look, and he mumbles, "Por favor."

One paramedic continues speaking with the woman while the other approaches his wife. She nods at him that he can inspect her. Javier doesn't let go of her waist. "It will bleed," the medic says, prodding around the gash in her temple. "Head wounds are like that. But I should be able to clean it and bandage it without any problem. You’re the lady who found Profesor Estrada?"

She nods sheepishly. The paramedic chuckles. "He taught me when I was in school," he tells her. "That was brave, what you did."

"I couldn't leave him," she says dismissively. "He always brings me coffee."

The medic shakes his head good-naturedly, applying a damp cloth to her temple while Javier holds her hair away from her face. She winces, which makes his other hand instinctively tighten around her. The cloth has turned red by the time her face is clear of blood. "We'll need to stitch this. Here's the hard part," says the medic. "Looking at your leg will hurt a lot more. You should probably lie down." He looks at Javier, but hesitantly, like he's afraid. Good. "Would you, uh, like to help her inside?" He gestures toward the ambulance.

Javier nods. He really needs a cigarette. The woman with the shock blanket has left, so Javier lifts his wife onto the ambulance platform and she limps inside, climbing up onto the gurney. She cries out, freezing in place, and Javier's blood chills at the sound. "Amor?" he says, voice strained. "What is it, baby? What's wrong?"

Her breaths are coming out heavier. "My... my side," she says, a hand flying up to the ribs on the same side as her bruise. She hisses. "Oh, shit, that hurts."

Just like that, he's panicking again. "Her side," he says frantically. "Su lado. Revisa su lado (Check her side)."

The medic looks like he'd rather do anything than lift up her shirt while her scary husband's right there, but he does his job. Her blouse is sticky with blood, but it peels away from her side, and Javier feels bile rushing up his throat.

It's a map of black bruises around her ribs. She reaches out for Javier's hand while the medic pokes around, and he grips her so tight it's like he's the one who's hurt. He's terrified. He can't do anything but hold her. He's useless. "I'm right here, baby," he says, kissing her climbing pulse. "Look at me."

She already is, but her eyes are watery. She's lying on her good side, half of her body exposed as the medic inspects the ugly bruises. "Contusions," he concludes. "From the force of the bomb and the fall. You'll need rest and minimal physical activity, but they'll get better on their own."

"What can I do?" Javier jumps in.

"Help her out around the house. Help her up and down stairs if she has trouble walking. Usually, contusions will heal in about a month."

She breathes out a laugh despite the visible pain she's in. "Just be my husband."

"I got you, cielito," he says.

"Señora," says the medic. "I need to stitch you up now."

"Sí," she replies. "Mi esposo. ¿Puede quedarse aquí? (My husband. Can he stay here?)"

"Sí, señora," he replies. The other medic hops into the ambulance and closes the doors. There's already a man in the driver's seat, so it's a tight fit back here with four of them. But they're just looking at each other.

She's shivering with the shock once her adrenaline begins to wane. Javier shrugs off his jacket so fast it rips somewhere, and places it over her like a blanket. "Mi amor," she whispers.

The other medic begins to take her blood pressure, instructing her how to keep her breathing steady even as her eyes are glazing over. Javier wants to tell the man to fuck off, but there's no point in getting angry, not when she's using his eyes to ground herself. "What do we do for dinner tonight?" she asks. "Because I didn't have any time to think about it."

“I’ll pick something up,” he says. “Gotta go back to get my car, though.”

She snorts. “Please don't tell me how fast you drove to get here. It’ll give me a hernia.”

“Quedarse quieto (Stay still),” says the medic tending to her heart rate. She mutters an apology, but Javier frowns. 

“Ella está en el dolor (She’s in pain),” he snaps. “¿Quieres que te dé un puñetazo en las costillas y te diga que te quedes quieto? (Do you want me to punch you in the ribs and tell you to stay still?)”

“Gruñón,” she scolds gently. She squeezes his hand and looks apologetically at the medic. “Estás haciendo tu trabajo (You’re doing your job).”

Javier kisses her palm and keeps it pressed to his cheek. The ambulance lines up beside ten others outside the hospital. The emergency room is overflowing with patients, and Javier wants to barrel through all of them to get her into a room. But he knows he can't. She's in a hell of a lot of pain, but she's stable, and most of these survivors aren't. He knows this, but it doesn't make him any happier. His wife is hurt, and he can’t know if there's anything serious beneath her injuries. 

The way her breathing staggers when she clambers out of the ambulance lifts all the animal instincts in his body. He damn near growls at the medic whose hand grazes her wounded side as she steps down onto the ground, every nerve screaming to tug her close to him and not let another body within ten yards of her. He kisses her temple and cradles her head when she’s finally upright, pressed against him in a tight hug. Now that they're under the fluorescent hospital lights, he sees the hollow cut to her cheeks, the ghastly cut on her other temple, the way her lashes flutter with the mild shock she hasn't yet shaken. Each breath she takes chips at his heart. He could have lost her today. 

