#David's magnificent eyebrow

[suzypfonne]

I think we're so lucky to have Mr Michael "Microexpressions" Sheen as our Aziraphale. He gives us so much material to pour over and pick apart. So many tiny details to analyze. The love that seeps out of him is contagious.

We're also very lucky to have Mr David Tennant as our Crowley. We can't even see the man's eyes most of the time he's on screen. He's acting with his mouth and that one magnificent eyebrow and still manages to convey so much emotion. To quote him "hnngk".

Their casting was amazing. I can't imagine anyone else in the roles. No notes. Michael is Aziraphale. David is Crowley. We are a very fortunate group of people and I love all of you brain-rotted GOeys. Y'all are my people.

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies: pt. 1

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Summary: Introduction into the HTCF world, Peña is a menace

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, violence, dubcon, SMUT!!!!!, anger, fighting, PTSD, mentions of rape, derogatory use of slut, whore, and the like

Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi (please let me know if I missed anyone that was interested or if you would like to be added)

You used to be new to Colombia. 

You had never really thought you would be invited to the Embassy as a guest DEA agent, struggling to pull your bag through the airport with your purse in your other hand, but you’d made it-and the heat was different from Miami heat. 

But you had worked hard in Florida, stopping drugs from passing through the border, starting your career in the mail office, and working your way up. 

You stood on the docks of Miami undercover so many times that you were considered the local siren, stopping drug mules in their tracks just to talk to you, only to find out that you were there to bust them. 

Your coworkers, male and female alike were proud of you, happy for you. You had been blessed with people who surrounded you and were supportive. 

When you got to Colombia it was like you were back at square one. 

Your boss, the well-known Javier Peña, had a stick up his ass. 

“Would you give these to Noonan?” Peña had swept by, plopping papers on your desk before trying to run further away. 

You stopped him, holding out your hand and wrapping your fingers around his suit sleeve. “Sorry, sir. But what are they?”

“You don’t need to know that.” He scoffed, pulling his arm from your grasp. “You’re sitting in one of my agent’s chairs, and I need you to bring that to Noonan as soon as you’re done setting up her computer.”

You scoffed back, standing up and placing a hand on your hip. His eyes followed your hand, eyebrows raised in interest until you said your name. “I am the agent that sits at this desk, Peña.”

“My apologies.” He said quietly with no hint of actual remorse. “Still, please bring that to Noonan. Our new employee meeting starts in five minutes.”

You immediately regretted wearing the pencil skirt, thinking it would be a good first impression as if that was the reason that Javier Peña had mistaken you. From then on you wore cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, like the rest of the team, arguing with your boss at every corner. 

“I told you to stay here. And what did you do? You fucking went out there anyways.” Peña had this thing about slamming the door to make a point, even though everyone could clearly see into his office where you were standing, arms crossed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. 

“Jason said he needed help. I helped him.” Standing your ground came naturally, and Peña clearly hated it. He wanted you to bend over backward for him, just like Jason, and just like David.

“You don’t need to help him by getting yourself killed.” Peña gritted out, turning to you before sitting at his desk.

A quick mumble came out of your mouth, “Would rather do that than push your pencils around like some secretary.”

“Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of the time you’re here? Because if that’s the case then maybe you should go back to Miami.” He was back standing, pointing at you and what he assumed was the general direction of Florida. Sweat beaded at his hairline, eyes dark with annoyance. 

“I’m not holding anything against you, boss.” You snark, twisting around to the door to look out into the bullpen, where everyone is pretending to not watch. “Are we all done here?” 

Peña was quick to brush you off after staring, motioning at the door resting his hands on his hips, and pacing behind his desk. 

But then after a successful mission, Peña brought you and the others out for drinks. A Friday celebration for “catching the bad guys” as Jason had always said, downing the free beer that his boss provided. 

You were all for taking advantage of Peña’s money if he was going to pay for drinks. Quick to order tequila sodas, letting them slide down your throat like water and sway back and forth as you spoke with office staff and the other agents. 

You avoided Peña like the plague. Any time you turned your head you saw his back towards you, speaking to any girl he could find that wasn’t part of the team he was paying for. 

One too many tequila sodas had you stumbling to the bathroom, struggling with the button of your pants, and taking much longer than you had the last time you went. You were thinking that it is about time to take yourself home, walk down the sidewalk for some fresh air, and then hail a cab, but when you finally manage to get out of the bathroom of this bar, your coworkers are filing out. 

“Where are y’all going?” You slur to Jason who is holding the door open for one of the archive girls. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you, stepping through the door wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and whispering in her ear. 

You mumble out a few curse words, turning toward the bar counter where that same head that you had been staring at all night is now facing you. His eyes are watchful, glass to his pouted lips as he takes a sip of what looks to be whiskey. “You want water?”

“Another tequila would be nice.” You perk up, slouching into the seat next to him with hooded eyes. In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you will be having a hangover tomorrow but don’t care enough to stop it. 

Peña motions at the bartender, nodding at you to indicate that you would like another drink. He takes a beat before saying, “So, you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” You hiccup, furrowing your brow as the bartender sets a glass in front of you. You take a sip, noticing that there is no fizz, and know immediately that you’ve been cut off. “Damn, he gave me a water.”

He chuckles, draining his glass and turning fully towards you. His eyes scan behind you and the surrounding area before settling on your face. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were Noonan’s secretary.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You sigh, taking another sip of the water. You’re suddenly extremely thirsty. 

Peña waits for you to say more, but shakes his head when you begin tapping your fingers against the counter. “I’m trying to apologize.” He huffs out, resting his head on one hand, propped against the bar. 

“You are?” You laugh, pushing the glass of water away. “I didn’t hear one.”

“I wasn’t thinking, that day I walked in and asked you to go to Noonan.” He sighs, explaining himself. Still not an apology. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure to get this right this time, and I was told I was having a female agent added to my team that had done great things in Miami but didn’t know anything beyond your name.”

You shrug, sliding off your seat. “Okay, boss. No big deal. It was months ago.” You give in, thinking it’s about time to walk home. 

When you stumble away from Peña, he reaches for your arm to hold you up, hissing out between his teeth. “You need a ride home.”

“No, I’m fine.” His hand is warm at your elbow, seeping through his skin to yours so quickly that you break out in a shiver. You attempt to yank your arm away, but his grip is firm and guiding. 

If he notices you trying to pull away from him or the shiver, he doesn’t say anything. “Wasn’t asking.” 

You think you roll your eyes, but you’re not too sure based on how the room is moving around you. “Haven’t you drunk too?” Your hand twists out to grip his shoulder, too dizzy to be pulling away now. 

“Not as much as you.” He mumbles with a short chuckle, guiding you to the door after slipping the bartender some bills. You aren’t sure how much he’s paid, but you think it’s a lot based on how happy the guy looks. 

The typically humid air is crisp against your skin as you step out, and you can’t help but curl your fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. The noises around you feel muffled, and when you turn to Peña he’s already looking at you expectantly. “What?”

He huffs out his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Where do you live? In the same block as the other agents or somewhere else?”

You shake your head, confused by his question but tell him your address anyways. “I can make it home–”

“No.” He cuts you off, lightly pressing into the small of your back to lead you toward his Jeep. “You’ve had more to drink than others, and I need you to be ready by Monday.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling in sick Monday.” You hiccup, grabbing onto the handle of his car as you hop into the passenger seat.

Peña walks around to the driver's side, sliding in and watching you as you buckle in clumsily. “Don’t get sick in my car.”

“No promises.” You mumble, laying your head back against the headrest and shutting your eyes as he pulls away from the curb. The drive feels familiar, turning at the right moments, and the hum of his car seems to have you slipping into sleep. 

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until Peña’s warm hand was on your elbow again, shaking it gently. “Hey, you awake?”

You startle, sitting up straight and looking out the windshield before flashing your eyes over to him, glancing down at his fingers drifting over your elbow in soothing circles. You clear your throat, reaching for his door handle. “Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright.” He reaches for his own door, gets out, and walks around the front of the car to where you are stumbling toward your door. “Where’s your key?” You mumble incoherently, reaching into your pocket and dangling the key in front of him for a moment before he snatches it out of your hand and into the lock. “Let me make sure you don’t get sick all over yourself.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” You scoff, brushing past him to the bathroom. You are mostly just dizzy, a nasty side effect of tequila that you’ve never been able to curb. “Since you invited yourself in, there’s soda in the fridge.” You clip from your mirror, reaching for a washing rag and turning on the water. 

“What, no beer?” He calls, chuckling quietly before you hear the sound of the fridge opening, his footsteps going quiet when he gets back to your living room and sits on the couch. 

When you’ve finished scrubbing your face, you step back into the living room and see Peña with his soda half tilted up, glancing at you and down to your coffee table where a glass of water is waiting. “Thanks, boss.” You mumble, sitting on the other side of the couch and taking a sip. 

He nods, eyeing you quietly before setting the half-empty bottle in front of him. “Javi is fine.” 

You quirk your eyebrow at him, humming to yourself before taking another sip. “Are we getting personal now?”

Peña squints at you, pursing his lips to hide a smile that seems to be growing on his lips. “Only if you tell me something personal.” 

You scoff, setting down your glass and leaning back. The air conditioner in your apartment is only in the bedroom, leaking out into the rest of the living space slowly and heavily along the ground. Your toes are cold, realizing suddenly that you have taken off your shoes and it seems like Peña did as well, his toes wiggling under his socks. “Something personal? What do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything. I don’t know much about you at all besides that you worked your way up in a field that isn’t kind to women, and moved here from Miami on recommendation from Noonan to help catch the Cali cartel.” 

You tilt your head over to him to watch him, his arm flexing as he reaches for his soda again. You feel this sudden urge to lean forward and touch his arm– “I hate the heat.” You blurt, stopping yourself from reaching for him as he looks at you inquisitively. “I-I grew up in Utica, New York. Love the snow.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Why did you go to Miami, if you hate the heat?”

You shrug. “Wanted to be different.” You laugh to yourself, leaning forward again for your glass. “Couldn’t stand staying in the same town, or just moving to the next city over like all my friends did.”

As you’re talking your hand knocks the glass off the coffee table, water spilling over your feet and onto the carpet. You jump, leaning toward Peña to lift your feet off the floor before they get wet, but you aren’t quick enough. “S’alright. Let me get a towel.” He says quietly, grabbing the glass from the floor and his soda before heading to the kitchen. 

When he returns with a kitchen towel that you think was hanging on the oven’s handle, you don’t expect him to sit so close and wrap his hand around your calf and lift it onto his lap. He wipes at your feet gently, hand still holding you steady as he glances up at you. “Texas.” He clears his throat, looking unsure before he continues. “I grew up in Texas. The heat was different than here, but…I’ve never seen snow.”

You smirk, watching as he slows his movements and rubs his thumb along your calf. “You’d probably hate it like everyone does.”

You both stare at each other, not sure if you should pull your leg away, ask him to leave and thank him for the ride, or see where this goes. 

You start to pull away, realizing that this is your boss for fucks sake when he tightens his grip. “I’ve always wanted to see snow on Christmas. With the lights and real snowmen…” He pauses, leaning forward and flicking his gaze to your mouth. “I don’t think I would hate it.”

You gasp when his hand slides up your leg to behind your knee, pulling you closer and over his lap more. “Peña–”

“Javi.” He breathes, taking a deep breath that expands his chest and has the buttons straining under the pressure. “I-it’s Javi.”

Your head is swimming with the feeling of his hand on you, over and over, looking from his parted mouth to his eyes. His pupils dilate, his hand tightening around you in anticipation as you start to lean forward. 

Your eyelashes flutter, closing for a moment before opening them again and finding your nose brushing against his, his eyes cast down to watch you ponder the next best move. “Javi,” You whisper hoarsely, swearing you can taste the mix of whiskey and soda in his mouth from how he lets his bottom lip run against yours. “You’re my boss.”

He nods quickly, the bridge of his nose running against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I know.”

It’s only another split second before you make the decision, tilting your chin towards him and sealing your mouth to his. 

He groans, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and into your hair to hold you to him. He swirls his tongue with yours, eager and ready to have you against him and not moving away to take a breath. 

He pulls you closer, bracketing his own hips with your thighs, digging his fingers into your hips to hold you against him. When you begin rolling your center against his, your jeans in the way of each other, he holds you firm. “Don’t do that.” He swallows, shaking his head and looking up at you. “Unless you want me to fuck you right now.”

On wobbly legs you stand, pushing away from him enough that you can reach for the button of your pants, sliding the material down your thighs. You break out in a shiver, forgetting how heavy the air feels right now. 

Javi reaches out with one hand, running his fingers down the side of your thigh before leaning forward to wrap his hand fully around you. His other hand is expertly undoing his own jeans, eyes on you, and a smirk rising on his face. “Needy, aren’t you?”

Biting your lip has little effect on your ability to keep your noises at bay, a groan coming out of your mouth as his fingers grip into the plush skin on your ass. “You’re just as bad.”

“Oh really?” He laughs, pulling you to your previous position hovering over him. “Work for it then.” 

Your thoughts stutter, furrowing your brow as you shakily bring a hand down to the opening of his pants. Gently wrapping your fingers around him, jeans halfway down his thighs already and not a pair of boxers in sight, you swear your mouth begins to water. You glance back up to his face, his knowing wink giving you pause. “What do you want me to do?”

He tilts his head, a small smile rising before he licks his lower lip. “Don’t just stare at it, ride it.”

You gasp at how quickly he reaches forward and slides your panties to the side. His finger glides at your center, opening you up to feel how slick you’ve gotten for him. He groans, satisfied with what he finds as he holds the fabric with his thumb, his other hand roughly guiding you by the hip to sit lower. 

The head of his cock presses into you in one instant, and in the next, you’re fully seated on top of him. Thighs tight, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead, you whine at the feeling of him inside you. He shushes you, bringing one bruising hand up from your hip to your face, moving your hair out of your eyes. “I know, Hermosa. Too big for you, huh?” You nod, feeling faint as you shut your eyes for a moment. He taps roughly with two fingers on your cheek.  “Easy now, don’t lose focus.”

Your eyes snap open as he shifts his hips up, his hair at the base of his shaft rubbing against your clit. He begins thrusting, holding you steady by where his hand is placed on your cheek, digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mouth opens, slack-jawed at the feeling of him thrusting up into you. 

“That’s it.” He growls, pulling your head back tighter. “Just like that.” He pistons up, leaning further back on your couch and pulling you away from him so he can better get a view of you. You’re taking it, turned on, and pretty sure you’re ruining his jeans in the process. 

He doesn’t last long, and neither do you. His words, forced through his teeth and puffing breaths spur you on to the finish line, his own orgasm leaving a mess on your underwear and stomach. He pulls out quickly, hurriedly rubbing at himself with your slick covering him before closing his eyes and moaning as ropes of his spend stick to you. 

Standing on shaking legs, you walk toward your bathroom, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before looking in the mirror briefly. You look like you’ve been fucked-hair a nest on your head, your underwear wet. When you step back out toward the living room, ready to offer him a towel or the shower, you stop dead in your tracks when you don’t see him immediately. 

Confused, you step into the kitchen, looking around briefly before stepping back into your living room. The soda is half gone on your coffee table, and the kitchen towel that he brought is tossed haphazardly on the couch. You look toward your front door and notice his boots are gone just as the lights from a car shine through your window. Peña had just fucked you and ditched. 

