#i have a playlist of it it's a v specific sound

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVII.

GIF by darksber

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Obligatory storm chapter.

WORD COUNT: ~13.4k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: the crime plot is slowly but surely progressing, smut, a very wet blowjob, p in v sex, dirty talk bc duh, using panties as a gag, praise praise praise, javi being soft and vulnerable my god, STEVE MURPHY MENTION!!, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i'm just absolutely feral over these two... that is all <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3 [ paloma's piano song ]

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier wanders through the quiet aisles of the library, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as he makes his way towards the now familiar astronomy section.

He pauses occasionally, eyes scanning the titles on the spines of countless books, searching for something that might hold the answers he’s looking for. 

What begun as a mere attempt to impress Paloma had unexpectedly blossomed into a genuine interest. It was during a reading on lunar cycles that a sudden gut feeling prompted him to revisit the case files.

And there, in the minutest of details, he spotted a new pattern.

Each date of the murders fell in perfect alignment with the full moon phase. This illuminated the otherwise randomness of the crimes—one girl per month, precisely when the moon shone its brightest. 

He read over the files at home, searching for any significance the moon held within the context of the original group, but found nothing. This raised a crucial question: Is this the same group resurfacing, or a new player putting his own spin on things? Understanding this pattern isn’t just a matter of detail; it’s essential for deciphering the motive.

The slow progress of the investigation is frustrating, with each discovery taking its sweet fucking time to unfold. But at least this is some kind of development.

“Did you find what you were lookin’ for?” Paloma’s whisper catches his attention, drawing him from his focused search. He glances through the narrow gaps between the shelves and books to find her standing on the other side. Her dazzling brown eyes meet his, a warm smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, actually,” he scratches at his jaw, “She’s standin’ on the other side of this thing.” Flirtatious as ever, he’s pleasantly surprised to see her. She hadn’t mentioned working today during their phone call last night.

Then again she might’ve, but after talking her through an orgasm then finishing in his own fist shortly after, Javier was more focused on reeling himself in from how good her pretty little voice sounded while she was whispering pure filth into the receiver. 

Part of her face is hidden, yet he doesn’t miss the entertained expression that dances across her features.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any books on the moon, would you?” He asks, trying not to let his mind drift to the sounds of her moans and pants over the static of the phone.

“I don’t think there are any libraries on the moon,” she banters playfully, “but we can always call the NASA hotline and ask.” Her teasing has him rolling his eyes, yet he can’t hold back a lopsided smile.

“Alright, smart ass, you know what I meant.”

She laughs softly, her amusement barely contained as she tries not to disturb the other patrons. “Yeah, we got a couple. They’re on this side, though.”

He licks his lips slowly, narrowing his gaze. “Really? Because I see a few right here.” He pulls out two books that had caught his eye before she arrived, holding them up for her to see.

“Yeah, but there are better ones over here.” Paloma’s voice is inviting as she slowly starts to move down the aisle, her presence a tempting distraction, and he follows like a desperate puppy.

They reach the end of the row, and now her eyes narrow teasingly, silently urging him to make the first move.

Which he does, obviously.

Rounding the tall shelf, he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close. The warmth of his body against hers is very welcomed, and she looks up at him with bright eyes that are swimming in excitement.

“You’re very lucky there ain’t no cameras back here,” Paloma breathes out in a hushed tone. He presses her back against the flat end of the wooden surface, gazing down at her.

She bites her lip and his eyes lock onto the movement, bringing his thumb up to gently pull the flesh from between her teeth. “Lucky me,” he murmurs, dipping his head to place a tender kiss on her cheek.

She pouts. “Really? Just on the cheek?”

“You make it so hard to be normal about this.” Javi leans in to kiss her properly, her lips warm and soft, tasting faintly of the coffee she had earlier.

His forearm rests against the shelf, towering over her, hip jutting out slightly. In his other hand, he easily holds the two books.

The sound of their kiss breaking has her blushing, hoping no one was nearby to hear it. Thank God this area of the library is usually a dead zone.