He doesn't let himself dwell. She sways slightly on her feet and it knocks the alarm bells around his skull. “Baby, we gotta sit you down,” he says, helping her to a chair. All around them, people covered in dust and blood moan, scream, or pray, all covered in injuries which vary in severity. Her eyes well with tears, and Javier drops to his knees in front of her. “Cielito, please don't cry,” he says softly, swiping her tears away with his thumbs. “What can I do?”

“Just…” She looks at him miserably, her lip quivering. “So much pain. They're all in so much pain.”

Bloody, beaten, and pulled from the rubble of a bombing, and she worries about everyone around her. She's better than he ever could hope to be. 

“Lo sé,” he mutters, threading his fingers through hers. “They're gonna get help, just like you.”

“We all could've died, Javi. I almost…” She hiccups, and he knows the shock is gone, the rush of terror and dread flooding her body with the force of a slug to the chest. “Almost left you.”

He shakes his head, sliding his hand up and down her uninjured thigh and pressing a kiss to her knee. “You didn't, baby. You're here with me, hey? Éstas aquí. Aquí, la cosa más hermosa que he visto (the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen).”

She sniffles, tears still streaming through the remaining dust on her face. “You’ve been shot,” she says weakly.

He laughs roughly, realising it’s the first time he’s let himself do so since Feistl came rushing into his office. “You know I’ve never been shot here,” he says. He took a bullet in the leg back in Austin, and never heard the end of it from the other guys.

“Leave it to me,” she says, a smile cracking through the tear tracks on her cheeks. “One of us has to get into the accidents in this partnership.”

“That’s what I always told Murphy. Guy never listened.” 

Her laugh is a bit delirious, a bit hushed, guilt prodding her for laughing in the midst of such misery. “Come up here with me,” she says softly, and he sits in the chair next to her. 

She curls into him as best she can in spite of her injuries, and together, they breathe. 

~

Sometimes, a thing happens that seems totally senseless. It will happen suddenly, and the fallout will be swift. Out of the cataclysm, misery arises. 

It will not make sense until long afterward.

“Señora,” says the nurse. “Estás embarazada.”

Her hand trembles on its way to her mouth. Her fingers prod her lips, recalling the taste of blood, the blast of the bomb, the years of her life flashing in white-hot snapshots behind her eyes. 

The nurse goes on some more: the last negative test must have been wrong, she's eight weeks along, there a couple things they should know before—

“¿Ésta… Ésta bien?” is all she manages to ask. 

The nurse smiles reassuringly. “Sí, señora.”

She begins to sob. Javier is clutching her hand and kissing her knuckles and whispering to her that they’re all right, they're safe, we’re having a baby. Holy shit. We’re having a baby. 

Javier kisses her tear-slicked cheek and nudges it with his nose. “Baby,” he says, grinning. A baby. 

“A baby,” she whispers. 

The nurse leaves briefly to print off her report for them to take home. Javier gingerly places his hand on his wife’s belly, imagining he can feel a heartbeat there. He's transfixed by the thought of it. It's so real. She's right here, in his arms, safe and healing and pregnant. Christ. She's pregnant. He did that. 

“I did that,” he says. 

She giggles. “You're a daddy, vaquero. I get to be a mom. Holy shit, I get to be a mom.”

Javier is mindful of her injuries when he gathers her into him, keeping his hand secure on her stomach. He pictures it swelling with his child, a little spot of sunshine that brings a glow to her cheeks and a waddle to her gait. His chest surges with the instinct to protect her, keep that smile snug and safe on her face, provide her and the little life inside her with everything they'll ever want. 

He already knows he would kill for this child, the way he's killed for its mother. 

This is how things piece together. This is the hope that arises from disaster. A hand on her belly. A whisper. Wounds that will heal. They always do. 

~

prev

#kiwisbell's fics #las mañanas #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

[burningrosesbythesea]

More incorrect quotes as I try to plan out the rest of my fanfic

Akira: Are we fighting or flirting?

Damian: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Akira: Your point?

. . .

Robin: Go fuck yourself.

Green Reaper, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch

. . .

Robin: How the hell are you still alive?

Reaper: Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are.

. . .

Akira: Relationships should be 50/50. Damian cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

. . .

Damian: What’s your body count?

Akira: Do you mean sex or murder?

Damian's talking about murder btw-

. . .

Terry: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer.

Milo:

Terry:

Milo: …Please, go back to bed.

. . .

Cindy: Listen, in the wild wild west there is always a woman in the saloon and nobody messes with her even though they all have guns.

Terry: That's because she's a prostitute.

. . .

Magpie (Milo), turning to Phoenix (Cindy): Stop calling yourself hot, the only thing you can turn on is the microwave.

. . .

Matt: Your smile looks forced.

Terry: That’s because it is.

. . .

Milo: Oh man, you have any shaving cream?

Matt: No, I don't like the way that it tastes.

Milo: Wait… you eat shaving cream?

Matt: No. Why would I eat it if I don't like the taste?