It hadn’t really been a surprise to you that Peña wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. Just a quick fuck, and nothing serious-you could handle that. Peña must have thought you would be beating down his door because he avoided you for two full weeks before reappearing in the office at the same time you were there. 

You had continued on; business as usual. 

It surprised Peña so much that when you had gone into his office to give him reports to review and then left soon after, he was at your apartment that night asking what your issue was. 

“It was a one-time thing.” Peña was circling your island, rubbing at his jaw and eyeing you every once in a while. 

“I figured.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Do you have something you need me to do, related to our job? Because if not, can you just leave?”

“Was I more hammered than I thought?” He questioned, looking at you incredulously. “I swear you came.”

“I did.” You confirm. 

“Then, how are you…are you not? I don’t-” he growled frustrated, running his hands through his hair. 

“I’m not obsessed with you. Is that what you’re asking?” You laugh, shaking your head. “We were drunk, we fucked. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. Let’s just move on. Now will you leave?” 

“I don’t want you to be obsessed with me.” He says quietly, face going red with embarrassment. 

“Great, I’m not.” You shrug, tapping your fingers against your pant leg. 

He stares at you, grinding his teeth before he steps toward where you appear relaxed. He’s silent as he reaches out, running the back of his finger against your exposed arm. You shiver, rolling your eyes at how he smiles. 

You tilt your head at him, asking with your eyes what are you doing? As he shrugs, he kneels in front of you, hands coming up to hover over your pants. “Let me feel you, hermosa.”

You and Peña continued like this, back and forth for weeks. He would eye you a certain way after berating you in his office as code to meet in the archives. 

You would say something snarky with Jason and David looking on, and he would show up at your apartment later that night. 

Or sometimes, you both would stay late, working until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore to then look up and see Peña still sitting at his desk in a similar state as you were. He would sigh heavily, call you into his office, and tell you to go home like everyone else had. 

You never did. 

This seemed to be the most stable thing in your life, even though you and Peña were not an item, and adamantly told each other so when he was deep inside you or when your throat was constricting around him. 

You thought everything was routine at this point-yeah, you fucked your boss, and you still argued with him, but the job wasn’t bad. You were making headway into things that Peña and your team worked on extensively to get to the bottom of the cartel. And when you were having another meeting with Peña, Jason, and David, you were shocked to find out that Peña had a new job for you. 

“I need you to go into the jungle.” He said, looking directly at you with a pinched mouth. 

You stared at him, trying to assess what that exactly meant as Jason and David stared between the two of you. “And do what, exactly?” You question, flicking your eyes over him. 

“I need intel on Gabriel Loreas. He is an upcoming drug dealer that is supposed to be the local cops' responsibility.” He says quickly, flipping through the file on his desk before leaning back and crossing his feet. 

“So why have her go out there?” Jason questions quietly, concern covering his face. 

Peña’s eyes flash in anger, raking over Jason. “Because I don’t trust the locals to not screw me over in the end. And…we have a mole.” David and Jason begin bickering, Peña cutting them off. “I need someone that can infiltrate his home without causing suspicion.”

“And why can’t that be one of us? No offense,” David turns apologetically to you. “But it’s extremely dangerous to be doing that alone.”

Peña rolls his neck, trying to hold his temper. “His security guards are looking for…working girls.”

It’s silent in the office as Jason and David look toward you, bug-eyed and scared. You take a deep breath, chuckling quietly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Peña freezes, eyes widening briefly before leaning forward. “Now, listen–”

“You want me to whore myself out? For your little side mission? Like I’m some piece of meat?” Your voice is increasing in volume, Jason wincing at the sound of you wobbling through the last few words. He knew how you felt being used as bait while in Miami, and now it seemed to be happening all over again. 

“Everyone out.” Peña glared at Jason and David, waiting for them to file out of his office, and shut the door tightly behind them. 

When his eyes find you, he stays frozen while you remain stoic. He takes a deep breath, cursing under his breath briefly. “I need you to help me out, here.”

You attempt to not scoff. “Why the fuck should I be doing anything you say?”

“You don’t have to actually do anything.” He’s earnest, stepping closer to you while one hand rests on his hip. 

You can’t help the emotion lacing your voice. “You’re kidding.” Shaking your head, you open your arms wide. “How do you expect me to get anywhere without actually offering up anything?”

He growls in irritation, taking another step toward you. “I just need you to stakeout-talk to the men that come back into town, and get a feel for it. When things get heavier we will send Jason and David out.”

You stare at Peña for another minute, waiting to see if he flinches. If you can see the shift, the change of mind. When you don’t, you sigh. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

It’s like a blow to the chest as he steps back. “What?”

“You heard me.” You snarl, opening the door so Jason and David can hear your announcement as well. 

As you step out, not waiting to see if Peña has anything else to say, Jason follows you to the elevator. “I’ll talk to him, don’t–”

“It’s fine, Jason.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just need to get in the right mindset. Don’t worry about it; I don’t want you telling Peña anything.”

He shuffles, holding the elevator open. “Are you sure? He’s such a hard ass to you, maybe if I tell him what you told me he would change up his plans…”

You give him a forced smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling it out of the way. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the elevator door slides closed with a small wave from Jason, you see Peña’s eyes watching, assessing the interaction. As the door shuts, you take a deep breath and exhale, trying to recenter yourself before stepping into the parking garage. 

You had an inkling of who it would be when you heard a knock on your door a few hours later. You sit on your couch, silent as you wait, and hope that Peña will just walk away. He will understand that you need space. 

You had already cried the minute you stepped over the threshold, feeling that pit in your stomach that you always got when you stepped out onto the docks in Miami. How hands and lips felt against your heated skin where you didn’t want them–

“Hermosa,” Peña calls through your door, jiggling the handle to test if it is locked. “I know you’re there. Let me in.”

You sigh again, waiting for another knock before slinking over to the door and quietly unlocking the deadbolt. He hears it, pushing open the door quickly after and coming face to face with you. 

He huffs, kicking the door shut and shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Were you not going to let me in?”

“No.” You say quietly, sitting on your couch and back down to the book you have bookmarked with a receipt from the corner store. 

He’s silent, standing above you while you refuse to make eye contact. He’s waiting for you to break, but you’re too tired to. When he finally caves, you try to control your lips from ticking up in the corners. “I really need this, hermosa.”

You pick at your fingernails, patiently waiting. 

He sighs again. “There’s a lot of money on the line. Like, millions, if what I’ve been told is correct. The local guys, they’re getting paid on the side by this guy and I need someone in there.”

He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of your coffee table. 

You break your silence, leaning back and crossing your arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Peña pauses, turning to you. He looks flustered, hands having run through his hair by how it sticks out away from the side of his head. “Cash. Cold, hard cash.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “So, I will really be a whore then, won’t I?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want you doing that.” He stretches his neck, clicking his tongue in disgust. “You just, pretend. Don’t do anything crazy–”

You feel anger bubble up inside, over your tongue, and spitting out at him. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?” 

He freezes, shocked in front of you. 

“I don’t get to just say no. I have to be stronger to say no. I have to be strapped to say no. I have to be cute enough to say no. I can’t just not do something once I’ve pretended to offer those things, Javi. These aren’t college boys trying to not catch a rape charge.”

He waits, biting the inside of his mouth as he grows more frustrated. He must know you’re right, must understand what he’s asking you to do. “I won’t let them.” He says quietly, flicking his gaze up to yours. “You have my word, hermosa.”

“I can’t trust that.” You feel worn and tired of the argument. You’ve resigned to the fact that you will have to do this if you plan on keeping your job, and you do plan on it. “I’ll do what you ask of me. It’s my job.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” He growls, reaching forward and squeezing your arms so tightly you squeak. “You’re not going to get hurt in this. I won’t allow it.”

It’s pitiful, really, how you want to laugh in his face. He doesn’t understand, because he’s a man. No matter his reputation with working girls, he doesn’t know. You attempt to pull away from him, but his fingers dig harder into your skin. “Go home, Peña.”

He clicks his tongue at you, tilting his head as if to threaten you. “What happened to Javi, bonita?”

You go to protest, trying and failing again to pull away as he pushes you toward your couch. You clumsily sit back, frowning at him. “I’ll do the job. It’s fine–”

“Lay back.” He barks, kneeling in front of you, his fingers working quickly at the button of your pants. 

You shake your head, resting your hand over his in a silent question. 

He ignores you, pulling the waistline over your hips and down your thighs, underwear soon following as cool air wicks over your skin. You shiver, the contact of his warm fingers, calloused over and rough, over your skin has your legs relaxing wide. 

He lifts one leg easily over his shoulder, smirking when his eyes land on your center. Without further warning, his tongue swipes up your folds, spreading you wide with a groan. “I can’t stop wanting this.”

You throw your head back, unsure if what he said was meant for himself or for you. Words are stuck in your throat, fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, and pulling as his tongue swirls over your clit and down to your center. You want to tell him to keep going, to make you come, but you’re afraid that if you voice your want he will retreat from you. 

One hand squeezes into the skin of your thigh resting on his shoulder, his other working the buttons of his shirt open before coming to your entrance with a sigh. He lets his tongue rest there for a moment, pressing in with the tip and letting you contract around him.  

Javi pulls away, muttering under his breath as he slides one finger into you, a quick “Fuck, so wet for me.” before wrapping his lips around your clit again. 

You swear he would be laughing at you for how quickly you crumbled to his touch if he wasn’t busy with his mouth around you. “Please, I–”

Another smirk appears as he pulls away, curling his fingers inside you to search for that spot he has found again and again. “I won’t let you come,” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your shaking thigh. “Unless you agree to the job.”

You huff, breaths labored and your stomach tightens. “I already agreed.”

“Nuh-uh, mean it hermosa.” He nips your skin, chuckling as your hips jump in an attempt to get away, only pressing his fingers deeper. “Be my little slut, and I’ll share the cash with you.”

You close your eyes to try to focus, his fingers pressing, pressing, pressing against that spot inside of you that he has an obsession with, holding your breath. It’s overwhelming, the pressure in your core building and overheating. 

Sweat pools in the dip of your collarbone, the shirt you still have on soaking it up as you pull on his hair again. “Yes, yes–fuck. I’ll do it.” 

Javi hums, leaning forward again to press his lips to your center, his tongue and fingers working in tandem as a wave of ecstasy crashes over your skin. 

You’re floating, feeling him slow between your legs and breathe against your skin. He says something you can’t really hear, gently setting your leg down on the floor before adjusting himself. A pointed look is thrown your way, your furrowed brow indicating that you didn’t hear him. 

He shakes his head, wiping at his mustache for a moment. “Stakeout starts next week.”

[firewalkzwit]

in the mood for love // neil lewis x reader

To accept that life is not David Lynch's magnificent "Blue Velvet", or much less Billy Wilder's "Double Indemnity", was not an easy thing for a man like Neil Lewis, who adored nothing more than to vicariously live through the screen time of the 50's Hollywood heartthrobs that starred as his favourite characters.

So, in the event that a Rohmerian woman whose quirk could even be seen through her yellow lens Godard-ish sunglasses, Neil found it to be an offer he couldn't refuse.

Word count: 2.8k

Cross-posted on AO3

A.N: i actually never finished watching the detectives bc i was honestly not a fan of the plot so bare with me lol, i was only too in love w cill and lucy liu's characters but the movie itself kinda disappointed me

also, yes i made them fans of MY favorite movies, arrest me.

The sound of intense tapping of nails on the counter, crowded by a disastrous attempt at organising countless VHS tapes scattered all over it, caused the plastic of the films to rattle as the table vibrated. Neil's tired eyes rolled upwards to catch a glimpse of the face before him, a slight frown drawn between her eyebrows and an intensely inquisitive stare which hardly helped him to decipher what exactly she wanted that actually merited bothering him.

The harsh placement of the VHS on his desk caused him to grit his teeth, it felt almost imperative, and it ached him to see his most prized possessions be mistreated. His eyes drifted back up to her, the yellow-tinted lens of her sunglasses still didn't stop him from finding them oddly familiar. Scanning to the rest of her clothes as if he wanted to glimpse her personality based on her looks, he felt like a detective. The black minidress on her body was rather loose, and the sleeves ended close to the start of her wrists, as if it was too short for her arms. It seemed like an intentional fashion choice, despite how unflattering it looked to him. The dress hugged her waist in the centre, with a peculiar silver belt he'd only see in the outfit of a woman in a nouvelle vague film. In fact, her entire style seemed to be the one of a sixties Parisian flâneur, as if she was ruthlessly trying to imitate Anna Karina. Over the turtleneck that culminated her dress, a thin, long golden chain that went as low as her belt had a large and round golden pendant hanging from it.

But as soon as she spoke he was disappointed to find no thick, sexy french accent, but rather an ordinary speech, almost too friendly and passive to be attractive. His eyes drifted down to the VHS on his desk; while he expected Vivre Sa Vie, le Bonheur or Pierrot le Fou, there was no La Collectionneuse on his desk, but rather the most unexpected of outcomes.

Jane Birkin would never rent a chick-flick, Neil thought.

The membership she handed did not belong to her, it was that of a man's, an old one too, judging by his name.

"Alright, that will be eight dollars."

"Jeez, eight?"

"Eight."

"You do know the other rental charges only five, right?"

"I was not aware, thank you." Not only was she of poor taste, but also quite irritating. Even though he refrained from explaining how being a smaller business practically obliged him to charge more to make an actual profit, it was before he could begin to explain the late fees that she snatched the VHS from his hand.

"I'm actually going to keep looking." And just like that, she turned and began to walk slightly bent over, looking at the orange labels that hung on the shelves. Curiosity consumed him, and he also felt it his duty as the owner of the videoclub to assist his customers in making a choice.

"Are you looking for something in particular?"

"Well... What do you have with Robert De Niro?" Neil's eyes suddenly lit up, as if her personality had a chance at salvation the moment those words came out of her mouth.

"Most of his works, there's his classics like Goodfellas, Taxi Driver... I even have Heat if you're looking for something more thrilling."

"Heat?"

"Heat is one of the most critically acclaimed nineties crime dramas. It also stars Al Pacino, it's this kinda' cop and criminal trope but so realistically achieved, even the sound of firearms is claimed to be one of the most realistic in the history of film-"

"I'll just take that one." The tip of her finger slowly grazed his as she gently took the Heat VHS from his hands, a friendly awkward grin displaying discomfort. "It's just for my dad."

"Oh... Sixteen Candles' for you I guess." A soft nasal laugh left her body as her head tilted down, shaking in denial.

"No, that's for my dad too." Ok, weird, but by then she had undeniably picked his curiosity.

"Nothing for you then?"

"I prefer a cheaper rental, this is my dad's membership." As if he couldn't see for himself that such a name would never belong to her, it could only be that of an old geezer who he still struggled to recognise even though he was a member. And even though she intended to make a subtle comment, it did not come off that way.

"Oh yeah? And what do you rent in the cheaper club?" Media Giant could have a wider offer and lower prices, but Neil assumed it wasn't a real loss if the clientele consisted of girls like her.

"I like French movies, Harmony Korine, seventies giallos... Why, you want me to rent them from you instead?" While her first pick was particularly predictable, Italian giallos were a genre he was interested in exploring, and of which he hardly had any in his extensive collection. Neil shrugged almost dramatically, trying to incite her to take yet another pick.