Her eyes fall to the items he’s holding. “Still keepin’ up with this shtick?” she jests, unable to help herself from doing so. Her laughter tapers off quickly when he shoots her a hardened look.

“Sorry,” she manages between snickers. “That was rude. M’glad you’re actually enjoyin’ it.”

“This shtick helped me notice a pattern. It’s why I’m here, actually. Looking for more information before I reach out to the professor at UCLA again.”

Paloma reaches out to play with the golden star pinned to his chest, her fingers tracing its edges as she listens intently. “What’s the pattern?” she looks up at him with genuine curiosity.

He explains, and she is truly awestruck at how intricate it all really is. It’s the same feeling she got after watching the press conference. “When’s the next full moon?”

“In two days.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh, “Maybe enforcing a curfew. Make sure everyone is safe and at home. That won’t be very difficult to do considering the storm that’s headed this way.”

When it rains, it pours. The last time their little town had seen any type of precipitation was the day of Nina’s funeral, and that seems like it was forever ago. Now, they’re being warned of some pretty strong winds and potential flooding.

“Then maybe nothin’ll happen,” she suggests, her voice hopeful.

“I sure fucking hope so,” Javi’s eyes drift to the nearest window where he sees the gray clouds gathering in the distance.

He’s frowning, lost in thought, and she reaches out to get him to look at her again. “No need to get all frowny. Save all that for the town hall later tonight.”

Javier exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders, his attention back on her. “You excited to see your future husband?”

She knows he’s talking about the mayor, yet she can’t help the way her heart flutters at the idea of that being him. She shakes those delusions away as his brown eyes hold an expectant stare.

“Y’know I could say yes ‘n use this as an opportunity to piss you off, but I’m bein’ good today—so I’m as excited to see him as you are to have to be up there with him.”

“You’re bein’ good today?” He cocks his head to the side, staring down at her with a roguish smile. “And you wouldn’t get very far with trying to piss me off. I know that asshole has nothing on me.”

“I’m always good, Javi,” she purrs, though her tone suggests otherwise. Her eyes darken slightly as she hooks her fingers onto his duty belt, pulling him closer.

His knee moves between her thighs, and she silently curses the fact that she wore jeans to work today. “You might think that, but we dunno know for sure… still gotta try him out myself. See if it really compares.”

The arm that was resting against the shelf comes down, and he wraps his fingers around her throat, holding her with a tantalizing pressure that gets her wet and throbbing.

A gentle moan sneaks past her lips. “You wanna ‘try him out,’ be my guest, nena. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Really, ‘cause it feels like you do,” she quips, her fingers grazing the growing bulge between them.

Javier’s grip on her throat tightens ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing with a possessive intensity. “Cálmate,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

“Make me.”

They’re jolted back to reality when a bang echoes from nearby, the sharp sound enough to have him loosen his hold and pull back from her. “Like I said, you make it real fucking hard to be normal about this. ‘I’m always good, Javi’ my ass,” he mocks her with a wry smile.

She giggles, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, as she bites down on her thumb. The sight of him flustered only entertains her further. “M’sorry… can’t help but poke the bear.”

Their moment is further interrupted by the abrupt static of his walkie-talkie coming to life. An officer’s voice garbles through, requesting his assistance with a disturbance at the grocery store.

“Be right there,” Javier responds flatly, his mood shifting as he hands her the books he plucked out. “Weather’s got people acting like fucking idiots. I’ll come back for these later.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she reassures him, clutching them to her chest. “I’ll bring ‘em tonight. Give ‘em to you after the meetin’.”  She’s visibly bummed that their time together is cut short, but remains optimistic about seeing him again. Soon, hopefully. Maybe on another date.

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you then.” Javier leans in for a departing kiss, this one softer and sweeter. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of him calling her baby or any of the other terms of endearment that he has for her.

He adds a gentle nuzzle of his nose against hers before pulling away and making his exit, leaving her feeling all lovestruck against the bookshelf.

He knew the meeting was going to be a shit show. After putting out all relevant information through the press conference, the department has never been busier. Phones ringing left and right with false accusations, bullshit information, and the occasional prank call.