. . .

Robin (Matt): Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Batman: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from our boss.

Robin, hanging it on the Batwall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

. . .

Bruce: What’s something you guys are better than Matt at?

Terry: Mario Kart.

Milo: Yeah, video games.

Cindy: Emotional vulnerability.

. . .

During a stakeout

Robin: If I punch myself and it hurts, am I weak or strong?

Phoenix: Strong.

Magpie: Weak.

Batman: An idiot, is what you are.

#original character #oc #matt mcginnis #terry mcginnis #batman #dc robin #incorrect dc quotes #incorrect quotes #damian wayne #batman beyond #batman and robin #bruce wayne #damian wayne x oc

[brainrotdotorg]

Do you have any more thoughts about hardie boys piss and fuck

THROWS MY HANDS IN THE AIR. YES I DO INDEED

i think they joined the hardies after trying and failing to join the SKULLs. maybe they talked with cindy about potentially "setting up and interview" (fuck's words) with the local SKULL contingent and she just flat out said. listen. theyre not gonna take you. youre not cut out to be gangsters. don't try you're just going to get your feelings hurt. run along little boys. and they were extremely bummed out about it but cindy took pity on them and was like. well if you still want to find another little boy band to be a part of, my friend lizzie works with the hardies. maybe you could join the union instead of bothering me. ill ask her to put in a good word.

piss and fuck at first are like. ugh no way theyre psuedo-cops! all the debardeurs must be narcomaniacs if they're the de facto law in martinese. what a bunch of losers they dont want to fuck around with them.

and then they learn more and more shit about the hardies and the union in general. the call me manana guy seems cool. titus doesnt take any shit from anybody. oh shit that alain guy was in solitary confinement and has a history in crime?? the union deals in the drug trade?? evrart is basically a fucking mob boss?? the union is an above the board crime syndicate- this is way more advanced than graffito and carjacking. actually, hold the phone, maybe they do want to become union boys. there are a couple of openings since some of the last guys died anyway. (going w the best possible tribunal outcome where only angus, glen, and theo die iirc) cindy puts in a word with lizzie and lizzie gets them kind of an interview. love the idea of piss and fuck being like. we can bring sooooo much to the table. (they cant)

I think at first the two get put on dumb duty. like theyre the equivalent of patrol/junior officers, bottom rung, total grunt work. basically do everything together too of course theyre gonna be attached at the hip. the hardies think theyre a little annoying at first- "kid, dont wear that fucking jacket"- but they warm up to them eventually. fuck drinks his first beer his first night after work in the union box and almost throws up because he tried to down it all at once and look cool and shanky laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself

the hardies dont call them piss and fuck, they call them eric (canon name) and raul (my headcanon for what his name is) instead. piss doesnt wear his union beanie often but fuck does. fuck tried to flirt with lizzie once and he learned very quickly that HE SHOULD NOT DO THAT . theyre the youngest hardie boys by about a decade and because of that titus has a similar kind older mentor dynamic like he had like with angus. fuck will bitch about his nomme de plume about fucking the world and love being dead and someone will laugh and tell him hes too young to be that jaded. garte is annoyed at the new juveniles in the union box but doesnt say anything about it

the boys like being part of a group. to contribute to something. to work together. it isnt exactly a paying job but they live in a shipping container together that evrart lent them ("You're part of the union now! And union fellows stick together, isn't that right?") (he has already fucking measured out every single way he can wring every last drop of usefulness out of these boys including access to fuck's la delta lawyer dad)

sometimes is titus gets a little too drunk and sees piss from behind, he calls him glen. nobody addresses it when it happens. piss knows better than to ask about it .

#disco elysium #im gonna think about this more because i love this idea #but i dont fully know what specific things the hardies do. lmao #piss and fuck

[withahappyrefrain]

It's mansplain, manipulate Monday, and I think this deserves a prequel to how he got her manager's number and how they started dating because just from their chemistry, you can tell she played hard to get.

But this is only if you want to, please don't feel pressured. Your writing is incredible and you are extremely talented.

Hell yeah I want to make a backstory for a smutty drabble. 16+! Mob!Peter and very suggestive.

You Ain't Nothing (but a dog)

Summary: You never meant to get into modeling. You also never meant to get tangled up with Peter Parker. But sometimes life has a funny way of working out.

⍟

You never meant to get into modeling. It wasn't something you dreamed about doing. For starters, you were no Cindy Crawford.

But you were a poor college student who needed money. Joining your friend for a shoot that would cover half of your monthly rent sounded much better than waiting tables.

Apparently the 'in look' had changed. Cindy's face was out, your's was in. So you continued it because being able to pay off your student debt was a pretty sweet deal.

When it became a full time job, you're not quite sure. It was definitely after graduation and you were still unsure if you wanted to get your master's. So you figured, why not model for a few years and save up?

You didn't mind it. You had made some friends along the way, found a decent company to manage you. You were even able to go from magazine photoshoots to billboards.