"It wouldn't hurt your dad. Except for the giallo part, ‘can't help you there."

"You mean you have no giallos here?" His face deformed into an awkward pout, as if he'd been defeated in his own ground. "You look like the type of guy to own them on Criterion."

"I don't think so, no." By that point, the humiliation of her light cackle upsetted and confused him even further, returning her change as she piled up the tapes.

"If you ever want to watch a good Dario Argento movie, you let me know when I return you these." And marking her goodbye with a soft grin that slightly lifted the sunglasses that rested above her cheeks, Neil was taken aback beyond speech. Was it a date? Was she joking? He couldn't quite understand, and so couldn't come up with a proper response.

But seven days passed before she returned, and he would have to charge her the late fees that added to the sixteen dollars. However, in the course of those five days Neil hardly remembered her, briefly making a comment about it to his friends. Neil was not the type of man to stress easily, and he was exercising his peace that particular afternoon as he watched the director's cut of Psycho, to him a movie that truly never got old. He snacked on the couch in a slobby posture, his limbs spread over it without a care about presentation. It was not the type of day for him to expect too many customers, and it was too hot to go outside anyway. Hardly did he ever struggle to find an excuse to stay in anyway, so when he heard the doorknob pushed down his expression shifted into a displeased grimace. His eyes peered over the backrest, displeased to find that someone had indeed come in.

As he got up and stretched, mindfully appearing to be homeless, he caught a glimpse of her again. Her head was tilted and on her hands were the two tapes she had borrowed. He was surprised to have even forgotten that he'd rented her the films, usually being more attentive about what went in and out of his club. Probably the bizarre interaction had caused him to forget. That time she wore a tiny pair of black shorts with black stockings up the knees and also black, sharp-pointed flats. The usual thick, high-waisted belt accompanied a loose sage blouse, which was accessorised with elongated collars of various unique beads, and the peculiar yellow-tinted shades. Not that Neil cared at all about fashion, nor did he understand it, but he assumed she was going for chic.

"Sorry for not coming by sooner, hope you didn't miss these." She placed the tapes on the counter and quickly began looking through her pockets for the money she assumed she'd have to pay for being two days late. Before he could tell her how much extra she owed, she placed the four dollars on top of the movies.

"How'd you know how much..." Neil's finger drew a circle above the tapes and the money, as if she was some sort of genie or simply gambling with how much he'd charge compared to his prime competitor.

"My dad." She quickly interrupted, offering him her usual small grin of politeness before making her way out. Yet by that point Neil wasn't oblivious to her previous invitation, overwhelmed by the curiosity her strange looks provoked him.

"Is... the offer for that Dario Argento still up?" He could tell she was smiling through the way her cheeks lifted, visible from behind, and the way her voice sounded. When people smile and talk, their voice accommodates to the wider lips and sound friendlier.

"Glad you asked."

It was by that point that the old-Hollywood mystery enthusiast Neil and the French new-wave, foreign murder-thriller enjoyer Y/N frequented each other in what consisted of visits to the Gumshoe Video and her place. In contrast to his original impression of her, she was quite the film collector, owning a perfect shrine that ranged from art house Kino Lorber films to a wide range of classics on Criterion. She was truly well stocked. The only thing obvious to him from the start was that she was a great enthusiast of foreign films, something she even gave away in the unique way she dressed.

She was also an occasional actress, kindly starring in the indie projects of some of her film geek friends, many who shockingly knew Neil as well. It was natural for them to have so many people in common, especially because people with mutual interests were bound to come across each other in such a small town, however he was surprised to not have seen her previously roaming around or in any of his friends' films. She had a look that just gave away she'd be into acting, the role of a muse seemed to fit her character perfectly.

Because of this, as soon as Neil began to grow an interest in impressing her, she was surprised to hear he wanted to try and film an experimental short, try his luck at producing something beyond an advertising trailer for his videoclub, something more artistic.

Obviously he invited her to star in it, and even though he'd expected her to jump in his arms in excitement, never did she show herself to be shocked or taken aback by any of the bizarre propositions he had in mind. Neil wasn't very knowledgeable or even interested in the world that existed beneath experimental indie films, but she seemed to be willing to comply with the various shots of strange ideas he sketched frantically in strangely-drawn frames.

When it was finally time to shoot, it was clear that the whole tape would be very rudimentary, using the 35mm film gauge she had offered to lend him, demanding that he treat her camera with extreme care.

Despite Neil's attempts of disclosing what exactly he had in mind, rough sketches were clearly not enough, as the minute they began to shoot and the scenes began to come to life, it became too clear to her that Neil just wanted to see her naked, behaving like a conceited filmographer in poor attempts of masking his amateurism. It was hard to imagine senior film-makers like Jean-Luc Godard, especially the favourites of Y/N, and the thousands of breast and butt-naked women takes they had witnessed being filmed in their lifetime. Neil found it hard to imagine them behaving with naturality, but then again he assumed it was the only way to behave if they were actually in search of pristine shots.

"You don't seem to be taking this too seriously." She finally scolded, her forearm hugging her chest to cover her breasts once Neil cut the cameras.

"What do you mean? I'm directing here."

"You're wasting film in countless shots of my tits, what message are you trying to convey?" Interrogation was not on his plans, especially because Neil expected artistic and abstract film to not be questioned, but rather merely interpreted.

"It's about... the beauty of the raw human body." His tone didn't project confidence, and Y/N could tell he was feeding her bull-shit.

"Okay, then I'll film you too."

"Sorry, what?"

"It's not the human body if you also don't see the male." He didn't seem too convinced, obviously it was far more amusing to simply watch than to have to partake. "You and all these film-makers are so open minded when it comes to seeing women, but there's still a taboo for the male body." Neil couldn't find in him the interest to follow her idea. Obviously she had a valid point, but he was never the type to pay attention to the underlying message behind highly interpretable films, rather driven to puzzling movies where connecting the dots until the end was the reason to get his brain working.

However, how could he disagree? By that point it couldn't get more intimate than that, and a sudden high of confidence invaded him and prompted him to begin to undress himself. He began by his shirt, clumsily taking it off and visibly embarrassed. As he begins to rid himself from his pants and underwear, feeling the lens of the camera stare at him probingly, the desire to turn back strikes him to his core. He finally stands there, exposed and naked. He tries to look defiant and confident, but he's achingly vulnerable.

The camera is delighted with his expressions, and his body is posed like he wants to bend inwards and disappear into the air, but just when the filming of his most exposed self seems to never end, the camera lowers and his eyes meet with hers, and her own naked body too.

The naturality with which she accepted being in the spotlight seemed to indicate it was not the first time she filmed something of the sort, and Neil began to wonder who exactly had been gifted with pioneering in such a scene. He, on the other hand, was awkward and hardly artistic, his skinny body and shaky blue eyes screaming how out of place he felt.

"Do you think that's good enough?"

"Yes, I can't keep lending you more film anyway."

"That was... something." As she sat on the floor naked, her back arched sideways and her legs to her left as her arm supported the body, displaying total relaxation. Meanwhile, he couldn't wait for her permission to get back dressed, staring at her clothes as he waited for her to pick them up and imply she could do the same.

"It's a great thing when you realise you still have the ability to surprise yourself. Makes you wonder what else you can do that you've forgotten about."

"American Beauty?"

"Yes." In a way, the scene did share odd similarities to the American classic. The filming of odd, regular things and their naked bodies, Neil was bound to expect what would come next would follow as in the movie. He slowly crouched and sat before her, the two sharing brief stares that felt like a lifetime. Her gaze was soft and mellow, contagiously transmitting her tranquillity to his own as he pondered on whether to make a move or not.

By that point it was obvious they were not going to leave that room without something happening before, but the decision of who would initiate the contact seemed to be difficult as the longest minute of their lives passed by them.

So when she finally accommodated her posture and began to lean closer to him, he crawled her way progressing from soft and careful movements to pounding her against the floor. The sound of bone against the wooden floor caused them both to wince, her face wrinkling in a frown of pain. It was before she could hold her head to stroke herself that his own hand slid down from her temple to the back of her head, holding her up to finally kiss her.

The kiss was long, and the sound of their lips engaging in humid contact as their tongues went in and out of each other's mouth echoed across the empty room, Neil's free hand travelling from her navel to her breast as her arms wrapped around his slender body. Her legs followed the motion, soon making her look like she hung from him, clinged to his back as he arched to reach closer to her. Her gaze ogled from the corner of her eye in search of the camera as her arm reached out, finally being released from his grip to set up and continue to film themselves, a prime example of human beauty in its most raw expression.

Needless to say that beyond physical pleasure, it was an intellectual disappointment for the two that despite their love for film, they still couldn't make sex look and feel like a scene from Body Heat, sexiness was greatly rehearsed after all.

this sucks ass i just wanted to write filmbro cillian murphy and yap about my favorite movies tbhngl

[wobblefloss]

[Image description:

Facebook Marketplace ad for

FRAMED HAND KNIT DAVID BOWIE LABYRINTH PORTRAIT

$500

Artist's description states, "I handmade this knit 'Jareth' portrait, made from my own pattern so it's 1 of a kind."

Other images show the black and white yarn portrait of David Bowie from his ruffled cravat bust upwards, scowling his Goblin King frown with dramatic Goblin King eyebrows and magnificent Goblin King glam rock 80s hair. In the final picture, a human is holding the portrait. For the first time, the scale of the artwork is apparent. The piece is at least 3ft × 2ft (approx 1m × 66.666cm), if not larger. The human holding the incredible yarn art is ecstatic.]

I love people.

Here's the Facebook link to her listing. (You may have to be logged into a FB account to view.)

[tyfinn]

Teaser Tuesday

I love that you did this @obsessedwithdavrick, and thank you for the tag. I'm still dealing with some personal garbage, and still using my writing to escape it, even if it is for a little bit. I have two projects I'm actively working on, and this teaser is one I am looking forward to finishing at some point.

The night before he was to get his hair colored, David stared at himself in the mirror after finishing his skin care regimen. He noticed the laugh lines around his eyes he knew Patrick and Stevie were responsible for, and he didn't hate them. He noticed the flecks of gray in his five o'clock shadow. He noticed the beginnings of gray at his temples signaling it was time for a touch-up. 

He was so afraid of looking too much like his dad growing up. He got contacts as soon as he could, kept his unruly magnificent eyebrows groomed, begged and cried for a nose job, and started his skincare regime well before he was teen. 

If he allowed himself to gray, there would be no denying he was Johnny Rose's son.

But, would that be such a bad thing? His father was a well respected businessman, and in the last decade has proven to be a loving father. 

So… Maybe, just maybe, he could give it a try.

And by give it a try, he means not to do the touch-up.

Tagging @apothecarose @jamilas-pen @alysiswriting @mammameesh @statueinthestone @jesuisici33 and anyone else who may have a teaser to share.

[mammameesh]

I posted 777 times in 2022

That's 773 more posts than 2021!

136 posts created (18%)

641 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ramonaflow (my lovely first SC mutual)

@stereopticons

@chambergambit

@apothecarose

@rmd-writes

I tagged 547 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags (i'll get better)

#david rose - 43 posts

#stevie budd - 42 posts

#patrick brewer - 31 posts

#planning nanowrimo - 30 posts

#noahvember - 18 posts

#noah reid - 18 posts

#personal - 16 posts

#schitts creek - 15 posts

#twyla sands - 14 posts

#all queued up - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 98 characters

#this seems like an interesting story...like the five girls that patrick has kissed and the one boy

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Laser

@schittscreekdrabbleblog

Sebastian prowls the park, laser focus sharp and clear. He shoots pictures of possible victims. He turns to a man on the bench, soft pretzel in hand. Hello. He focuses his lenses on the unmistakable figure of David Rose. Him. He licks his teeth while his head formulates a plan. This man will be mine. Sebastian strides up, camera in hand. "You could be a model." Nervous chocolate eyes look up. "Under my tutelage, a man as prolific as you could be a star." David jerks his head and squishes up his nose. "Really?" his voice waivers. "Here is my card."

21 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

#4

For the @schittscreekdrabbleblog bonus word of the week: Blanket.

This gives me all the feels. It is exactly 100 words!

It was Thanksgiving. Patrick and Clint were watching the Sports Ball, David was bored. Marcy was off by herself, sitting by a window crocheting fervently. David padded over nervously and sat next to her rocking chair. "What are you working on?" David asked softly. "A blanket. I make them for all the nieces and nephews." "Could you…teach…me?" David asked hesitantly. Marcy's eyes got wide. "David! I would love to!" she hummed happily and pulled out some soft blue alpaca yarn with a Rose Apothecary label on it. David's dimple popped. "You always start with a slip stitch," Marcy started teaching.

23 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

#3

Review/Deer

For the @schittscreekdrabbleblog

Stevie met Patrick at the café. "Well?" Patrick's eyes got wide. "I can't look." Stevie thrust the paper at Patrick. She buried her head in her hands, as panic started setting in. "Sally is brought magnificently to the stage by unknown Stevie Rosebud…" Stevie made a pained sigh. "4. 1/2 stars! That's good!" Stevie grabbed the newspaper back, "The festivities were overseen by Emcee Patrick Rose…What the hell?!" "Wait your are upset at our names?!" Patrick gave out a giant sigh of relief. "Good, because you are still auditioning with me for Sound of music." "Doe, a deer." Stevie deadpanned.

23 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

#2

I also quilt because my mom and bonus mom left me enough fabric to start a store. Quilting is a labor of love. Crochet is easy like Sunday morning. This is the first quilt that my mom actually started and I just sandwiched and finished.

25 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Patrick's first time in a gay club. He's been here 5 minutes and already he wants to go home. The music is too loud. The lights hurt his eyes. Then the lasers dance on a tall man. One, that seems to be looking him in the eye. Patrick turns around, half expecting to see someone else there. In a moment, light fingers brush his shoulders. He startles out of his haze. "Dance with me?" The stranger demands. Patrick raises an eyebrow, but puts his hands on the strangers waist, he starts to sway. Patrick swears he can see a dimple pop.