Partially expected but annoying nevertheless. No progress, aside from his own little lunar revelation, has been made.

So it makes sense that the people of Seminary are currently acting out in the stands of the high school’s gym. An unorthodox place to meet, but the rain had exposed leaks in the government building’s weathered roof so they had to improvise and move it here.

Javier leans against the fold out table that is placed right in the middle of the basketball court, arms crossed, watching Jonah Abbott deflect every question thrown his way, answering with something completely unrelated. Typical politician.

He rubs at his temples, craving a cigarette. His eyes scan the crowd until he sees Paloma sitting on the far left side, their gazes meeting and her mouth curving into a small smile which has him feeling a little less miserable about being here.

That is until the crowd starts to get riled up again, being very vocal about their gripes with the murders, as if officials haven’t been working tirelessly to figure things out.

The girl in the hospital remains unconscious and unidentified—who knows when she’ll wake up.

Another dead end just as they thought they were gaining some traction. Their knowledge of the occult only takes them so far.

Fear and anger envelop the room with an oppressive weight, voices escalating, each question sharper and more accusatory than the one before as frustration boils over.

“How can we expect y’all to keep us safe if more dead girls are bein’ found left and right?!” a man shouts, pointing his crooked finger at the three of them.

“This is what happens when we stray from the Lord ‘n quit instillin’ His will onto our children!” an elderly woman with an actual Bible clutched to her chest cries out.

���Maybe s’best if we took matters into our own hands ‘n found this son of a bitch ourselves!” another voice yells, and murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd.

His jaw tightens. He’s well aware that the deep-seated religious beliefs of this town run strong; and the murders, with their disturbing satanic imagery, have only heightened the community’s fears and suspicions. 

“Folks, I understand your frustration,” Jonah starts and this gets an eye roll out of Javi who plays it off by looking down at his boots, “We’re doin’ everythin’ in our power to find who’s responsible for these heinous crimes. But takin’ the law into your own hands is not. the. answer. It’ll only lead to more chaos and possibly more innocent people gettin’ hurt.”

“The law ain’t doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ back ‘n lettin’ it happen!”

Comments and questions fly at them from all directions, with smaller arguments erupting on either side of the gym. Javier and Romeo exchange a knowing look, silently expressing their shared annoyance.

The sheriff steps up, taking control to regain the order that the incompetent mayor had lost.

“What’s important right now is that we all get prepared for the bad weather that’s hittin’ us pretty bad these next couple of days. S’already startin’ to pick up outside now,” Romeo announces, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.

Quiet murmurs fill the space, the faint sound of rain hitting the roof almost amplified now that it has been pointed out.

“Most of the town is gonna be shuttin’ down tomorrow at midday, so I suggest gettin’ your essentials and supplies tonight or in the mornin’ before you’re shit out of luck,” he continues, his tone brooking no room for nonsense.

His crassness serves its purpose, smothering most of the arguments from before. He motions for his right hand man to continue, and Javier clears his throat, straightening his posture and pushing himself off the table.

“We will be upping patrols and enforcing a curfew after the storm passes through,” His voice reverberates through the room, steady and authoritative. “The anonymous tip line is still running in case anyone sees or hears anything out of the ordinary.”

Javier scans the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as he can, trying to convey his sincerity and determination.

“We understand that these are frightenin’ times,” The sheriff interjects. “We’re dealin’ with somethin’ unprecedented, ‘n it’s natural to feel scared or frustrated. ‘Specially when they’re bastardizin’ the word of God. But we need to stand together, support one another, and trust that we are doin’ everythin’ in our power to bring this person to justice.”

The room is silent now, the only sound is the soft patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

Javier notices Paloma again, her eyes fixed on him like he’s the only person in the world, and he almost stumbles over his words as he continues with the more procedural part of the announcement.

“We’re also working closely with weather experts to monitor the storm. We’ll keep you updated with any new information as it comes in. In the meantime, stay vigilant, look out for your neighbors, and follow the curfew to ensure everyone’s safety.”