Never in a million years did you expect that a billboard would be why you crossed paths with Peter Parker.

Much less be how he became your husband.

"Miles, make 'em hold still, will ya?" Peter never understood why they always tried to squirm away.

They should have paid on time if they wanted to avoid this.

Finally satisfied with his punches, he removed the now bloodied brass knuckle from his hand. He noticed some blood had gotten on the sleeve of his shirt.

That would need to be dry cleaned.

"You have until Friday to pay up. Then I won't be as nice." He motioned for Miles to follow him out of the building.

"That was you being nice?" His protege asked.

Peter chuckled, "I let the bastard live, didn't I?"

"I'll bring the car around," Miles knew better than to question Peter's methods.

Peter rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he waited, thinking of who else he needed to pay a 'visit' today.

He didn't know why he decided to look around the parking lot, but he's thankful he did.

Because there you were.

Or well, a picture of you.

You were stunning. From your bright eyes to the slope of your nose to the curve of your smile.

Fuck, he had to see you in person.

Luckily he had connections.

"Where to next boss?" Miles asked as Peter got in the car.

"I need you to help me with some research."

--------------------

You were a pretty private person. The only public social media you had was filled with pictures of sights and food and occasionally animals. Not of your face.

That was smart. You kept a low profile. Peter liked that.

Though, it was frustrating he couldn't see more pictures of you.

Luckily for Peter, your coworkers weren't as private.

"This Watson girl definitely models with her," Miles pulled up a picture showing a redhead with other girls leaning in, posing with smiles and peace signs. Peter immediately spotted you in the photo.

Fuck, you were stunning with no makeup and minimal effort. A true beauty.

Peter stared at the various photos you were tagged in before clearing his throat, "So these are great. But I'm trying to see her in person."

"So I can tell you what we're not going to do, which is slide into her DM's. I know you don't know what that means, but trust me, it is not the vibe we're going for," Miles explained, "But I do believe I've found her manager."

"And you're certain this is her manager because....."

"Her, the Watson, and Brandt girl all follow each other. They also all follow this guy, Mark, who literally says in their profile they manage for a modeling company. And when I pulled up her Venmo, Watson Venmoed her and Brandt for 'Mark's bday gift'."

"This is why I keep you around," Peter grinned, "You got his number?"

Miles pulled out a sticky note that had a ten number digit written, "So you just gonna call the dude and say you want to go out on a date with one of his clients?"

Peter scoffed, "Please. May raised me better than that. Tell Felicia I need her to pick up and deliver a few gifts."

----------------------

"Tell me again how this isn't the same thing as escorting? Because it sounds like escorting."

Your manager, Mark, sighed, "He just wants to get to know you and discuss a potential business deal over dinner."

You motioned to the huge vase of flowers that were delivered to you this afternoon, "Business deal?"

"People get flowers all the time."

You picked up the red Cartier box, opening it to reveal a diamond bracelet that you're pretty certain cost more than your college tuition.

"Business deal, huh?" You repeated.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it," your friend and coworker Gina said without looking up from the magazine she was reading.

Who the hell even was this guy? Peter Parker? What kind of name was that?

You weren't stupid. You knew damn well what a business deal over dinner entailed.

He was hoping to get into your pants by the end of the night.

"Look, you're going to a public place, Bella's, and-"

"He's taking you to Bella's? Don't you need to make reservations three months in advance?" Gina interrupted.

"You just need to have dinner with him. That's all."

"You told him I would go?!"

"I told the woman who works for him and dropped off these gifts," Mark paused, "Because she was very scary and intimidating, I did not want to upset her."

"See Y/N? He employs women, he can't be all that bad," Gina commented.

You were all for intimidating women. Just not when it landed you an unwanted date.

Which is how you found yourself outside of the city's most exclusive and expensive restaurants, about to embark on the weirdest blind date.

The date wasn't supposed to start until seven, but you arrived forty minutes early. You had to be first, you couldn't give this Peter Parker any advantage.

So when the hostess said she could bring you to "Mr. Parker's exclusive room", you just shook your head.

"Just tell him I'm at the bar."

The hostess' eyes widened, "Uh, Mr. Parker instructed us to walk you to his section when you arrived."

Instructed was a nice way of saying ordered. So the guy also loved telling people what to do. Great.

"Funny, because he never asked me if I was fine with that. If he did, he would have learned I don't go into private rooms with men I don't know," you pointed to the bar, "Again, I'll be over there."

The hostess was saying something, but you didn't care to listen.

The date hadn't even started yet and Mr. Parker could already go suck a fuck.

--------------------------

"It's the first date. Make sure you give her the chance to talk, okay?"

Peter furrowed his brow, "Why the fuck wouldn't I let her talk on the first date?"

"Some men love talking about themselves more than getting to know the other person," Felicia commented from the back of the car.

"Whenever you're not sure what to say, just ask her a question! Like what made you get into modeling?" Miles suggested.

"I already know how she got into modeling!"

"That is not public knowledge."