@schittscreekdrabbleblog

27 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[hercrusadesheep]

Coffee pt 2 by her crusade sheep

It was a other boring day. I’m sitting in my office job. Still pondering of this woman. I’ve seen last week in my small office with other god awful people faking their smiles and laughing at David same old elephant joke. My ears are muffled out the chaos outside of my tiny little world. I have built for myself as I still have this image of this mysterious woman in the café. “Maybe I should go to the café again” I muttered out, so that’s what I did after some time past it was now 1pm and the shop closes in 6:45pm luckily for me, it was only four blocks away, so I just walked there as I was walking a witness many things to homeless people sharing drugs, a woman holding her slimy baby buying fruit from the local man, three dogs barking at mindless strangers. I finally made it to the doors of the café. I opened it’s doors as a little bell ring above my head it rings like little wind chimes in the Christmas season I look around there was only workers and elderly couple on the far right of the café talking. So I walk my way over to my table which is near the window in the far back of the café, then I go older, my usual black coffee, no sugar no cream just simple black coffee I reached into my case and grab my small half eaten salami sandwich I have made before I went to work as I was eating and watching the birds fly through the window the doors open again and I look up and almost choke on my salami sandwich it was her!!! the reason how and why I remembered it was her. I forgot some details of her face. She has a mole on her right cheek, she has small button nose full lashes and plump lips shaped like a little heart and of course her magnificent brownish blonde hair that is now curled into a bun my eyes are glued onto her as she walks up to the register to order her drink and can feel my heart beating fast in my chest. “Why am I so nervous?!” go speak to her! I yelled to myself internally I cautiously got up from my seat and made my way over. She was midway through to her order and I tap her on the shoulder. She looks at me and smiles softly “can I help you with something”she asked immediately my face bluster with red I was shaking in my dress shoes then she grabs my hands and says “hey why are you shaking so much? are you sure you are OK?” I quickly snapped out of my trance and nervously said yes I am OK but I have seen you before and I would like to get to know you, her eyebrows frown and she has a questionable look on her face then a lightbulb clicks then she says “oh! You’re that man that sits by himself in the far left of the corner of the shop, right?” I can feel my soul dying inside of the words left her mouth she already knows who I am? I know it’s not my nam- my thoughts were immediately watered down by a sudden movement as she garbs her cup of iced coffee with her breakfast bagel i stopped her by softly squeezing her upper arm and she turns back to me and says “ listen I have to be somewhere now, so please make it quick. Well I seen you here last week and I thought if I come here again I could meet you, so now that I’ve met you..can I ask you your name? I said my head hanging low to the floor and I hear her giggle bit and said “ it’s Jennie, what’s yours?” I look up at her with hit of pink and I said uhm..it’s Nicolas. She grins a-bit and she pulls my hand of her and walks out before she says well, I’ll see you around then Nicolas~ as she winks her eye at me…I can feel my legs shake my heart is running on steroids and I feel like a feather blowing in the breeze.. the way she said my name was so captivating that was transported to heavens golden gates! I am a lonesome man that wonders the earth searching for his place of rest and romantic affection..I best believe wholeheartedly that she’s is the one for me and that the bright fiery angels sent her down to this hellhole to be my mate in heaven..

[haverwood]

David Lean: A Self Portrait Thomas Craven USA, 1971 ★★★ I was gonna say something about these old-timers' big ears and magnificently bushy eyebrows but kinda lost my train of thought there…

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Flamingo Road

When Warner Bros. reunited the director and stars of MILDRED PIERCE (1945) for Michael Curtiz’s FLAMINGO ROAD (1949, TCM, YouTube), they created a masterful piece of sheer hokum. Of course, the same could be said about the earlier film, but at least Crawford was well cast in that one. It’s not that she’s bad as a carnival dancer stranded in a small Southern town where she falls for the deputy sheriff (Scott), thereby earning sheriff Sydney Greenstreet’s eternal enmity. Her line readings are expert, she knows how to use her body, and for once she keeps the nostril flaring and heavy breathing to a minimum. It’s just that the early scenes ring false. Even though she’s been working in the butt-end of show business, the character has a degree of innocence and naivete, and however well Crawford reads the lines, that late Crawford face — those insistent lips and eyebrows — plays against them. And though it’s a period thing, it’s rather grating to hear everybody referring to her as a “girl.” She’s a much better fit for the role when she marries political boss David Brian and gets some class and sophistication. It’s a pity the writers didn’t think to put a time lapse in. It would have made her transformation more believable. It also would have helped the plot. On Greenstreet’s orders, Scott dumps Crawford to marry a banker’s daughter so he can serve as a state senator. But within only a few months, Greenstreet is pushing him to the political machine as a gubernatorial candidate. Without his moustache, Scott does well as a weakling, and Greenstreet, despite a Southern accent that sounds more Bostonian, does a bang-up job as the corrupt boss. Crawford doesn’t stand a chance in their scenes together. Three great character types enliven the supporting cast, with Gertrude Michael as a waitress working with Crawford early on, Iris Adrian as her jail mate when Greenstreet frames her for prostitution and Gladys George, magnificent as ever, as the feisty roadhouse owner who’s the only person who can put Greenstreet in his place. Working with cinematographer Ted McCord, Curtiz uses a cluttered mise-en-scene, shadows and composition in depth to put the picture somewhere on the dividing line between Southern gothic and film noir.

[juudaz]

Some notes on Jesus Christ Superstar (Swedish production 2022)

First I just wanna apologise for the extremely poor quality of the photos, hope you still find them interesting. My phone’s camera is no the best.

What I really enjoyed:

- First and foremost: Dilfssssss *cough couch* what I mean is... I love Peter Jöback and Ola Salo, they looked absolutely GORGEOUS. I only wished their hairs were long(er)...

- The High Priest’s and Pharisees’ makeup game was ON POINT

Look at those eyebrows! Magnificent! I also really liked their costumes. All the costumes of the show were a nice mix of modern and like “accurate” style. (I don’t know how to explain that, sorry)

- Caiaphas’s voice was amazing (as usual). Maybe a bit higher than in some other productions but still super nice!

- ANNAS MY LOVE OMG!!! He was so smol and angy and bratty all the time!! XD And he walked like a lil gremlin all crouchy and stuff?! I love him, protect him at all costs

- Caiaphas was played by Kristoffer Hellström and Annas by David Lindström

What are those faces, I can’t

- SIMON THE ZEALOT WAS PLAYED BY A WOMAN

I repeat she was played by a woman!!!! (by Janna Yngwe I think?)

My gay heart almost exploded!! I wanna be her and I wanna be with her (sadly, I didn’t get any good photos of her, damn my camera)

- Mary’s voice was phenomenal, 10/10. She was played by the singer Janice. She was so pretty!

- The outfits were a really nice mix between modern and the “og” 1973 movie outfits. Like you could very easily tell who was a priest and who was a king etc. But then the outfits had like a little modern twist to them, e.g. Simon’s leather body harness-thing.

I LOVED Judas’s final outfit. With all the fringes it felt like an homage to what Judas wears in the 1973 movie. Except now it was also sparkly golden.

Overall the “outfit gayness” was like around 6/10. Chest hairs visible? Yes. Shiny and sparkle? Yes. But it could’ve been more gay. (I’m looking at you 2014 Swedish production) 

Daddy... I mean *cough* Ola!<3

- The set was interesting. At the start of the show all the support pillars(? idk what they are called) were lying on the ground and slowly one by one they were raised to the ceiling as part of the choreography. In fact (my queen) Simon the Zealot climbed up one of them during “Simon the Zealot”.

Look at her go!<3

Also, at all times there were 1-3 wild ensemble cameramen running around and filming the main actors with their little cameras. Most of the time what they were filming was being showed on the big screens at the back of the stage. It was interesting to see the scenes play out from multiple directions and a bit more close up.

- The Temple song was ummmm quite something... omg. The ensemble was strip teasing, grinding and twerking in front of the aforementioned little cameras they had there and that was quite something to experience..

- King Herods omg, the outfit, the SLIPPERS, the pig!!

(that’s exactly what I had written in my notes and tbh it’s quite accurate)

I always love to see the different ways different productions do King Herod. The more erratic, the better, imho. And this one was no different. Anton Lundqvist did an amazing job!

First of all, he was only wearing a pair of swimming shorts? And on his feet he had SLIPPERS that looked like TIGERS?? He also had a sparkly blue cape with a sparkly golden H on the back. (that he at one point used as the swimming pool) Not only was it all very shiny and glorious, it also reminded me of the Swedish flag. I think he also had messy over-lined red lips?

And then there was the giant inflatable pig?? First King Herod just sat on it but at the end he threw a tantrum and threw the pig around...

Also, that blue little sled you can see in the second picture? That was part of the “change my water into wine”-thing but at the end King Herod sat in it and one from the ensamble dragged him off stage as if he was a kid refusing to walk. XD

- Pilate did in fact spit everywhere during “Trial by Pilate”. That passionate monologue at the end would not be the same without all the spitting. (No papayas tho) XD His and the Roman soldiers’ costumes were also pretty interesting with all the cutouts. (Pilate was played by Patrik Martinsson)

- Disco ball Jesus. Yes, you read that right. When Jesus was crucified, Mary pulled some rope that revealed a weird reflective thing on Jesus’s chest? And then some lights were shined to it and he looked like a disco ball. Amazing.

What I wish was better:

- As I mentioned before, Jesus and Judas’s hairs should have been longer!

- Peter was wayyyy too chill about everything that’s happening around him. I wished he’d shown more emotion, especially during “Could we start again please?”. (As with everything) I once again like to compare everything to the 2012 UK Arena Tour production, but just because I think that version of Peter showed soooo much more emotion and actually seemed distressed about denying Jesus etc.

- The betrayal kiss was PATHETIC!! Pathetic, I tell ya!!

Dear Swedish productions of JCS, in 2014 you gave us (one) of the best betrayal kisses known to mankind and now what?? Just a little peck on the cheek??? Like c’mon!! And It was Ola Salo himself as Judas! I was very disappointed to say the least.

I think that concludes my little review of the 2022 Swedish Production of Jesus Christ Superstar. If you read the whole thing, awesome and thank you! I hope there aren’t many spelling mistakes. I have some extra photos I took, so I might share them here later.

[leftoverenvy]

Secrets of the West Wing (ch. 9)

Things are getting a little spicy on a Monday afternoon. Enjoy ;)

Warnings: sexual themes/innuendo (18+); cursing; alcohol consumption

For @sweetprentiss 's spring writing challenge

Bingo Prompt: "Bite me."

Read on Wattpad | Ao3 | Previous Chapters

Chapter 9 - Breaking Point

September 2025

I woke up, nerves settling in the second I remembered what I'd done last night.  I was just waiting for Emily to somehow sense I was awake and come in to chew me out.  But she didn't.  At first I considered that perhaps she didn't know yet, but quickly dismissed the thought as wishful thinking.

I spent all morning on edge.  I was shocked she wasn't waiting for me first thing when I got to the Oval.  I slowly nudged the door open inch by inch, hoping if I spotted her, I could just run away and put this off as long as possible.  Each time the door opened, my heart skipped a beat, anxiety leaping into my throat.  But it was just Reid brining me a file briefing me on what was happening in Georgia.

Around 10:00, the door burst open, no polite knock.  “Are you out of your mind?” Emily demanded, barging into the Oval Office, slamming the door behind her.

Without evening looking up from my file, I responded, “Good morning to you, too, Agent Prentiss.”  The time of reckoning was now.

“I mean have you utterly lost it?” Emily bulldozed.

I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat.  She was absolutely magnificent in her anger - never mind that it was currently directed towards me.  It also didn’t hurt that she was wearing my favorite suit.  I subtly looked her up and down.  I sighed.  “What do you want me to do Emily?   It’s not like I left the White House.”

She moved towards my desk, resting her hands on the edge, leaning towards me.  “I want you to tell the agents on duty that you’re leaving the residence, and more importantly not shake them when they follow you!  Especially because you DID leave.  How could you be so reckless?  Agent Green reported you meandered around, unprotected, in the gardens for over an hour.”

“Agent Green should mind his own business,” I muttered under my breath.  I looked down, now realizing the severity of the situation.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I just needed to clear my mind.”

“And you couldn’t do that with your detail?” she asked with raised eyebrow.

I whispered, “I never get to be alone anymore.”

She exhaled, finally understanding.  “How did you even shake them?”

I coyly looked up at her.  With a glint in my eye, “I can’t reveal all my secrets, Agent Prentiss.”  I winked.  I was rewarded with her ten-thousand-watt smile: the very one that coiled my stomach.   Neither of us dared break eye contact, fearing it would break our connection.  Never once did the impact of her smile lessen; it never failed to set me aflame.  It was especially potent this morning since it had been nine weeks since I'd seen it.  Its intensity zapped me as if I were seeing it for the first time.

She leaned forward even further, nearly halfway over my desk.  “Y/n…don’t. push. me.”  My stomach tightened at the drop in her voice.  Involuntarily, my eyes fell to the gap between her shirt and her flushed chest.  I was always itching to get her voice to drop like that and her eyes to rake over me as they were now.  If I could only get her to lose control.  All control.  Not just partially like she did the night of David's birthday party.  But the heat in her eyes confused me.  Hadn't she just rejected me again last night?

“Madam President,” Penelope interrupted, “You’re needed in the Roosevelt Room.”  Emily snapped her back up straight.  I grimaced; my time with Emily was never enough.  I was eternally perturbed by the interruptions to our time alone, our constant need to remain professional.   Especially when someone interrupted her looking at me like that.

Standing up, I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time just this morning.  “I’m on my way, Penelope, thank you.”  I made my way to the door, straightening my skirt.

I grabbed the doorknob, turning it halfway.  Before I could open the door fully, I turned to Emily and asked, "Can we talk later tonight?"

"I'll bring the wine."  She smiled at me but betrayed her nerves when she brought one finger up to her mouth to chew on her nails.  My day was looking up thanks to one Emily Prentiss.

______________________________

I rushed up to the residence.  I wanted to go home early so I could freshen up my makeup and maybe change.  Every time I tried to break away from the West Wing, someone else needed my attention or signature on some document.  I was so much later than usual, I expected wine to be already poured and waiting for us on the coffee table.  When I finally got upstairs, not only was the wine already poured, but I was greeted by Emily sitting at the dining room table set for two.   She stood up, showing off a sight I'd yet to see: Emily wearing a short, tight dress with a slit up the side.  My breath caught in my throat, and I had to make sure no drool was coming out of my mouth.

The sight of Emily dressed like that short-circuited my brain.  It took me a few beats to catch up and realize Emily was a bit nervous about doing this.  "What's this?" I asked.

"An apology," she explained.  "I'm so sorry about last night.  I was wrong, y/n/n.  I couldn't sleep and I knocked on your door last night to apologize then.  I assumed you were too angry with me to answer.  I learned a few minutes later why you really didn't answer."  Her face contorted in a puzzling combination of a smirk and anger.  Guess she still wasn't over what happened last night.

She continued, "I'm sorry we have to be home, but I can't take you out.  You can't really date like a normal person."

"Date?" I questioned, my heart swelling despite my brain telling me not to get my hopes up for the hundredth time.

She closed the distance, taking my hand.  "Yes.  Date," she responded confidently.  "If you don't mind?  Especially because I know this isn't exactly a conventional first date," she amended nervously.

"I don't want to date like a normal person if it means I get to be on a date with you."  Butterflies swarmed inside me, moving so far beyond my stomach, I thought my whole body might lift off the floor.  But Emily rooted me to the present moment.  She stepped even closer, reaching for my face.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, her lips nearly touching my own.

"Yes," I responded breathlessly.  She wasted no more time.  We'd wasted enough already.  Her lips touched mine ever so softly.  I'd waited over two months just to kiss her again.  My dreams and memories had nothing on the real thing.

She kissed me for a few moments and then pulled back, resting her forehead on mine.  "I'm so sorry, baby.  Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Em."  I smiled up at her, love overflowing from my eyes.  I begged her to see what I wasn't ready to say.  She pressed her lips to mine once again, but quickly pulled away.  I pouted, not finished kissing her.

She chuckled at the sight.  "Come, I ordered your favorite."  She pulled out a chair for me.  Never had I been treated like such a princess.  I beamed.

"I have many favorites, Emily," I teased, "How could you possibly know what today's favorite is?"   I quirked an eyebrow up at her.

She uncovered the plate, revealing chicken tenders, french fries, and honey mustard.  I gasped.   "I thought this was going to be a fancy meal!  You DO know my favorite.  THANK you."

"I know better than to buy you fancy food, baby," she teased.  She continued, lightheartedly poking fun at me, "I don't know what you do during official dinners, though.  Never seen a president be such a picky eater."