The townspeople nod, their faces a mix of concern and reluctant acceptance. He knows that words alone won’t be enough to quell their fears, but he hopes that this assembly has at least provided some clarity and direction.

After a few more closing remarks, the meeting ends, and Abbott wastes no time approaching him and the sheriff. “That was great work, gentlemen. Lost ‘em for a second there, but you two wrangled ‘em back under control. S’why I got the best of the best…” his words are slick, and Javier can see right through the man’s bullshit, “that will hopefully bring an end to all this madness soon, right?”

Abbott doesn’t care about the town’s safety—he just wants the murders solved so the media attention goes away. The newfound scrutiny is clearly bothering him.

Apparently there is such thing as bad press.

“We’re workin’ as hard as we can,” Romeo replies curtly, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

Javier quickly bows out to ‘prevent any dispute from breaking out in the parking lot’ but really, it’s because he knows he won’t be able to hold his tongue against the arrogant mayor if he’s around him any longer.

He positions himself by the large exit double doors as the crowd files out. Javi nods to those he recognizes from the bar or his frequent patrols in town. The weight of their expectations adds to the already heavy burden on his shoulders.

Just another part of the fucking job.

When the last person exits, he chains the doors closed and jogs over to his truck.

The rain falls gently, wetting his hair and sending droplets running down the roughened texture of his bomber jacket.

“Here are your books, space cowboy.” Paloma’s voice catches him by surprise. She seems to appear out of thin air, a colorful umbrella shielding her from the rain.

“Gracias, palomita,” he takes them from her and puts them in the cab of his truck.

“Tough crowd,” she remarks, looking around as more cars pull out, leaving the lot empty.

“They’re just scared. Fear makes people act out like that.”

“You handled it well. Unlike others…” Her tone carries a hint of amusement, eyeing his wet appearance and how the raindrops fall from the curve of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones. So dreamy.

He chuckles dryly, “Tell me about it.”

Just as the conversation begins to drift into flirtatious territory, Romeo’s car pulls up beside them with the window rolled down.

Javier is glad he resisted the urge to step forward and kiss her in the rain, though he knows she would have liked that.

Her father? Probably not so much.

“Finally got Abbott to stop runnin’ his mouth. S’like talkin’ to a spoiled brat,” he complains, clearly frustrated.

Paloma finds this interesting, especially given how he used to advocate for her to give Jonah a shot and go out on one date with him.

It never happened, and now her father’s irritation is almost a satisfying twist.

“You campin’ out in that dogshit trailer of yours?” Romeo asks Javier, shifting the conversation.

“Don’t have much of a choice.”

“You’re better off stayin’ with us.”

The comment throws him off but he doesn’t convey it, gaze flickering over to Paloma, who has an encouraging look already in her eyes.

Accept the fucking invite! It’s a dangerous, dangerous game, but one he’s foolish enough to be tempted to play.

“You sure?” Javi asks, a subtle trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Positive. Got more than enough room. Beats bein’ hunkered down with just this one,” Romeo jokes, glancing at his daughter.

“Jeez, daddy, thanks,” she playfully shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she rounds the car and gets into the passenger seat, closing and shaking off her wet umbrella.

“Alright,” he concedes and she’s over the freaking moon, “Thanks. I appreciate it. See you all tomorrow.”

Romeo nods in acknowledgement and Paloma winks at him behind her father’s back.

She is kneeling over her plants when Javier shows up the following day. The rain from last night and this morning has finally let up, and she’s using this pocket of dryness to put row covers over her garden to shield it from the severe weather.

“I’ve always admired a girl who likes to get her hands dirty,” he says from behind her with a cocky grin. She turns to face him, mud covering her overalls and caking her rain boots.

“How original,” she replies, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, smearing some dirt there in the process. “So damn humid, feels like the devil’s ballsack out today.”

Javi chuckles and steps closer, affectionately wiping the dirt from her forehead. “You have a way with words, sweetheart. Where’s your dad?”

“Went to get a few last-minute things ‘fore town closed up.”