Felicia leaned forward, "you let her know you stalked her after she agrees to be your girlfriend. Your chances of her finding it cute are higher. Until then, play dumb."

Peter Parker was stressed. Which was weird because he never got stressed.

He had killed people before with his bare hands. Why was he now stressed about a date.

As if Miles could sense it, he began, "It's the first date. If you're nervous-"

"I am not nervous!" Peter said sharply, looking into the mirror to check his hair for the sixth time.

Miles fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Fine. It's the first date, it's okay if it's a little awkward. Just be yourself!"

"Minus the violent, illegal, organized crime boss part," Felicia commented, "You should probably save that for maybe the third date."

"You should also probably get out of the car and go into the restaurant," Miles paused, "Considering your date starts in ten minutes."

"I know when my date starts!" Peter hissed before looking out the window, "Did you see her walk in?"

"For the sixth time, no." Felicia commented, rolling her eyes.

"Would arriving ten minutes early make me look too eager?" Peter asked his right hand man and woman, who were fighting the urge to smack their boss upside the head.

"She's a potential love interest, not a potential enemy, Peter."

"True," He gripped the door handle, as if he was about to actually get out.

He turned to them, "It's just I had this idea that I walk into the room and she's sitting down at the table, y'know? And then I say-"

"Peter get the fuck out of the car," Felicia ordered, not even looking up from her nails that she was inspecting.

------------------------------------

You sipped on your Old Fashion, your eyes darting to the front entrance.

This date was supposed to start in five minutes and Mr. Parker was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe whatever deity you prayed to, took mercy on you. Maybe he wouldn't show up.

Wouldn't that be something? Then you could focus on the absolute Adonis who just walked into the restaurant.

Adonis incarnated's brown eyes found yours. You sipped your cocktail, not breaking eye contact.

"Mr. Parker!" The man turned his head to face the hostess.

God. Damn. It.

You took a much bigger sip of your drink, the bourbon burning your throat.

Okay, he was attractive. Stupidly attractive.

You could admit that.

But he was still the guy who didn't even call you to ask you out. He called your manager. And he sent gifts and had his own private room in a restaurant and staff taking his jacket, all for showing off. All to impress you.

All to wield power over you.

You weren't going to allow that.

Which is why you couldn't help but smirk when you heard him ask the hostess "Why the hell is she sitting at the bar?"

You could hear the hostess try to explain what had happened as best as she could without saying you were being a stubborn bitch.

"Whatever, I'll get her myself," You heard him tell her.

This should be fun.

You turned your attention back to the bar, your eyes focused on one of the many expensive bottles of alcohol that were adorning the glass shelves.

The sound of footsteps quickly approached you. You continued drinking your cocktail, staring straight ahead. He was the one who set up the day, he could be the one who said hello first.

"Uh....hi." You turned your head, expecting to see arms crossed and a scowl across his face.

He was looking at the ground. Was his face red?

"Our room is ready."

"Nice to meet you too," You took another sip before turning to him, "My name is Y/N and I don't go into private rooms with men I don't know."

"Oh." He looked around, looking everywhere but you. Did he not do eye contact?

"Had you actually spoken to me beforehand, you would have learned that." You crossed your arms.

He finally looked at you. His brown eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. It was....different. It wasn't the lewd stare you were used to receiving.

He looked....nervous? No, that couldn't be it. No guy would track you down and take you out on a date if they didn't have an overblown ego.

"I uh....I can get us another table," He mumbled. He turned around, ready to walk back to the hostess' table. You could see his hands balling up into fists as he turned back around.

"I'm Peter."

-------------------------------

You stared out the window to admire the skyline of the city.

It was an amazing view. It reminded you of how the city was still beautiful, despite of the not so pretty parts.

"It's beautiful, right?"

Fuck you almost forgot you were on a date with him.

You turned to face him again, the candlelight casting a glow over his stupidly handsome face.

"Yeah, it's a really nice view," You admitted before taking another sip of your wine that cost more than what you make in a week.

"It's gorgeous, though not as-"

"Gorgeous as me?" You finished.

It wasn't the first time you had finished a pickup line of his that night. The guy really had no originality. His lack of response confirmed it.

You stared straight at him now, waiting for him to start his next cheesy pickup line.

And your stare burned through him. The man could barely look you in the eye. He was shifting in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

It was strange.

His honeyed eyes fell upon your bare wrists, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You're not wearing the bracelet," He said. Well, more like mumbled.

"Nope," you shrugged. This was it.

Because you read the note that was written in that box. The note whose handwriting was way too nice to actually be his. The note that went on about how even though the bracelet didn't shine as bright as your eyes, he looked forward to seeing it on you.

He would snap. Finally realize you were only a pretty face and call the date off.

"Did you....not like it?" With those big brown eyes, Peter Parker resembled moreso a puppy that just got it's favorite toy taken away than a pissed off man.

"I'm just not much of a jewelry wearer," You explained, your tone much softer than you desired.

He nodded his head.