"I enjoy the finer things of life in the form of purses," I defended.

"And shoes."  She rolled her eyes.  I couldn't help but smile even though she was teasing me.   Things finally seemed back to normal with Emily.  Maybe even better than normal.  She was far more open with flirtatious comments and gentle touches here and there.  The casual intimacy of her just squeezing my hand on top of the table every now and then caused my heart to skip a beat each time.  It was as if these last two months hadn't happened.

I changed the topic.  "Um…Em?" I bit my lip, nervous to bring this up.

"Hmm?" she hummed, her mouth full of food.

"What is this?  I mean, what are we doing here?  I just want to be on the same page; I can't live like I have been for the past two months," I explained.

She wiped her hands, and then reached for mine.  "Oh baby, I'll spend the rest of my days making the last two months up to you.  I can't apologize enough."

I interrupted her, "I don't want a million apologies, Emily.  I recognize you were scared, and it wasn't fair for me to push as hard as I did.  And I'M sorry for that.  I know your history with the CIA and Ian left a few scars, but it isn't like that this time.  Can't you see how different this is?  I don't need a commitment, or even an answer right now.  I just want you to think about where you see this going…"

She needed no time.  "I'm yours for as long as you'll have me.  I've been yours since that first day when you flung your shoes off as soon as you walked in and looked up at me with those huge, brown eyes."  It didn't escape my notice that she ignored my comment about Ian and JTF-12.   "You had me from the first look, babe.  It scared me how quickly you captured my heart."

I thought my heart might pound out of my chest.  Surely she could hear it from her side of the table.  "Em-" I breathed out.  Her eyes flared.

She grabbed my chin, ensuring my gaze didn't leave hers.  My thoughts flashed to how it felt when she pushed me against the wall and kissed me.  A surge of energy moved down my body.   "You gotta be careful saying my name like that, Angel."  Her voice strangely sounded like a warning; the edge in it excited me more than it should have.

"Or what?" I challenged.  I had my suspicions (hopes?) Emily would be rough in bed, and suddenly I HAD to know.  Surely with as much sexual tension as we had, we'd be sexually compatible.

"Y/n/n…don't start with me."  I was so close to pushing her overboard.  Her voice had that same rough, low gravel it did earlier in my office.  I wondered what it would take to push her to her limit.

"Or WHAT, Emily?" I leaned forward.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Y/n/n, I think we should talk about something.  I want to discuss our sexual preferences and boundaries."  Finally.  I smirked at her.  She swallowed a huge gulp of wine.  "I don't know how much you know about bdsm…?" she trailed off.  I assumed she was hoping I'd fill in.  I nodded, excited for her to continue.  "Well, I'm what you'd call a Dom.  And when you push me like that, I want nothing more than to take you over my lap and-" she cut herself off.

"And what?" I asked breathlessly, my face as pink as I wished my ass was right now.

"Well, we should talk about what this part of our relationship will look like.  We should talk about limits and even if you want this part of me.  I know it's…different.  I'm happy to find some general information about the bdsm community for you."

"There's, uh, no need for that, Emily.  I'm already pretty well-versed in the dynamics here and I'm very interested in being your sub.  I hope you can deal with a little brattiness."

"I do not tolerate brats," she said with such authority.  I squirmed in my seat.  "You will follow my rules and commands."  My breathing was embarrassingly heavy - like I had just gone on a run.  "I don't know what this means for our professional relationship, however.  I can't be your Dom at work.  It would look odd for the President to be following my orders."

"Punish me in private?" I suggested.

"Does that include last night?  Because I wanted nothing more last night than to punish you for your little stunt," she admitted.  I stifled a moan, attempting to cover it up by clearing my throat.   "Hmm…it seems like that excites you," Emily said, not falling for my deception.  "How do you like to be punished, Angel?"

"Swats.  And edging if I'm really bad, ma'am."  Her eyes darkened, her grip on the stem of her glass tightening.

"I wonder what the American people would think if they knew America's Sweetheart was so filthy…"

"Bite me," I pushed back, not in a sub headspace yet.

"That can be arranged, love."  I melted, suddenly too hot.  I couldn't think of anything except getting her teeth on my body.

"Em-" I whined, unable to say anything else.

She leaned across the table and placed her mouth over mine.  I grabbed her face to keep her close.  Just a few words and she turned me to a desperate, needy mess.  My panties were ruined.   She pulled back, "Baby, pick a safe word before this goes too far."

"I use the stoplight system," I rushed out, desperate for her lips to be back on me.  She sat back in her chair, a foreboding smirk on her face, hand lifting to rest her chin in her hand.  I fidgeted in my seat, attempting to relieve the ache between my legs.  Her eyes bored into me and her finger stroked her chin.  I needed those fingers in me.

"Is there dessert?" I asked in an effort to conclude the dinner portion of the evening.

"Only if you let me have you."

Continue to next chapter

[cardierreh15]

♦️ Sleeping Diamond♦️

Hey guys! This is Chapter 2 of Sleeping Diamond ♦️ enjoy!

** I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Mentions of Death , Greif , Bloody Descriptions , Angst ,

Pairing: Henry Cavill(David-POV) x African American Woman(Kassandra)

Word Count: 2.2K

Chapter 2: Bigger Picture

‘Heaven… I must’ve finally made it if you’re here my love.’ Her blood-stained lips curled into a beautiful pearly white grin, as if she were proud to be here. As if she was so happy to see him. The woman had seem to be so sure that he was the one she had known to be George.

David kept his hands on his neck as he slowly approached the woman with caution. He knew that if she wanted to kill him, he probably would have been dead already. Unless she was baiting him. But regardless of how much he feared for his life at the moment, he was still fascinated with his finding. He had to bring her back! He had to tell the world about how magnificent and beautiful she truly was. They wouldn’t believe him if he went without her. But first, he had to find out who this George was, and why was he so important?

‘You remember this thing we use to do… here—‘ she smiled softly before lifting her fingers up gently, pointing towards him. David’s eyebrows rose slightly as he slowly pulled his hand away from his neck and pressed his index finger right up against hers, looking deeply into her golden eyes. A soft yellow hue glowed at their fingertips. And what happened was something unbelievable! It was like their emotions became one. Like they created a bond.

But that wasn’t all he felt… he saw her memories. Her happiest moments and her saddest. He saw him! The man she knew as George! And he was his doppelgänger! They had the same hair, the same bright blue oceanic eyes, the same pointy nose and dimpled chin. They had a love that was so strong, he could feel it in his bones. And the moment David saw Kassandra being stabbed in her chest, the both of them immediately pulled away.

‘Impossible.’ David whispered. He was so full of skepticism, he was just hoping he’d wake up from this dream. He approached her, ‘How did you—‘

‘You’re not George!’ She took a step back. The look of happiness had vanished and fear took its place. She was scared of him. And after things he saw, the way those villagers had treated her and her lover— he had to reassure her that no harm would come to her. ‘I—I’m not here to hurt you Kassandra. I’m not like those— people.’ He held his hand out towards her, ‘You don’t have to be afraid. Not anymore. Times have changed— look, if you don’t trust me…’ he got on his knees, looking at the floor, thinking about what he was doing before he looked back up at her. ‘You can kill me now.’

It grew quiet for a long, long moment. One that caused a lump to grow in his throat. His head fell, trying to catch his breath as he felt the silky fabric of her dress brush against his cheek and hands. Then she squat down before him; placing one hand on his shoulder while her other hand lifted his chin. ‘No need. You have awakened me. For that I am forever in your debt. I am afraid I can’t say that for your friends— what is your name?’

David looked around, his friends, were hidden by the darkness around them. ‘David…’ then he looked back up at her. His bright blue eyes studied her face. She had been in the sunlight. Like she was a human, it didn’t damage her skin, she didn’t burn. ‘My name is David.’

A small smile curled on her full lips, she kept her hand on his shoulder while the other moved from his chin to his strong jaw, ‘David… like the Bible? … like — Beloved.’ Her eyes pierced deeply within his soul, as if his deepest darkest secrets were buried within it.

‘Yes.’

The small smile she held, only grew larger at his confirmation. She stood up slowly. It was like she moved like water. So fluid and with no effort. There was no way that vampires had to have come from hell… because he was almost certain she was an angel. She then turned away and walked back into the darkness. David scrambled to his feet, ‘Wait— where are you going?’ It grew dangerously quiet. He waited patiently before, ‘Kass—‘

‘I’m here darling.’

Her beautiful, smooth British accent — a sound he was already in love with like a song. A sweet melody he was so willing to die to hear over and over again. David quickly turned around quickly where he saw his deceased friends laying before her. She held Meredith in her arms. ‘AUGH!!’ He stumbled back in fear. She cackled at his clumsiness. ‘Did you— did you—?!’ His teary eyes studied their deceased faces. So gone. Not a single sign of them coming back.

‘No. Except for her. She tried to steal from me. Which is how I was awakened in the first place. I didn’t know if I should have thanked her— or drank her dry… so I did both.’ And Kassandra gently placed her down on the concrete next to her friends.

‘If it wasn’t you then— who was it?’ His wild eyes glanced from her face back towards his friends. ‘When you moved the lid of my coffin, you released a dangerous entity. One that is to curse anyone who’s to flee … or in your case… kill anyone it could get it’s hands on…’

He paused and looked around in confusion, ‘How come it didn’t kill me?’

‘Anything I touch… should not be harmed by it. When I touched you— you were then off limits.’

It was a relief sure… but he felt horrible about the fate of his friends. That sudden guilt weighed on his shoulders like a shroud. He was sick to his stomach. He’d be bringing her back… but his friends— not alive at least. Until he had an idea. ‘Can you change them?’

‘How many others are there?’ She asked as she placed their hands on top of the other.

‘3… what does that—‘

‘It’s too dangerous…’

David’s eyebrows tugged together in confusion. ‘I—I’m sorry but what does that have to do with anything?!’

Kassandra looked up at him before once again slowly rising to her feet, ‘Meaning that there is too much temptation. I wouldn’t be able to stop 5 Newborn Vampires from the one thing that drives them insane.’ She sighed and shook her head, ‘I already have enough blood on my hands David… I won’t be the cause of anymore carnage…’ there it was again. She stared into his eyes once again, and he stared back until he looked down.

‘We have to go. Is there a quicker way to get to the surface or—‘

Kassandra lifted her hands and waved them around gently before a large open space appeared at her command. Around this interesting “portal” it glowed a soft yellow. And on the inside, looked like a puddle of water. She looked back with a sheepish smile. ‘Will this work?’

David’s eyes grew in shock, was there anything she couldn’t do?! ‘Teleportation. How’d did you—‘ he looked down at her. And she looked up at him, ‘That is only for me to know my dear. Come. Join hands with me and focus on where you’d like to go.’ And she held her hand out towards him.

‘What about— what about them?’ He asked before glancing back then back towards her. ‘What about them?’ David’s eyes narrowed at her and a distinguishable frown curled downward on his face. ‘Ugh— fine. We’ll come back for them.’ She groaned and waved her hand forward. David walked forward and took her much smaller hand into his larger palm and they walked into the portal.

— They walked out of the portal— well— she walked out of it. David stumbled out and fell against a wall, puking up all of the contents of his stomach.

‘DAVID!’ The group of men called out and rushed towards him. They helped him up as he dry heaved and clenched at his knees.

Kassandra watched the men try to pull David back together. She noted that David didn’t take the portal too well. Which caused her to smirk. George didn’t take it all too well either. The memory caused her to look down.

‘Where’s— where is everybody?’ Jacob asked. ‘My brother? Meredith? Are they still in the cave?’

By this time David was drinking a bottle of water, and finally recovered from his episode. He didn’t know how to tell him that his brother was dead and they they had to come back for their bodies. ‘Jake— they…’ he didn’t have the courage. So he was blessed that she stepped in.

‘They died. David was the only one who survived.’ She said it emotionlessly. ‘But no worries. They died like warriors. Fighting.’

David’s eyes grew slightly, quickly regretting letting her say it for him. She wasn’t compassionate. Was that because she had been gone for so long? She had no idea how to wield and understand human emotions. ‘Kass—‘

‘What?! — what do you mean they’re all dead?!’ Jacob looked over at David. It was obvious that his emotions were hit like a freight train. David couldn’t say anything. He just kept tapping his thumb into his palm. Something he did when his anxiety started to kick in. ‘HELLO?!’ And Jacob shoved David in his chest, causing him to smack right against the stone of the cave. Frazier and Mason grabbed Jacob by his shoulders.

And with the speed of light and then some, Kassandra rushed to David’s aid and stood in front of him. ‘That’s enough. Your friends died by the hands of something they could not kill. This was out of David’s hands.’

Frazier’s eyebrows tugged together, ‘Jesus…’ before his head fell forward.

‘No… not him either.’

‘Kassandra… no. Not now.’ He stood up straight and placed his hand on her shoulder before gently pushing her aside to get to his friends. ‘I knew nothing of this… Jacob… Frazier, … Mason. I’m sorry… I would have never— put your lives in danger. You know this.’

Jacob broke out into a sob and the 4 remaining men embraced one another in a pained sob.

Currently

Beep. Beep. Beep. The microwave sounded. The sound of popping filled the kitchen as he checked his phone for emails before he called it a night. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But just as he was about to turn his phone on “Do Not Disturb”, David got a text from Jacob in the group chat.

‘Hey guys. Just sending an update. They went to recover the bodies … but no one was there to recover.’

David’s eyebrows tugged together in confusion, as he felt his heart begun to pick up its pace. Everything faded out, the noise from the television, the popping in the microwave. His eyes kept reading: recover, bodies, no one, recover, recover, recover.

‘DAVID?’

Her sweet harmonic voice brought him out of his daze. He looked over at her with a soft smile. She had her elbows on the back of the couch, with her cute rounded face resting in her palms. Her long spiraling hair fell over her shoulders like water falls. And they were so soft to the touch. ‘Are you alright? I can hear your heart beating fast.’

Sometimes he would forget how “inhuman” she was. How simple things like that would just rattle her nerves. ‘I am alright. Just— thinking about some things.’ He said as he gently tugged the handle of the microwave and pulled it open. ‘Well, think faster please! I want this corn!’ She squealed. David chuckled at her excitement. He grabbed a large bowl out of the cabinet, popped open the hot bag and poured them in the bowl.

David walked out of the kitchen after turning out the light. He plopped down on the couch next to her as she clapped happily, ‘It’s called Popcorn Kassie.’ She quickly reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. ‘Whatever it is called David, I want it.’ She popped the buttery snack in her mouth and hummed happily at the taste. ‘I could never get tired of this stuff!’

He looked over at her as she chewed happily. He also watched as she reached over and grabbed the remote. She pressed a button, and instead of pressing play— she hit the “News” button. ‘Oh—uh oh. I always—‘ ‘Oh no it’s OK—‘

‘We are here taking statement from one of the researchers who had made this astounding discovery! Dr. Meredith Richards— tell us about this fascinating discovery—‘ ‘I asked to not be filmed. Get that camera— GET THAT CAMERA AWAY FROM ME!’ And she had seem to shove the camera away along with the camera man.

David was sitting to the oldest living thing and still, what was shown on television had him in disbelief. He felt sick to his stomach. ‘Isn’t that—‘ ‘Meredith…’ he muttered softly before he looked at his phone that started to light up and buzz like crazy.

Guys! Turn on the TV! Is that Meredith?! They’re alive! They’re all alive!