“So I can kiss you without having to look over my shoulder?”

“Dunno if you wanna do all that when I’m dirtied up like this.”

“I think you wear the mud real nice,” he murmurs, pulling her to him. He places a wet kiss on her lips, which she reciprocates without hesitation, her tongue breaching his mouth.

“Guess I’m not too dirty for you after all,” she whispers when they part, a flirtatious simper ghosting over her mouth.

“Never that, preciosa. Do I need to remind you how dirty you were over the phone the other night?” he raises a brow, voice dropping to a low timbre that sends a thrill up her spine.

“You might, actually…” Her pulse quickens, a flush creeping up her neck as she recalls their late-night conversation.

It was the first time she’d ever done anything like that, and while she felt a bit embarrassed at the start, Javier’s soothing, erotic guidance had turned it into something fucking incredible. Everything he does is fucking incredible.

He hums appreciatively, “Wouldn’t mind that,” his fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.

He leans in again, capturing her lips in another kiss. His hands slide down to her hips, tracing the exposed skin along the side openings of her overalls, squeezing gently.

Paloma could really die a happy woman in his arms. 

Javier groans softly, the sound vibrating against her mouth, making her knees weak. “I should help you finish covering these plants before the storm hits,” his tone makes it clear he’s struggling to pull himself away from her. “Before your dad gets home.” He clarifies. 

“Yeah, you probably should,” she agrees, but not without placing a sweet peck to his chin.

As if she needed his help, but hey, when a man is willing; why not unload some of the labor onto him? 

She hands him a row cover, her fingers lingering on his as they exchange the material. “Can’t have ya standin’ around lookin’ all pretty while I do all the hard work.” She beams.

“We certainly can’t have that,” there’s a grin on his face as he moves to help her finish the task.

Javier’s hands are deft and strong as he secures the covers, getting dirtied up and looking straight up manly. It has her clit tingling with arousal, imagining his fingers inside of her again and how fucking amazing they felt when she rode them in the bed of his truck. 

Between his uniformed presence and country boy charm—this man is going to be the death of her.

His eyes never stray far from her, drinking in every detail of her mud-splattered appearance as she moves between planter boxes.

She catches him looking each time, sending a wink his way and his tongue pokes against his cheek bashfully.

He can’t help it, Paloma is just so beautiful.

A piece of wood, obscured by the mud, has Javier tripping over it, his feet betraying him as he loses balance on the slick, muddy ground.

Her hands fly up to cover her mouth in shock, eyes wide as she watches him go down, mud splattering everywhere.

She almost bursts into laughter but catches herself, the worry for him outweighing the amusement.

“Oh my goodness gracious, are you okay?!” she rushes towards him and discards her gloves.

Javier lies on his back, the cold, wet mud oozing through his shirt and coating his skin. He looks up at her, squinting one eye close. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grunts, despite the faint ache he feels at his lower back.

Sitting up, he extends his hand towards her to get him back on his feet.

As soon as their hands touch, he seizes the moment. With a mischievous grin, he yanks her down with him.

She gasps, a startled shriek escaping her lips as she tumbles into the thick, squelchy mud beside him. 

“I knew you were goin’ to do that!” she exclaims with exasperation and laughter.

“And yet you still tried to help me up anyway,” he retorts with a playful smirk.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends a handful of mud flying at him. It lands squarely on his cheek, sliding down in a comical, slow-motion descent until it plops into a heap on his lap.

“Oops,” she says with a feigned innocence.

In mere moments, they’re both engulfed in a muddy, joyful chaos. They spring to their feet and Javier begins to chase her around the garden, both of them taking turns flinging mud at each other.

They’re so engrossed in their antics that they don’t notice Romeo’s return.

The sight of them through the large bay window in the kitchen catches him off guard. He furrows his brows, puzzled and slightly amused by the raucous scene.

“Y’all look like a pair ‘a pigs runnin’ around like this.” her father’s voice rings out, dripping with bemusement as he descends the back porch steps.

His sturdy boots thud against the wooden planks when he approaches, gaze sweeping over them, taking in the sight of their disheveled, mud-coated figures.