You shrugged, "Would have known that if-"

"I spoke to you beforehand?" You weren't surprised that he finished your sentence. You were more surprised at the sliver of a smile that was creeping onto his face while he said it.

You nodded your head, "Seems to be the theme of the night."

He was trying. Which was the most baffling part. Normally when guys take you out for dinner, they're not nervous. Or at least don't show it.

But he was obviously nervous and it was borderline endearing. Which was the problem. You weren't supposed to be enjoying any part of the guy.

You looked out to admire the view again. You feared if you didn't, your eyes would wander to his hands again.

"Excuse me, can I borrow that? And that?" You turned to see Peter talking to a waiter, pointing to their notepad and pen.

Without any questions, the waiter gave their materials to him. He turned to a blank page.

"So no private rooms or jewelry," He said out loud as he wrote it down. He looked over to your plate, "and no to Italian food, given you've only eaten half of the best ravioli in the city."

"Wh-what are you doing?" He could not be doing what it looked like he was doing.

"Keeping track of what you like and don't like," Peter said, like it was obvious, "So what type of food do you like?"

"Uh...Thai. And you're doing this why?" This date was not going on how you expected and you were still unsure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He looked up at you, a small, sheepish smile on his face. Fuck, his eyes were beautiful. Beautiful and soft.

"As you can probably tell, I haven't been on a date in years. I think it's also safe to say I didn't exactly put my best foot forward. So I want to blow you away on our second date by actually doing stuff you enjoy," He explained.

Bold of you to assume there will be a second date, is what you wanted to say. But your mouth couldn't form those exact words.

"This is your first date in years?" Was what came out instead. You were surprised. The guy was incredibly attractive, and clearly had money and power from whatever job he did for a living.

He nodded his head and oh, he was definitely blushing and it was cute.

"I thought it was obvious when I forgot to introduce myself," He mumbled. You leaned forward to get a closer look at his handwriting on the notepad.

The handwriting matched the note.

Peter Parker handwrote that note himself.

"You okay?" It took you a moment to realize he was staring right at you. You never had been into brown eyes, but his were so big and looked like browned honey and reminded you of Bambi and-

Fuck you were screwed.

"Yeah! I just..." You bit your bottom lip, "Why don't we get out of here? It's kinda stuffy if I'm being honest."

"Doesn't like stuffy restaurants," He wrote down. His eyes widened, your words finally hitting Peter, "Oh. Uh yes, absolutely. Where to?"

"Not your bedroom. Or mine," You said quickly. There was no way you were letting him in that easy, "Why don't I just drive us around the city?"

"You drove here?"

You grinned, "No, but I know you did."

He cocked his head in confusion, though the corners of his mouth had turned upwards, "and what makes you think I'll let you drive my car, angel?"

"You want that second date or not?"

He chuckled and you could tell he was debating it.

"Fine, but only if our second date can be this Friday," He countered.

You smirked, "Eager, are we?"

Now it was his turn to smirk, "Thought I made that obvious too."

You could have turned him down. You could have said no.

But where was the fun in that?

Besides, he was letting you drive his very expensive car. And as you would soon learn, Peter was very much worth keeping around.

#my writing #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker AU #peter parker imagine #tasm peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter x you #andrew!peter fanfiction

[robogart]

Quick DS3 Thoughts :

Just finished and didn’t link the fire and this ending theme is GORGEOUS 😩💕💖

Game is visually STUNNING like I am truly obsessed with all the environments and the enemy and boss designs are soooooo fucking cool!! 🥰🥰🥰 LOVE the DLC areas the most I think! Corvian Settlement and the Ringed City were spectacular! Oh and also the Untended Graves portion was so haunting, I loved it!! OH and the dreg heap and kiln were incredible too!! Just wanted to stand and look around omg 😍

But honestly overall the actual gameplay was really unenjoyable for me - I was playing a Dex build and it was TOUGH and got incredibly worse as the game continued. To the point where I had to summon an NPC or player for help at nearly every boss which really sucked! I played dex builds in DS1, ER and bloodborne and I really love zooming around and biting people’s ankles! But here you’re just so severely punished by mob enemies and boss combos alike that it really zapped the enjoyment out for me, like damn 😔

I played through all the DLC and the only boss I didn’t fight (attempted like 10 times but just went to find Soul of Cindy instead) was Midir because Fuck That! Gorgeous fucking boss though!! Jumping down and having that big cavern/cave and Midir spreading their wings like???? INCREDIBLE!!! 🥳💕💖 But fighting was just like… ugh woof = w =;;

Anyways I might yell about this more later and I might try a Str build since I’ve been trying to read up and a lot of other people are saying it totally made the game more doable for them because POISE (why did you CHANGE IT LIKE THIS???)