‘This isn’t right. Something’s wrong. I just know it— that’s not them.’ David glared into the screen before looking back at Kassandra who seem to have realized something. ‘Kassie… what’s wrong? Is it about them?’ He reached behind her and placed his hand gently on her back as her small hands rested on her cheeks.

‘What have I done?’

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies - pt. 7

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3.8k

Chapter Summary: You stay an extra day in the jungle because your feelings about Frankie are too confusing, Javi is concerned and calls you a lot

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. DUBCON mentions and references, SMUT!!!! p in v sex (not wrapped up, but obvs be safe irl), some violence and threatening with knives but maybe it's hot, BLOOD OKAY NOT A LOT AND ONLY A LITTLE FREAKY ABOUT IT, SUE ME. dirty talk, anxiety, feelings that are confusing and not expressed well (reader compartmentalizes she must be a Capricorn)

A/N: Hey ya'll! I don't know NOTHING about Miami; never been, and I don't plan on going, so don't judge me for how I scrolled in reallllllll close on google maps, okay? I did an edit in my document, but within tumblr I didn't so if you see mistakes no you don't. In all seriousness, if I have missed any tags for trigger warnings, please let me know and I will fix it. Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

The trilling ring pierces his ears, irritation growing with each passing second. The click of your voicemail, followed by silence as Javier hopes and waits that you’ve picked up. Javier growls into the speaker when it’s clear that you haven’t, anger clear on his face. “Fucking call me back, or at least answer your damn phone.” He slams his receiver down, sighing heavily. 

You hadn’t called him back or picked up the phone in over a week. He knew it was his fault; how he treated you, how he wouldn’t listen to you. How he was unable to tell you exactly what he was wanting and feeling made him angry all over again. 

And to top it off, Jason was up his ass. “Hey, boss.” Jason called, too cheery to be in his office. “Any word from the jungle?”

“No.” Javier grunted, leaning back in his chair. He had given up on trying to keep what you were doing under wraps from Jason and David. “But she’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jason sits hesitantly in the chair across from him, sliding him a coffee cup. “Based on her most recent information, I think we have enough to go in there.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “She’s confirmed there’s drugs out there, and that there is money in and out. We don’t have to know where the money is to–”

“Let’s see what she comes back with this time.” Peña says, popping the top of the disposable coffee cup off to let it cool down. “It’ll be soon though, I don’t want…I don’t want this leaving the four of us.”

“I know.” Jason sighs, looking behind him. Bill Stechner walks by, just as Jason looks back to Peña with raised eyebrows. “I assume because we don’t want him to know?”

Peña rolls his eyes, shooing Jason away. Jason of course was correct, Stechner was in fact the reason you were secretly in the jungle and not surveying the Cali Cartel. But Javier wanted to stand by his promise to keep you safe, and so he would. 

Your cellphone beeps on the table, Peña’s name scrolling across the screen and flashing for what feels like the millionth time. You roll your eyes, legs shaking under the kitchen table of Yovanna’s crash house.

It’s your last night in this place, and while you won’t miss it, it makes you sad to see all of your stuff fit into one bag. You know you’ll have to do the same to the apartment that Peña had set up for you, but the jungle feels like a completely different world from what you go back to every other weekend. 

You feel a pang in your chest at the thought that Frankie may not show up, and that you’ve wasted your time just to spend one more night with him. Peña will be more furious than he already is and you’ve risked blowing your cover.

It’s easy to convince yourself that you are stringing Frankie along to gather more information’ it’s the easiest excuse for when Peña ultimately berates you. Something in the back of your mind nags you that it isn’t just for more information; that you are having feelings. 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when your phone begins beeping again and a knock comes to the door. You shoot up out of your seat, silencing your phone and sliding it into your pocket before taking a deep breath and waiting. 

A knock comes again, and you race to the door, opening it to find Frankie leaning against the porch post opposite the door. He smirks, looking down at your body and back up again. “Changed your mind?” He drawls, arms crossed over his chest.

You shrug, turning to let him through the door. “Figured another day wouldn’t hurt.” He chuckles, boots heavy as he steps forward. 

When Frankie steps past, you smell something different–the cigarettes, the jungle seem to be no longer lingering on his skin. The smell of musk fills your senses, and your insides melt at the thought that he put on cologne for you. 

Frankie eyes your packed bags, looking back at you with his ears red. “Ready to bail though, I see.”

You nod, giving a half smile. “Yovanna said that the lease is up and that she’s not renewing so…sort of my last night close to the jungle.”

Frankie hums, looking around briefly before turning back to you. “You want to make it count?”

You can’t help the smile that creeps up your face, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it. “What did you have in mind?”

The look on Frankie’s face changes, determined as he steps toward you. His hands rest on your hips, gently pulling you away from the door and into his body. He’s warm, heat radiating from his skin and through his clothes to you. 

You sigh, hands naturally traveling up to his shoulders to support yourself. Their taunt, pulled tight in his shirt and you think that maybe he’s…nervous. 

Frankie turns with you in his arms, smirking when you gasp in surprise. “Thought I might bend you over the couch. Maybe…eat you out on the counter for breakfast.” His voice is low and trying to be intimidating, but you swear you hear it wobble with unease. 

“You want me all to yourself all night long, huh? What if I had other customers?” You tease, pushing him away enough to reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

His eyes widen, pupils blown and mouth agape. “No need to lie; you’re not a whore.”

“Who says?” You question, reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. He steps forward, stopping you in your tracks and runs his fingers up your spine. His fingers tangle with yours, popping the clasp open. 

“Me.” He sighs, letting the bra fall to the floor between you. He ghosts his hands to your front, pinching gently and watching you. “Tell me.”

“I’m not a whore.” Falls out of your mouth, unable to stop yourself from admitting the truth. His fingers glide down your abdomen, slowly undoing the button of your pants. 

He chuckles, shaking his head and smiling at you. Frankie’s eyes bore into you, keeping you frozen as his hand covers the front of your panties. He groans when the heat radiates from you to his palm, his fingers twitching. “No, but you’re my whore, aren’t you?”

You find yourself nodding, mouth open to breath deeper. “Yeah.”

“Say it.” He bites out, holding you secure and still in his grasp. 

Before you can speak he has you turning around, pushing you against the closest wall and grinding his center against yours. Still buttoned up pants restrain him, his cock hard and pushing against the fabric. 

It’s embarrassing, the way your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your center as he grinds. He’s quick as he pushes down his pants enough to let himself spring free, grasping himself to stroke just a couple times before leaning forward to let his mouth wander. 

Down your spine Frankie trails wet lips, hot air puffing out onto your raised skin. He’s quick as he strips your underwear from you, biting briefly into the meat of your ass to hear you gasp before sinking himself into you. You close your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins at the feeling of him fully seated inside you. It’s a whisper, barely audible as you say. “I’m your whore.”

Frankie doesn’t stop, thrusting harder and laughing. His hand planted on your hip comes up to your face, gently pushing it away from your cheek to get a better look at you. “That’s right baby. My whore.”

Agent Peña calling

The flash on the tiny screen of your cell phone is bright in the dark room that Frankie lays in, waking him enough to glance over to your spot in the bed to see you’re not there. 

Agent  Peña calling

This time he picks up the vibrating device, furrowing his brow at the name and racking his brain to see if Santiago had said it before. He does not know this man, but you do. 

Agent Peña calling

The shower is running, and Frankie doesn’t know what time it is but he’s itching to pick up the damn phone. Why would an agent be calling you? How many clients–

Frankie’s blood runs hot as the phone finally stops and he’s able to open it up into the most recent calls.

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

Agent  Peña outgoing

Agent  Peña incoming

Agent Peña incoming

The one outgoing call from just a couple weeks ago stands out to him. The date makes him think of when he brought you to the motel for the first time. Frankie reads it once, twice, three times before he sets the phone back down in the same position he found it in, sitting up to reach for his jeans on the ground. 

He shakes as he pulls his switchblade out; cold in his hand, the click of the blade flipping out and stepping out of your bed. He moves silently into the dark corner behind the bathroom door, adrenaline pumping through him. The shower shuts off, your soft hum as you move around the bathroom filters through the door before it opens, you tiptoeing your way out; you probably think he is asleep. 

Frankie thinks that maybe this is a mistake, but his gut is telling him otherwise. Either he scares you and never sees you again, or he finds out the truth; right now. 

When you step out fully he surprises you, circling one arm around your middle and the other holding the knife to your neck. He hears your inhale, feels you stiffen in his grasp, but you don’t scream. 

“What the fuck do you do for a job?” He growls in your ear, pulling you tight to him to prove that you can’t escape. You won’t. 

“I fuck men for a living, Frankie. You know that.” You’re too calm, too monotone for his liking. 

“Fuck that.” He spits, spinning you around and bringing the knife into your vision. “We both know that you’re not a whore, and I’ve let you play your little games to get my dick sucked. So tell me, who is Agent Peña?”

He watches your eyes jump back and forth from his knife to his face, trying to remain neutral but looking for options; you’re too calm. 

“Tell me right now, or I’ll let you bleed out and have him find you here.” Frankie says darkly, pressing the blade into your naked collarbone. You wince, a drop of blood dripping down. 

“He doesn’t know where here is.” You’re caving, towel loose under your arms and ready to fall. Frankie watches you reach up to hold it secure, your fingers nervously adjusting. “I’m DEA.” You whisper, swallowing as the blood drips down your chest, between your breasts and into the towel. Frankie watches it drip, slow and methodical but you don’t seem to notice. 

Frankie waits, but when you don’t come forward with more information, he prompts you. “Who’s Agent Peña?”

“My boss.” He presses the knife further into your skin, stepping toward the bed so you are forced to sit in front of him. Perched on the bed, clutching the towel to your front, looking up at him defiantly with blood smeared on your chest. You wince at the bite of the blade, sighing heavily. “Fuck–we’re after Lorea, okay?”

“Prove to me that you’re telling me the truth.” He pushes, moving the knife lower. You glance down to where the tip of the blade rests just below your collarbone, swallowing roughly. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath into what he assumes is calming yourself. 

He can’t help but feel angry. Frankie rages inside at himself for not knowing better, not connecting the dots. Not telling Santiago so he could look into you further than what Yovanna had convinced him of. 

In a way he feels played, that itch to have you growing inside of him into one of disgust. Frankie knows that this can’t last now; it was different if you were doing a job and got caught up in his circle, but to focus your attention on what he wanted? To go after what he was after too? He lied to you too, but your lie feels more and more like a betrayal. 

“I don’t have my badge here.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, looking down to see that he’s drawn more blood, prompting your response. He pulls away slightly, looking up to your face. You tell him your name, voice shaking and he realizes, terrified. “I worked in Miami for a few years, b-before I was reassigned to Colombia. I s-stopped most of the boats coming into the harbor.”

Frankie mulls over the information, brushing the knife away from your collarbone and down your arm. A chill runs over you, obvious to him in the dark. “Where did you live, in Miami?”

“Little Havana.” You gasp, looking up at him and trying to harden your features. Your hand tightens around the edge of the towel again, but Frankie doesn’t want that. 

He leans forward, tisking at you and pulling your hand away. The towel follows, leaving you bare in front of him. He can’t help the groan that bubbles out of his throat. “That’s far away from the DEA office in Weston.”

You lean your hands back, letting yourself be exposed to him and staring him down. “Closer to the docks to stop the boats. I didn’t mind the drive.”

He stops his movements, keeping his pocket knife out but looking back up to your eyes. Will’s voice rings in his ears from years ago, a discussion about a DEA agent that patrolled the docks. 

“This girl came down from up north, stopping those dogs in their tracks. They are maybe a few feet away from making their deliveries, I’m telling you!” Beer flows over the side of his cup at Will’s excitement, tapping Frankie on the shoulder. “She calls to them like a fucking siren, that’s what they’re calling her, gets them to admit who they are in 10 minutes flat, and then fucking arrests them. On the spot.”

“That’s badass.” Benny widens his eyes, looking to Frankie to see if he agrees. 

Frankie sips on his drink, shaking his head. “Long trips overseas with just your buddies would have me caving to a pretty girl too.”

“You’re the Siren, aren’t you?” He questions, tilting his head to watch your reaction. The widening of your eyes, the shuttered sigh as you nod, has his heart soften. He flips the knife back into its holster, holding it in his closed fist. “I live in Westwood Lakes.” When you don’t respond, just staring at him and waiting, he pulls away. He hears your sigh, shaking his head. “You could have said–”

“No, I couldn’t have.” You say quietly, blinking roughly as if holding back tears before moving from the bed. When you stand, pushing past him and towel forgotten, you shakily walk over to your disheveled bag in the corner. He waits, knife still in his hand and watching. “You’re fucking ex-military, you know I couldn’t have blown my cover like that.” 

The bite in your tone is new to Frankie, his frown appearing suddenly as he whips his head over to look at you. You’re bent over, ass on display to him and he can’t help how his cock stirs at the sight. “You could have said what you were so we could have helped each other out.” He sighs, tossing the knife on to the pile of his clothes. 

“We did help each other.” You scoff, shaking your head and angrily putting on your shirt. “And you got your dick sucked and I got the information I needed to go tell my boss. Win-win.”

He laughs, surprised by your dismissal. “Why are you angry?”

He can see your face harden and then collapse, tears overflowing and down your cheeks. He notices briefly how your shirt is staining with small amounts of blood. “Because you! You weren’t supposed to fucking know who I was! You went through my phone.”

He shrugs. “It was ringing.”

The initial anger he had felt had dissipated as soon as he learned who you were; it changed everything for him. But somehow, that anger transferred to you at the inability to keep everything under the radar. This see-saw effect between the two of you was addicting for Frankie; one losing control, one calm. Then switch, all within the same conversation. Frankie can’t help but think that this is exactly what you need, to let your anger out on someone, even if it's him.  

His thoughts are confirmed when you spit out, “So what? That fucker has been up my ass for week since I kicked him out–”

“You’re together?”

“No.” You’re firm, pulling pants up your legs and buttoning them more calmly. It’s like you caught yourself losing control. 

“He’s fucking you too?” He questions. Your calmness sets a fire under him, a small voice in the depths of his mind poking him to get angry again. Instead, he focuses on what he thinks is the right question. “Your boss is taking advantage of you?”

“No. I’m taking advantage of him.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest before wincing, looking down at the blood stains left from his knife.

Frankie shakes his head, standing up and approaching you. “No, he’s taking advantage of you.” 

You stare at him, dumbfounded and shaking your head. Frankie reaches for you–out of habit, and you bat his hand away before pointing at him accusatory. “What, like you aren’t? You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

He points right back at you, careful to not touch you but wanting to get his point across. “I told you exactly what I was doing. Has he?”

Quietly, you say, “He’s protecting me.” 

“How? By blowing up your phone so some guy can hold a knife to your neck?” Frankie feels disgusted, learning that Peña is your boss, and is putting you in harm's way. He should know better. “Did any of your bosses back in Miami do something like that before? Put you in a difficult position where you had to give up who you were, just to stay alive?”

You pause, steaming, head barely shaking back and forth as you stare at him. You crack your neck, closing your eyes for a few breaths before opening them for him to see tears streaming down your face again. His heart hurts at the sight. “You’re not…some guy.”