“Javi slipped tryin’ to help me put the covers on and it was the funniest thing ever,” Paloma explains, her voice a little too high-pitched as she fails to clean herself up completely, wiping at her muddy cheeks, only managing to spread it further.

“Well, I reckon that’s one way to make a mess of things,” Romeo drawls, his gaze fixed on Javier with a pointed, almost accusatory edge.

Javier, caked in mud and feeling every bit like an overgrown teenager caught in trouble, manages a self-deprecating laugh. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”

He knows he needs to have the awkward conversation sooner rather than later. He has to tell Romeo about his relationship with Paloma and face whatever fallout comes with it.

She insists that her father will eventually come around, but it’s the immediate, explosive reaction that he dreads. He has to brace himself for the storm of anger and disappointment that is sure to erupt.

It won’t happen today nor tomorrow—not when he’s been offered shelter under his roof that Javi had stupidly agreed to, just to be near his fucking daughter.

What’s romance without a little risk?

“Well shit, if you wanna rinse off, I’d give it about…” Romeo glances up at the sky, his eyes calculating the darkening clouds. “Ten minutes ‘fore it starts raining again. Or you can use the hose,” he adds, gesturing towards the garden hose coiled beside the shed. 

“M’not gonna get caught in the storm. Don’t wanna get shocked up. We’ll use the hose.” Paloma replies.

“Right,” he grunts, rubbing his jaw. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I gotta finish puttin’ everythin’ away inside. Sure I can trust y’all out here?”

What a loaded fucking question.

“We’ll be fine, daddy. S’just a little mud.”

“I’ll try not to slip again,” Javier adds with a dry laugh, hoping he didn’t just make himself look like a clumsy idiot in front of the older man.

The sheriff snorts and gives a curt nod. “Alright then, you do that. Don’t need y’all trackin’ muck into the house.” He mutters, turning on his heel and heading back inside. 

Javier watches him go, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he turns to Paloma. “Skatin’ on thin ice,” he says, beginning to walk towards the shed and trying to get some of the wet dirt off him.

Paloma’s smile fades slightly, a hint of frustration edging her words. “Wouldn’t be if someone––”

“Okay,” he cuts her off gently, already knowing where that conversation is headed. “Let’s rinse off before he comes back out here and kicks my ass.”

She huffs out a laugh, “Fine. Glad you knew where I was goin’ with that.”

Javier reaches for the hose, adjusting the nozzle to a gentle spray, then aims it at her soiled overalls. The cool water hits the fabric, making the mud dissolve into dark, swirling rivulets. As the grime starts to wash away, he moves methodically, making sure to hit every spot.

Paloma watches him, her heart warming at his careful attention. The water cascades down her clothes, revealing glimpses of her soft curves beneath the mess.

When he’s done, she takes the hose from him with a mischievous grin. “Mi turno.”

As she works, she decides to be bold by reaching out to touch him. Her fingers brush against his skin and Javier’s throat bobs, meeting her eyes with a wary look then glancing over her shoulder to make sure Romeo wasn’t watching them from the house.

“Thin. Ice.” He repeats.

“Live a little,” she counters with a playful lilt.

She leans in closer, her wet body brushing against his as she continues to rinse. The proximity feels like a charged exchange of impulsiveness since they both can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, even with the looming threat of her father’s presence just inside. 

When she finishes, Paloma sets the hose down, her fingers lingering longer than necessary, his shirt clinging to his torso, accentuating the lines of his muscles, luring her in.

She looks up at him. “All clean.”

“You want him to kill me.”

“No, this is just fun… ‘n I love seein’ you squirm like a lil worm.”

He licks across the bottom row of his teeth, “You keep fuckin’ around like this, nena, and I’ll have no choice but to put you in your place.” She wants him to squirm, fine, but he’ll make sure to return that energy tenth fold.

“That a promise?”

“You really want to see how far you can push me, huh?”

“Un poco.” She pinches her thumb and pointer finger together, mocking him and he scoffs.