But anyways yeah! Game is done even if it wasn’t how I wanted it to really go! But back to my other playthroughs for ER and Bloodborne instead I guess!✌️💖

#ds3 thoughts #ds3

[the-technicolor-whiscash]

It is fucking crazy that our tutoring center even has fucking human bones to begin with like the fact I had to tell my boss “hey just so you know there were some real vertebrae in with the models so we should probably relabel some things and check in there every once in a while” when my job description is tutoring manager is like. Insane. Like it’s an extremely useful academic resource for our students but like. We just have these. Cindy this is a skeleton this is bones.

#the whiscash administration

[eideticspider]

@spiderbyhalf asked: 11 (bc we like pain in this house) [11. one muse takes a blow meant for the the other]

{✗} It was supposed to be a SIMPLE grab and go. Grab the GOBLIN, send him home--make it back in time for DATE night with her boss/secret BOYFRIEND. She'd even picked out the MOVIE-- The Breakfast Club--her unashamed FAVORITE. Cindy hadn't really factored in the (ridiculous) idea that the Goblin would get the JUMP on them. It was a laughable concept. An impossibility.

And now she had a goddamn GLIDER blade in her thigh.

She had seen how effectively the Green Goblin managed to distract Miguel. (The Pumpkin BOMBS thrown at the ferry was a particularly violent choice--but hey, it worked.) She had seen how EASILY he sprung into action to WEB the boat back together before it split in half and hundreds of INNOCENT people died. Of course she had known he was going to swing into action--he was Spider-Man. Innocent lives needed to be SAVED. She had dove after Osborne, throwing her entire body into her SWINGS to try and nab him before he could get any more damage in. Again--it should have been BUSINESS as usual.

He had gotten a GOOD hit in, a backhanded power SLAP into her chin, sending her hurtling towards the water where her body SPLASHED hard against the surface. It had KNOCKED the wind out of her for half a minute, the skin on her jaw pinkening and stinging, brown eyes flickering up towards the surface of the water and swimming back up to AIR.

But then she saw the Goblin turn his glider towards Miguel--had seen the BLADES eject menacingly and aim for his torso. There was no hesitation. No room to THINK. And then she had seen, really FELT, herself thwip herself forward and take the shot directly in her right thigh. (And it really fucking stung.)

Cindy let out a LOUD, almost shrill cry of pain as the weapon ripped through soft flesh, cutting into BONE. Her hand went to the wound, trying to cup the BLOOD and at least cover the exposed skin. The blades detached in time with Osborne's laughter and it sent her back towards the murky blue water, her back hitting the ocean with a SPLASH.

(Well--I guess DATE night's gonna take a raincheck.)

#spiderbyhalf #;my favorite dilf {miguel o'hara | spiderbyhalf} #;asks #;answered #;scenario meme reply #;tw: blood #((*whistles innocently*))

[psychosomaticdeicide]

Why did my boss call me at 9:54am?

Surely not because I was late for work, because I’m off today!

No, it’s because the coworker who cannot be trusted to open by himself showed up to the boss’s house because no one had opened the door up for him.

Previously, he would have called down the chain of command starting with the coworker who is off on Mondays now, then me. And then the boss if he couldn’t reach either.

I don’t have any missed calls from him. I don’t know if Mondays-off coworker got a call from him.

But clearly this man had no idea what the fuck was going on and doesn’t look at the fucking schedule had to show up at her house WHICH MADE HER CALL ME TO ASK IF I WAS WORKING, even though IT CLEARLY SAYS “OFF” for me on Monday.

“Oh, shit,” she said to me. “That means Cindy didn’t know she was opening.”

Well. She would have. If she looked at the schedule. Or asked me to send it to her, which is something she has done in the past, and something I readily fucking complied with.

Like, sure, my only coworker who is a man is the only person who has a schedule that doesn’t change all that often, but come the fuck on, man.

He showed up to her fucking house????

#incoherent screeching into the abyss #lyre has job!

[this-wasnevertheplan]

my boss isn’t here which mean Cindi isn’t either. She misses so much fucking work. BUT SHES STILL EMPLOYED

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth (4x13) | Never Again

He hangs up the phone as his former boss’s scolding rolls around his brain like a boulder. Fired. Fucking fired again. He slams the phone down over and over, tossing the receiver. 

He inhales, frustrated. The air in his apartment, thick with stale cigarette smoke and knock-off Calvin Klein he can barely afford, only further twists the knife.

Loser, she’d said. 

His coworker had called him a loser, right there in the office. Right in front of him, as if he couldn’t hear her. As if he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t do anything about it. Just like always. Well he’d shown her, throwing the shit from her perfect little desk to the floor, daring her to call him names to his face. 

Daring anyone to call Ed Jerse a loser again.

His jaw clenches. If only it had been Cindy’s desk he’d destroyed. Cindy who he’d screamed at instead of sitting mute in divorce court as she stuck it to him one more time. The raw skin on his freshly inked arm begins to burn, and in hindsight, the tattoo reminds him of a younger version of his newly-made ex-wife. A permanent reminder of his life’s failings etched five layers deep. How fucked is that?

A banging noise resounds from the apartment below him before a woman laughs menacingly.