You’re leaning toward him, hand falling toward his chest and resting lightly on his bare skin. Frankie doesn’t know what to say, eyes searching your face for any type of answer. When he doesn’t find one, he shakes his head and covers your hand with his over his heart. “You’re…distracting for me. And you keep secrets.”

He lets his other hand come up to rest on your cheek. You lean in, and Frankie can’t help but let his heart crumble a little more.“I had to. I’m sorry if I ruined what you were trying to accomplish.” You whisper, trailing your hand down his chest, his hand following yours. 

“You didn’t ruin it.” He admits, moving his eyes to your wandering hand. He holds his breath, his cock twitching in his boxers and pressing against the fabric. You’re warm, stepping closer to him and snapping at the waistband of his underwear. Frankie briefly thinks about how this might look to Santiago and the rest of the guys if they find out that he’s been sleeping with you. He’ll be sent home instantly, even with the plan going through in just a day. “You can’t get in my way.”

“I won’t. We want different things.” You nod, letting your hand wrap around his now hardened member and give him a couple strokes. He closes his eyes trying to keep his breath steady. 

Frankie doesn’t know what this means, doesn’t know how to proceed beyond what he’s longing to do right now. He clasps his hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You look up to him, waiting to see if you can continue when he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

He’s hesitant, waiting for you to tell him to stop. He pulls back, flicking his eyes between yours briefly before you surge forward, desperate to have your mouth back on his. 

Suddenly it’s frantic, his hands ripping at your clothes to take them back off, how you jump onto the bed and pull him to you by the back of his neck. He groans when you pull his hair, you sigh as he sinks into you again. 

The sound of his thighs hitting yours over and over again fills the room. You gasp as he trails his mouth down away from yours, sucking harshly into your neck before going further down. Frankie continues to thrust, his tongue sticking out and lapping at where his knife had cut you. 

“Fuck–Frankie–”

“I know baby. Just one more time for me, huh? I want to see you one more time.” He gasps, leaning back to watch you take him over and over again. 

Your walls tighten around him, nails digging into his arms as he pushes through. Your head thrown back, neck and new hickey exposed, skin shining in the light still coming from the bathroom. 

On the bedside table, your phone lights up again, vibrating loudly enough that both of your heads turn to watch it ring. Frankie pauses for only a moment, returning to thrusting and grabbing your face to turn back to him. “Mine. Do you get it? Mine.”

Your nod and the gasp of a “yes” is all Frankie needs to finish. 

Javier’s blood boils, dialing your number again from his Jeep. He's sitting outside the apartment he paid for, anger roiling through him without another care in the world. Where are you?

He gets out of the car, stepping up on to the stoop and pounding on the door to listen. Maybe you were avoiding him, leaving the lights off and pretending you weren’t there to scare him. He dials another time, the windows dark in front of him, listening for the ringing of your phone. When nothing can be heard, he swears. 

The beep of your voicemail dings in his ear, a sound he has gotten used to tonight. He sighs, looking around as if you might appear out of thin air. “Hermosa, please. Where are you?” He asks, shutting his phone and getting back into his driver’s seat. 

He sets his phone on the dash, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously. After thinking for only a moment, he reclines the seat back, planning to camp in front of your apartment until the morning.

[lifeofkaze]

October Writing Challenge - Day 28

David Willows (in mention) belongs to @that-scouse-wizard

Orion Apparated into the living room of his house on the beach just outside Montrose with a sharp crack that sounded through the empty cottage.

He set the bag with his Quidditch gear he’d brought from their morning practise down on the floor and tilted his head, listening for a moment. When he heard another crack out from the garden, he frowned and opened the back door; he was surprised to see Lizzie emerging from between two jasmine bushes.

“How did you get over there?” he asked her with raised eyebrows, but his girlfriend only muttered something indiscernible and pushed past him into the house.

Once inside, Lizzie lost no time to exchange the black and white Montrose Magpies jersey she was still wearing for a woolly jumper, wrapping one of the blankets lying on the sofa in front of the fireplace around her shoulders on top, but it didn’t help; she was still feeling cold to the bone.

She shivered when Orion stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You’re off today, Chaser,” he said softly and pressed a kiss onto her neck. “There’s no focus in anything you do. What is it that’s tugging at your centre?”

“Nothing is tugging at my centre,” Lizzie said impatiently and wiggled herself out of his arms. She was feeling hot and cold at the same time, and her head was pounding like crazy; she had no mind for Orion’s convoluted talk right now.

“If you were as balanced as you’re claiming to be, practise wouldn’t have been as awful as it was, I’m afraid,” Orion pointed out and shouldered both their bags, refusing to hand Lizzie hers when she wanted to carry it herself.

“It’s been a long time since you got almost knocked off your broom.”

“I wouldn’t have been almost knocked off if you hadn’t rammed me,” Lizzie stated and sniffed indignantly.

“I didn’t ram you, you bumped into me. Because you lost your balance,” Orion added with a smirk and ducked when Lizzie threw her jersey after him.

She missed him by a whole foot and groaned; maybe Orion had a point after all.

“My head hurts,” she admitted miserably, “and my eyes, too. Everything hurts, actually, and I’m cold and tired.”

She wrapped her arms around her torso and stood closer to the fireplace after Orion had gotten a fire started with a flick of his wand. The heat was warming her clammy skin and Lizzie felt the cramped muscles in her body relax a little.

“It seems your imbalance lies not in your mind, but in your body,” Orion hummed and stood next to her. “If you ask me, you’re getting sick.”

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not.”

“Denying it doesn’t make it less true, you know?” Orion laughed quietly. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to stay on the beach and watch the stars last weekend, after all. Although the night sky was magnificent,” he added with a gleam in his eyes.

Laughing, Lizzie nudged him playfully.

“As if you saw that much of the night sky,” she giggled. “As far as I’m concerned, staying out on the beach was a very good idea.”

“And besides,” Lizzie continued more seriously, “I can’t be sick. I have no time to be sick. The match against the Wimbourne Wasps is in three days, do you really think I’m going to miss out on showing David the ropes?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Lizzie turned and bent down to untie the laces of her Quidditch boots, but as soon as she tipped her head forwards the room started spinning around her; holding on to Orion was all she could do to not fall over.

When she slowly straightened up again, there were stars dancing in front of her eyes and she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

“Are you okay?” Orion asked worriedly as he helped her stand.

Lizzie nodded, her head swimming from the effort; she was grateful she could lean against his chest.

“I’m perfect, you don’t need to make a fuss -”

The rest of her sentence was cut short when Lizzie had to sneeze so forcefully her ponytail flipped forward.

“That’s enough,” Orion said firmly. “The hardest step is always the next, and if you want to fly when you can’t even stand you’re skipping more than only the next one.”

He took her by the shoulders, turned her around and marched her to the bedroom, not listening to her vehement protest.

Lizzie didn’t want to admit it, but lying down and letting herself sink into the soft embrace of her pillow felt heavenly.

Orion sat beside her, gently running his hand over her hair. When his fingers brushed her skin, he paused and frowned.

He leaned forward and kissed Lizzie’s forehead; when he drew back, his eyes were reproachful.

“You’ve got a fever,” he said. “Playing with a fever is no joke, Liz. You’re being reckless.”

“No, I’m not,” Lizzie mumbled, too comfortable snuggled into her duvet to feel bad about risking her health, “I’m in bed, am I not?”

Orion’s eyes softened and he chuckled. “Point for you, Chaser. I’m going to tell the coach you’re out for today when I get back.”

He made a move to get up but Lizzie caught him by his sleeve.

“Can you stay with me? Just for a little while.”

“You’re impossible,” Orion sighed, but climbed into bed next to her anyway.

Lizzie snuggled up against his chest and listened to the steady beat of Orion’s heart.

She was almost asleep when she felt him press another light kiss to her burning forehead, and a moment later to her lips.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled against his mouth, but not bothering to break the kiss either. “You’re going to get sick, too. Two Chasers out cold would be a disaster for the match.”

“It would be very unfortunate,” Orion agreed and kissed her again. “But I don’t care. Kissing you is worth it. It’s always worth it.”

[softtransbf]

Mister Nice Guy, part 1

Summary: You’re new to the BAU and get along well with everyone, almost. You can’t figure out why the infuriatingly handsome Dr. Spencer Reid seems to hate you so much.

Word Count: 2222

Reader: Trans man, he/him pronouns, no physical description.

Warnings: Alcohol, brief description of a case and therefore murder. Nothing graphic.