“Gettin’ in over your head babygirl. Now’s not the time to do this, not when I can’t bend you over and fuck you stupid. Then you wouldn’t have a choice but to shut up and be compliant.”

Oh fuck, his words go straight to her pussy and her heart skips a beat. “Who says you can’t do that?”

Javier groans. Nope, not doing this right now. “You’re baiting me like a fuckin’ fish and I’m not gettin’ hooked. Inside. Go.”

She smirks like she’s just won the fucking lottery, stomping back towards the house with her chin held high.

If anyone is in over their heads here it’s him, accepting Romeo’s invitation to stay knowing Paloma is his greatest temptation.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds with a sense of normalcy, despite the tempest raging outside. The sky has grown dark, pierced by occasional flashes of lightning that illuminate the living room. Thunder rumbles intermittently, its low growl resonating through the house, while the wind howls and the rain pelts against the windows, creating a rhythmic drumming sound that is soothing yet insistent.

Inside, the atmosphere is comforting. After showering off their mess from the mud, they settle into the warmth of the house.

Paloma busies herself in the kitchen, preparing an early dinner just in case the power goes out. 

They used to have a back up generator, but it crapped out on them last year and her father, ever the forgetful one, never got around to replacing it.

Javier and Romeo are engrossed in a tense card game at the dining table, their competitive banter punctuated by the clinking of chips and the shuffling of cards.

They sneak glances at each other every so often, their eyes conveying what they can’t say aloud.

Lingering touches become their secret language—his fingers brushing her arm when he scoots past her to grab another beer from the fridge, her body pressing subtly against his as she reaches over to grab something from the table.

If there was ever a time to show restraint, it’s now. She treats this as a game, trying to get him to break in front of her father, to force him into a confrontation.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, daring him to give in. He meets her gaze with a steady determination, silently promising that he won’t let her win so easily.

Eventually the three of them migrate to the living room. Romeo, having suggested an old movie to pass the time, is sprawled out on the couch, his snores becoming a steady background noise.

The movie plays on the screen, its dialogue a distant murmur amidst the storm. It’s a miracle the power hasn’t gone out yet.

Paloma uses this brief respite to seize a moment alone with Javier.

Quietly beckoning him down the hall, she leads him to the family dining room where a grand piano sits in the corner. It was a gift from the church, given to her on her tenth birthday.

After flicking on the lamp, she settles onto the bench, her fingers poised above the keys with a delicate grace.

She begins to play, her touch tentative at first, then gradually more confident as the familiar notes fill the room.

Javier leans against the door frame, mesmerized by the scene before him. He watches her intently, captivated by the subtle expressions that flit across her face as she listens to each note, her eyes closed in concentration.

He breaks the spell with a gentle question, “How long have you been playing?”

She glances over at him, her expression wistful. “Ever since I could, really. Momma wasted no time in teachin’ me.” Her voice carries a touch of nostalgia, a subtle sadness that she hopes goes unnoticed.

She’s relieved when Javier doesn’t press further. Instead, he simply nods, his understanding evident in his gaze.

“Come sit,” Paloma invites, her voice honeyed like it always is. She shifts slightly on the bench, patting the empty space beside her.

Javier moves to join her, their shoulders brushing. He’s too damn broad to be sitting on this small ass seat.

He does feels a flutter of excitement at hearing her like this. It’s different from her shows at the bar, more intimate and personal, reminding him of that time in the shed when he was fixing her car and she played her guitar.

The memory of her song about Nina, which she hasn’t brought up since that day, lingers in his mind.

“It ain’t anythin’ new, just an old song I wrote after George,” she begins, and a small, sad smile touches her lips. He wants to kiss it away. “It’s my favorite to play on the piano. You can really feel the heartbreak.”

“Your heartbreak?” he asks, the question slipping out before he can catch it. He bites the inside of his lip, worried that he’s overstepped somehow.

“Mhm,” she doesn’t mind, opening the folder that rests against the music desk and pulling out her short-hand sheet music. “Took me so long to finish it. I was stuck on this bench for what felt like an eternity before I got it done.”