“If you were any kind of man, you would have told her to kiss your ass,” the feminine voice mocks. “But no, another woman sticks it to you. Ain’t that right... Eddie.”

What the hell? Only his mother calls him Eddie, and he fucking hates it.

Ed crawls on the floor, presses his ear to the hardwood, listening to the woman below unpack loudly, hearing her ridicule him.

He bangs on the floor, “Hey! I can hear you down there. Hey! Stop it! Shut up! Shut up down there!”

Something dark and dangerous swirls beneath his skin.

It’s always women. Every single one of them. Controlling him, shaming him, emasculating him every chance they get. He can’t stand it, is sick to death of it. There’s a draw he cannot deny, a menacing pull that tugs on this hatred expanding deep down he can’t quite identify. Like a low simmering, it waits, burning him from the inside. These damn women… 

Sometimes he wants to reach out and just— 

Music blares up through the floorboards. He keeps banging and the song keeps getting louder until he hears a knock at his door.

Some woman tries to suck him into speaking of a God who’s forgotten him. 

“You hear that? She’s trying to drive me crazy,” Ed interrupts.

The religious woman shrugs him off, disagreeing. Telling him he’s wrong. 

“Somehow, she knows what I'm thinking,” he emphatically pleads. “I don’t want to feel it — but they know, like psychics or something, or an implant thing, trying to drive me crazy!” 

When she leaves, the pamphlet she’s given him says, "Are you a Failure?" 

“Mm-mm-mm,” the voice taunts. “You see? Even the Jehovah’s Witness babe won’t waste her time on you. No woman would, and you just sit and take it.” Ed covers his ears with his hands. “Take it like a man.”

A searing headache forms at the base of his skull as sweat blooms across his brow. Why is he so damn hot, so… angry? His head pounds in time with the throb of his tattoo. And that fucking music is too fucking loud!  

Then, like magic, he’s suddenly in front of his disrespectful neighbor's apartment, kicking her door in. He doesn’t even remember how he got here.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she shrieks. “Get out of here!”

It takes all of his willpower to move his feet, but instead of heading out the door, he finds himself stalking towards this stunned woman, his fists clenched tighter than his jaw — as if some invisible force is propelling him forward. Because yes, he hates her, too.

Deadbeat. Loser. Failure. 

He’s heard it all, and he has had enough. No one humiliates Ed Jerse anymore. No, not now. Never again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she yells, backing up, her halting hands outstretched. “Get out of my apartment!”

The room swells with his rage. When the taut string keeping the violence bound within him snaps, Ed lunges.

Ear-piercing music drowns out the sounds of crushing bone and squelching bodily fluid spewing from his screaming neighbor's mouth. 

As if in a dream, Ed is across the room now, watching himself punching, kicking, bludgeoning the blonde woman crumpled to the floor beneath him. Mesmerized, he doesn’t try to stop himself from hurting her. Doesn’t quit slamming the stereo’s remote control against her skull until the blood spatter coats her face and the rise and fall of her chest ceases. Doesn’t restrain himself from shoving her lifeless body into an empty moving box, dragging the heavy blood-stained cardboard down the basement stairs, and tossing the mangled remains of Ms. Schilling into the fiery furnace.

Adrenaline thrumming through his veins, Ed reaches inside the box and pulls out the bloody remote. He is in control now.

“Attaboy, lover,” the familiar voice encourages. “From now on, I’m your right-hand gal. You and me.”

There it is again: the hatred in his head. Only deeper, his mind churning verbal vitriol around his brain like sickness in his stomach. The tattoo pulses painfully along his bicep like a hammering heart, and the fire flares. Sweat beads across his body while the acrid stench of burnt hair and blood sting his nostrils. As he stares wild-eyed into the flames, he can’t help but think that maybe he’s finally not failed at something. Maybe this woman’s voice has been waiting to be heard long before ink bled black beneath his skin. 

“As long as I’m with you, no one will ever hurt you...” 

Ed looks down at the bright lines of his tattoo’s smirking face and wonders if this is what reclaiming his life feels like. 

”Never Again.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@monikafilefan

#all eyes lead to the truth #x files #fanfic #season four #s4 #x files fanfic #never again #4x13 #ed jerse #tattoo #mulder #scully

[crowdedmidnight]

open to: f/m/nb

potential connection: coworker, friend, boyfriend, relative, etc ...

about muse: Sarah Lucinda “Cindy” Wolf {Cindy Kimberly, 24 yr old Production Assistant/ Model }

Plot:  Your Muse & Sarah are out running errands for their boss.

Sarah sighs as she looks down at the list of chores they have to do for their boss Julia. “You know... you’d think this woman is too busy to do anything but yet has time to sneak in her fuck of the week.” The brunette shakes her head. It was known all around the office, their boss was cheating on her husband with multiple men but nobody ever dared speak of it. “I mean... how is ... pick up my dog from the groomer and then check my mail from home not something she can easily do after work. She literally leaves at 3pm on the dot every day!”

#indie starter #open indie #open indie rp #indie rp #open starter #starter