(Part two)

~~~~~~~~~~

It was your first day at the BAU, and you were so excited. It took all of your willpower not to skip from the elevator to your new boss' office. You definitely caught a sideways glance from an incredibly handsome man with very expressive eyebrows, but you didn't let it concern you; you'd worked too damn hard for too damn long to let anyone bring you down today. You got to the door and knocked sharply. 

"Agent L/N, please, come in," came a voice from inside the room. You took a deep breath and walked through the door.

You'd heard stories about Aaron Hotchner and the BAU- everyone had. Most people only heard the good parts- the heroic tales, the happy endings. But you liked to be prepared, to know the truth of what you were going after, so you'd also paid attention to the quieter whispers. The imposing boss who never smiles, the weird and maybe-pseudo-sexual relationship between the exuberant tech analyst and one of the profilers, the betting pool on whether or not the two female profilers were secretly gay for each other, true crime writer extraordinaire and profiling legend David Rossi leaving retirement to mostly be snarky, and the young agent with multiple doctorates who is smarter than seems humanly possible. You would never admit it, but you were particularly eager to meet the genius. He guest lectured once in your friend's linguistics class your last semester before graduating, and xe wouldn't shut up about him for an entire week. When you told xem that your transfer was approved, xe begged for "a full rundown on what he's like up close and personal" after your first case. But first, you needed to meet with SSA Hotchner.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. 

"Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." You thanked your lucky star that your voice didn't shake.

"It's a pleasure to have you. I heard nothing but the best about you from your previous supervisor. Officially, all the paperwork has gone through for your transfer, but I would like to ask a couple of questions before we get started." 

"Of course, sir. What would you like to know?" One corner of his mouth ticked up slightly for a fraction of a second, and you counted that as a major victory.

"First and foremost, why are you interested in the BAU?" You relaxed slightly; you'd prepared for this question.

"Human behavior is nothing short of fascinating. Everyone is shaped by a unique set of experiences, but at the end of the day, we all behave in documented patterns. Everything matters, because it shapes who we are, but also nothing does, because we all end up in one of a finite number of 'shapes', so to speak. No one is the same, but we all exhibit set behavioral patterns. No matter what someone's gone through, at the end of the day, they are still understandable and predictable. I find that absolutely fascinating, and the work that the BAU does with that is incredible. I want to be a part of it, and I have the skill and drive to do so. After all, the BAU essentially wrote the handbook for Crisis Negotiation."

"That is a very interesting perspective, agent." His face was neutral, but you detected approval in his tone. "I only had one other matter to bring up- I see two different first names in your paperwork, and two of your references refer to you with different pronouns. Which name do you prefer, and what are your pronouns?"

You were floored; you'd never had a supervisor so casually look past paperwork outing you. "Y/N, sir, and he/him/his."

"Wonderful. Well, Y/N, welcome to the BAU. Let's go meet the team, shall we?" You nodded and followed him out his door into the meeting room, where the rest of the team was assembled.

"Everyone, this is Special Agent Y/N L/N. He has just transferred from Crisis Negotiation."

"Oh! New guy! Hi hi hi! I'm Penelope Garcia, just call me Penelope, and I do all the tech-y, research-y stuff." She made her way across the room to you as she spoke, talking with her hands.

"Pleasure to meet you, Penelope! I love the look you're rocking, by the way. Those shoes in particular are magnificent." You knew you were being the gay sterotype that you'd spent your career trying to avoid, but shoes that good could not go uncomplimented.

"Oh my goodness, thank you!" she said to you before stage-whispering to the rest of the team, "I like him! Let's keep him." The team laughed, and you blushed. It seemed that Hotchner had wordlessly passed on the duties of making the introductions to her, because she pointed to the agent closest to her, handsome-guy-with-the-eyebrows from earlier, and continued on. 

"Okay, so, this is Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, but we all call her JJ, David Rossi, and Dr Spencer Reid." They all nodded, smiled, and/or waved slightly when they were introduced, with the exception of Dr Reid, who looked almost like he was looking at a puzzle. You chalked the feeling in your gut it gave you to first-day nerves.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, and I look forward to getting to know you all better as time goes on." You were addressing everyone, but something about the way Dr. Reid was staring at you made it difficult to look away from him for too long.

"Wonderful! Now, as much as I wish we could all chit-chat and get to know Y/N better, we do have a case. Last night, a body was found in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park."

The case was interesting, twin injustice collectors, one more mission oriented, the other interested almost entirely on experimenting with different forms of torture on the victims. The former, over the weeks between kills, had started dating one of the local detectives, neither of them knowing of the other's involvement in the case. You were there when that information came to light at the killer's arrest, and you were able to diffuse the situation, ensuring that no one was harmed.

On the flight back, Prentiss insisted on the whole team going out for drinks to welcome you to the team. Hotchner declined, because he needed to get back to Jack, and Rossi said he had "plans with Tony Bennett", but everyone else agreed, mostly enthusiastically. It took significant persuasion from JJ to get Reid to agree to go out with you all. For the whole case, he was abrupt and distant with you, despite your best efforts. You knew it was silly, but you really wanted your coworkers to like you, so you decided you were going to do your absolute best to get him to like you by the end of the night.

-

"Hey, doc, first round's on me. What'll it be?" You'd noticed during the case that he shrugged off all of your attempts to start a conversation, but you figured that even he wouldn't ignore you under these circumstances.

"Uh, white wine would be great, thanks."

"White wine? At a dive bar? Does this bar even have white wine?" You'd intended to be charming, but, seriously, white wine? Who was this guy?

He opened his mouth, clearly indignant, but he was interrupted by Morgan chuckling from behind you both.

"That's why we go to this dump, newbie. It's the only bar in the area that serves white wine, which is all Pretty Boy here drinks." He winked at you and playfully elbowed Reid in the ribs.

You threw your hands up in mock surrender and chuckled. "Okay, okay, white wine for the good doctor it is. What's your poison? I'm sure word's gotten around that the first round is on me."

"You know, I might have heard something about that, and I most definitely wouldn't say no to a dirty martini." He winked at you, and your chuckle turned into full-on laughter.

You got the bartender's attention and ordered their drinks and a Jack and Coke for yourself. "It's a damn shame you're straight, Derek. Truly a crime against queer men everywhere, although I'm not so proud I can't admit that I'm a bit glad you're not competition."

"Wait wait wait, how do you know I don't like a little meat on the side?"

"So, sidestepping the fact that not all men have penises and some women do, you are so hetero that it's almost painful. Look around; men of all shapes and sizes outnumber women 2 to 1 at least. But you've spent the whole night making eyes at those women over there." You pointed to a table on the other side of the room. "Plus, I may or may not have received a very detailed string of texts from Penelope that essentially amounted to a crash course on all of y'all. I get a feeling that she might like me a little bit."

"My bad on the meat comment- I'll definitely fix that. And speaking of Penelope being a font of information, she's been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about you. What's your big secret, new guy?"

You raised an eyebrow and sipped your drink. "All you need to know is that Hotch, who strikes me as even more protective of this team than he lets on, which is really saying something, knows, and he cares less than any brass I've ever met. And I know for a fact that if Penelope thought it was concerning, she'd have at least voiced some suspicions about me, if not told you outright. I'm not ashamed of it, it's just none of y'alls business. Anyway, the blonde from the table you were eyeing earlier is coming over to see if we've been flirting this whole time so she knows whether to flirt with you or gush about how she's always wanted a Gay Best Friend oh my god. If I'm still here, it'll be both, and I'm allergic to that particular brand of cishet nonsense. Have fun, good-lookin'." You chuckled and patted him on the shoulder as you left, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Reid roll his eyes, down his drink, and walk in the other direction. What is his deal? Whatever. I'm not about to let him wet blanket all over tonight. You took out your phone and sent out a couple of quick texts.

[To: Penelope]: Thank you for not outing me. It means the world to me. Let's get brunch sometime?

[To: Nerd <3]: you sure Reid seemed pleasant when he lectured? that has Not been my experience with him so far. you were right about him being Cute cute, though, damn. a Gay could get lost in those big brown eyes, and in different circumstances I'd climb him like a tree. shame he's Like That lmao

Looking up from your phone, you saw Emily and JJ nearby, so you went over to join them. 

"Oh em gee Y/N you're gay? I had, like, no idea! We should, like, totally get brunch and then go shopping! This is gonna be so much fun; I've always wanted a gay best friend!" You rolled your eyes and laughed at Emily's terrible Valley Girl accent. "Unfortunately, I did not spend my time in the closet learning anything about clothes. I only dress halfway decently for work because my friend dragged me to the mall and updated my wardrobe when I applied for this position. It's all xir doing."

"Well, xe has excellent taste." You mentally filed away JJ's effortless use of neopronouns.

"I'll be sure to let xem know! I'm so down for brunch, though." You checked your phone. "Looks like Garcia is too!"

"Damn, you work fast. You'll fit right in here," Emily laughed.

"Honestly, I'm a little bit blown away by how awesome and welcoming you all are. Well, mostly. Is Spencer like this with every new person, or did I somehow do something to offend him?" Emily and JJ shared a look you couldn't quite read before JJ answered.

"Spencer…" she hesitated, "He's going through something right now. I'm sure he'll figure it out soon, and things will smooth out." 

So you waited. Weeks passed, and you fit in well with the team. You ended up getting close to Derek and Penelope in particular, and you kept trying to make nice with Spencer. Weeks of cold shoulder and as few words as possible to you while being his normal, verbose self with everyone else. So, three weeks into your new job, on a night out with Derek and Penelope you made a decision.

"Look. It's been weeks, and the guy still won't say more than 5 words to me. I'm done trying to… I don't know what I was even trying to do," you slurred, you’d probably had one drink too many. "Make a friend, maybe? I don't even know. But I'm done. He wants to give taciturn bordering on rude? Then that's what he'll receive. Let's see how Pretty Boy likes a taste of his own medicine. No more Mister Nice Guy." You wouldn't remember the look they shared until much later.

And so, your silent war with Spencer truly began.

[iggy-licious]

One Shot: Tête à Tête

OK... This is super long and super indulgent, but if you want smut, you got it. 😈 Iggy terrorizes a journalist and turns the tables for something much better for both of them. NSFW.

I just finished it, and I can't look at it anymore without going insane. 🤪 Please excuse any writing glitches.

Thank you for reading and going along with my Iggy shenanigans. ❤️❤️❤️

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

“You see,” he chuckles softly, “this is why I fucking hate doing interviews.” He tosses his fedora onto a nearby chair, runs a hand through his jet-black, dyed hair, shakes his head in disdain, and fishes his Marlboros and lighter out of his pocket. He leers at me, cigarette hanging onto his pouty bottom lip for dear life, before he lights it. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke in my direction, his mouth gaping slightly in what I could imagine to be a slow, satisfied exhale in a more romantic setting.

But we’re at an impasse, facing off at opposite sides of an overstuffed hotel couch. I made the cardinal sin of asking if The Stooges might ever get back together. 

Iggy remains silent and continues to smoke while staring me down. His look is full of slow-simmering anger and curiosity, as if he’s given up on the interview and is studying me to find creative ways to get under my skin.

But little does he know, he’s already succeeded at that.

The man had proved to be a good-natured, but eccentric, raconteur, and I was captivated by his stories and energy earlier. His smoky liner and shadow couldn’t blunt the sparkle in his large eyes when he gushed about the experimental nature of his Zombie Birdhouse album. I had been nervous going into the interview, but he had won me over with his intelligence, passion, and mild flirtation. It was fair to say that I had been in danger of him short-circuiting my professionalism. Him and those eyes, the color of a clear Caribbean lagoon. 

But that was then. Now, it's his scornful vibe that holds me in thrall. It screams of the primal unpredictability that was his ace in his old band. This nicotine pause feels like a dam holding back a flood of turbulent emotions. In the current, painful silence, I’m acutely aware that he could roar to life in a second and drown me in a passionate diatribe of words. Or, he could decide he’s bored and kick me out at any time. These thoughts set my heart into overdrive for many reasons, both professional and personal.

He’s studying me with an emotionless poker face, but his eyes feel like they're boring into mine. Large, blue, graced with the pretty eyelashes that most people get from a mascara tube.

His eyes turn out to be his secret weapon. I find myself powerless, waiting for his next words. After our initial discussion I'm surprised he can be anything less than an open book. I silently pray that I’ll come up with something to say, something that draws him in again, something that gets this interview back on track. Something that brings back his lopsided grin and the happy fluttering of infatuated butterflies in my stomach, if I'm being honest with myself. 

“Do you smoke?” he asks, lightly pinching the cigarette between his fingers and holding it out to me. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

I feel like it’s some weird test, the final exam of our time together. Now or never. Do or die.

Lucky for me, I do smoke. “I’ll take it,” I say, realizing how exhausted I feel from the tense minutes that have just transpired. I hope for the best. I can’t afford to blow this interview.

His lips turn upward in a subtle smile as I smoke. 

I’ve passed the test. 

I suck on the cigarette hard, preferring the party of deadly chemicals in my lungs to the charged air that hung thick in the room a moment before. I close my eyes and exhale. When I open them again, I meet his gaze, which he abruptly drops to my full lips, painted with a red that complements my light brown skin. He inspects the smudge of my lipstick on his cigarette when I return it, before stubbing it out in an ashtray.

“You know,” he says, tracing a finger on the arm of the couch, “I think you’re a good interviewer, a good conversationalist. I’m just tired of the pop culture psychoanalysis bullshit that goes down in these interviews. Do you know what I mean? How about we just talk for a while? About anything.” 

“That sounds nice,” I venture. Part of me will look for any opening to steer back to the interview, but part of me certainly doesn’t mind getting to know Iggy better.

He hits the stop button on my tape recorder and then walks to the mini-fridge. “No recording, no journalist, no so-called ‘godfather of punk,’ just you and me and some beers,” he says while setting a six-pack on the coffee table.

I look longingly at my recorder, wondering what juicy confessions I might miss if we talk more informally. I wouldn't dare turn it on, though, while the connection we're rebuilding is so fragile. 

Before I can panic, he frees a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from its tight ring of plastic and hands it to me. Then, after he nips into his can, he tells me the story of his first beer and the shenanigans he'd gotten into back in Michigan, before The Stooges. This segues into talk about his favorite German beers and stories of misbehavior in Europe with David Bowie.

Iggy makes me laugh with his cartoon voices and facial expressions. I watch the vaguely man-shaped earring in his right ear dance with the rubber contortions of his face.

With the second beer cans, we’ve moved closer together on the couch, and I’ve taken off my black pumps. I’m thankful that my skin color hides the flush in my cheeks from the fizzy intoxicant.

His jokes get louder and more blue. We're back in a good conversation groove again. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages. 

My professional conscience chided me for beer number two, but the wheaty nectar in the third can has drowned out that small voice. Iggy inches closer and tells me about growing up in a trailer. “If you can remember any of this shit, feel free to write about it,” he says. His laughter is a challenge and a taunt.

I will myself to remember, to sear the facts of his life into my brain. These anecdotes are gold, the kinds of things that can add meat to the pitiful skeleton of my story as it stands now.

I’m laughing, and I park my hand on his thigh. The black trousers can't hide the fact that his legs are well muscled from swimming and his onstage moves that defy the range of a normal human body.

Before I can stop myself, I’m slowly trailing my hand up and down his leg. 

“Mmm…” He purrs and moves closer, while wrapping an arm around me. He drains the last of his beer and takes mine before I can get a final sip. 

Our faces are close, and I see that the blue of his eyes has darkened. I’ve lost myself, drowning in those pretty cobalt pools until he smiles wickedly. 

His voice is a murmur. “This is more fun than an interview, isn’t it?”

"You got me there, Iggy," I say. My response comes easy and breathy, thanks to the beer and my simmering lust. 

He looks at me fondly. "Call me Jim. Just use Iggy for your story, OK?" 

"OK, Jim."

He cradles my face in both of his hands and brushes his lips against mine. Then I surrender to his roving tongue in the same way I hope to similarly give my body to him, now that professional pretense has been shattered by primal desire.

Since I'm off duty now, I take down the ponytail that was taming my curls and allow my hair to fall past my shoulders. 

He holds my gaze as a hungry smile spreads on his face and he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. "She's come undone, huh?" He kisses me again, feasting on my mouth with his lips and his sure tongue. 

I’ve noticed the bulge in his pants has become bigger, and my mind flashes to all the reports I’ve heard of him whipping his notoriously large cock out during performances. The thought of his boldness, and the thought of exploring his magnificent body, both fan the flames that have caused my core to throb with insatiable hunger.

I pull him to me and unleash my passion with a sinful, lush kiss. My hands stroke his torso, his back, his hair. "Just as I thought…" He says in a hushed tone, "There's a beautiful, wild woman just below the surface. I'm glad to finally meet her." He cups my throat and transfers his electric passion to me through another kiss. 

When I pause to help him out of his black leather jacket, his breathing is shallow and his eyes are glazed with need. My body is feverish, anticipating our tryst. 

I remove his black t-shirt next, revealing his finely chiseled torso. Newspaper and magazine photos don’t do it justice. I explore his musculature with my hands and delight in the firm, tanned skin. 

Then he’s out of his red briefs and the pants in the blink of an eye. I gasp at how perfect he looks--the hard muscles and their sensuous, masculine curves, the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the long torso with marble-etched abs, the slimness of his waist, the swelling of his thighs and ass. It's the graceful, olympic body of a swimmer…or an agile, flexible rock god. 

Not to be outdone, his manhood is long, thick, and utterly enticing. I want to savor him as much as I want to be worshipped by him, consumed by his strong passion, filled exquisitely by his largesse.

He lowers me on the couch and in a velvet onslaught of kisses and gropes, he removes my clothes: denim jacket, tight black dress, underwear, and stockings.

His movements are slow and taken with great care as he kisses down my naked body. He is calm, indulgent, masterful. The out-of-control nature of Iggy gives way to a patient, capable lover who revels in the softness of my generous curves.

He straddles me and blazes a lusty trail down my body with his tongue. His hands firmly canvas my breasts and his thumbs then tease my nipples into rigid peaks. 

"So soft…" His voice trails as he bathes my nipples with the warmth of his mouth and tongue. 

I'm snaking my body against the weight of his, while my hands clutch his back. If I fuck up the interview and lose my job, I know our night together will still be totally worth it. 

He releases a nipple with a pop of his lips. "Be patient," he breathes out. "We'll get there."

"Let me guess, it'll be worth the wait?" I ask with an arch of my eyebrow. 

"Well, I don't like to brag…" 

We lock eyes before the kissing resumes. 

His body is warm against mine, and his low, guttural moans punctuate the silence from time to time. Our hands are so curious, so hungry. It's a joy to clutch his powerful back and feel the muscles there side and hitch with each caress he gives me. 

"Come with me?" He abruptly stands. He smiles with an expression that's both shy and seductive as he leads me to the bedroom. 

The light is on. His suitcase is open and its contents are disturbed, as though he was looking for the right outfit for our encounter. The floral bedspread is a bit wrinkled, and I assume he napped on top of it before I arrived. 

We kiss at the side of the bed, in a voracious dance of our lips that still doesn't feel like enough. My need is criminal. I blast the most obscene of intentions to him with my eyes, and he grunts in hungry understanding. 

He lowers me to the bed and straddles me. Being held captive by his muscular thighs and his hands framing my face feels natural, an old, unspoken agreement of longtime lovers. The way we delight in each other is instinctual. 

I lift my chin to kiss him. 

"Later," he says, placing a finger on my lips. "I'll be back."

He crawls down my body and spreads my legs. Then he coaxes a series of unholy moans out of me when he flattens his tongue to my entrance with a series of long ice cream licks, followed by his lips gently sucking on my clit. 

My breathing comes shallow. I can't formulate words to relay to him how good the meandering of his tongue feels, but my writhing and wailing cause him to chuckle gentle vibrations against my pussy, so I know he understands. 

He keeps a steady rhythm and sets my nerves aflame while my hips jerk with the timing of a metronome. I gasp at the tension building in my body, knowing the climax will be devastating. And when it comes, my body stutters into an exquisite live wire dance. 

I'm a sweaty, soaked mess when he informs me that another languid exploration awaits. "I want to make sure you're more than ready," murmurs. This time, it's not a tease, it's a show of care and concern. 

He kisses me with my scent before he resumes. 

I'm still high from the last orgasm, and I float in the ether as he takes his time. I imagine he must be aching to couple with me, but his actions don't betray his need. The defensive Iggy of the interview is gone, replaced by a tender romantic who keeps looking at me to monitor my satisfaction. 

The next climax untethers me from reality, but when he rests a hand on one of my shoulders and slowly guides himself inside of me, I am awakened to now, the universe that consists of the two of us aroused, embraced, and slowly coaxing each other into higher realms of sensation. At last we've found our way to an unbreakable give and take, guided by carnal desire. 

His baritone rumbles with whispered words that would've made me blush during the interview. I marvel at how a change of setting, and a change of attitude, makes all the difference. 

I clutch his back while our rolling motions lull me into a pleasurable dream state. 

His gaze is much softer than it was in the living room, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at me with fondness. I'm treated with the sight of his long eyelashes kissing his face every time he lowers his eyelids. It's nice, knowing that I'm seeing a side of him that few will ever see. 

"You're so fucking good Jim," I exhale, working my hips faster to receive more of his expert thrusts. He rewards me by going harder and deeper. My pussy flushes as each stroke takes me higher. 

"I'm almost there, too," he groans as his hips crash into mine. 

My breath is shallow, and my moans get caught in my throat as we fuck with abandon. The interview is the furthest thing from my mind; my job now is to give as good as I'm getting, and I'm giving it my all. I grab his ass as we pump recklessly. 

Before I know it, pleasure radiates out from my core at light speed, and Iggy howls at the strength of his climax. We've both been transformed, faces glistening with sweat and the satisfaction of well spent energy. 

He rolls onto his back, and I drape my body over his. 

"Incredible," he says while stroking my hair. 

He kisses my forehead and dons his eyeglasses, which were on his dresser, hiding to avoid betraying the soft nerd inside the fearless musician. "Now, back to business, doll. I'll let you finish the interview if I can ask you some questions first. For starters, where are you from?" 

My heart is still racing from our steamy actions, but it skips a beat when I realize I will get my story and not lose my job. 

I giggle and trace a finger on his chest before I start telling him the story of my life.