He doesn’t know what to say and she doesn’t expect him to be necessarily chatty. They’re taking turns showing their vulnerability, sharing a little at a time at a pace that seems to be benefiting them both and their relationship.

The room is filled with the soft, melodic strains of the piano as she starts again, blending with the patter of rain and rumbling of the thunder. Her voice joins shortly after, and the entire time Javier can’t keep his eyes off her. 

Beneath the warmth of his admiration, Paloma feels oh so exposed. She’s never played this for anyone before, and the only reason she’s doing it now is because she wants him to understand why it’s so important to her that he doesn’t love her in secret. That he doesn’t string her along.

She’s already been through that heartbreak before, and it left her with this nasty, harrowing feeling that didn’t go away for years. Now, considering everything they’ve been through, she knows she won’t be able to recover if things go awry again.

And he listens—Javi listens to each word that falls from her lips, her voice soft to compliment their surroundings.

She’s got real talent; he’s known that from the dozens of times he’s been at her shows, hell it was evident at the fair. But here, with just her voice and the piano, weaving a story that is both haunting and beautiful; she’s opened herself up to him, letting him glimpse her pain.

She doesn’t do it in a verbal confrontation; she does it in her own way, and the message comes across just the same.

Sure, Javier might not be good with words, but he doesn’t need them to let her in. He just needs to lower his guard and not hide from her or any of his past grievances.

He’s never met anyone who makes him self-reflect as much as she does.

As the final notes fade into the quiet, the sounds of the weather seamlessly take their place. Paloma’s fingers linger on the keys as she turns to look at him, “What’d ya think?”

Javier reaches out, stroking her cheek affectionately. “Increíble, cariño. Can’t imagine how hard it was for you to go through that.” he replies, words laden with sincerity.

A small yet genuine smile paints itself on her face and she shrugs lightly, “It was tough, but I’m a tough girl. Got through it eventually…” she trails off, attention flickering to the keys before meeting his brown eyes again, “And I know I’m bein’ kinda anal about you tellin’ my daddy ‘n stuff but there’s reasonin’ behind it. I wanted you to know that reason. You make me feel all these...things. Things I’ve felt before. Things I’ve lost. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“And it won’t.” He reassures her, tone hushed as to not wake her father.

The lights flicker suddenly and they both look towards the lamp before he’s getting her to look at him again.

“Paloma, those things you feel. I feel them too and I don’t want to fuck ‘em up either. Te quiero a ti (I want you), mi corazón, te necesito (I need you). Like fuckin’ air. It’s ridiculous how spun you’ve got me.”

Paloma’s heart swells at his words, the rawness of them, and she doesn’t give a fuck if her dad was to walk in in this very moment; she lurches forward to kiss him, holding his jaw tenderly.

The power finally gives out, accompanied with a deafening crash of lightning, plunging the room into darkness. The storm outside intensifies, its ferocity underscored by the unrelenting roar of thunder.

They pull back abruptly, but he’s still close enough to brush his nose against the soft skin of her cheek. He needs her so bad.

Paloma’s eyes flutter close at the feel of his warm breath caressing her, a polarizing energy drawing them together and she almost crawls onto his lap.

She hears her father’s voice calling for her and she wishes she hadn’t. Wishes he wasn’t around at all so she could take Javier right here on the fucking piano.

She moves off the bench, flustered completely, shouting down the hall, “We’re gettin’ the lanterns outta the closet to set ‘em up.”

Javier clears his throat, following her down the shadowy hallway until they’re at the closet, watching her rummage through it.

The dim light from the lightning intermittently illuminates her figure, making her movements more sensual than they should be.

When his vision becomes clouded by lust, it’s hard for him to focus on anything that isn’t his subject of affection. That currently being her.

His gaze lingers on her bent over figure, her leggings hugging her curves just right, shirt riding up to expose a slither of skin at her lower back. “No candles?”

“Not safe in a storm like this,” she replies, pulling out a taped up cardboard box. “Don’t want the house goin’ up in flames if the gas lines get hit.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, she smirks when she sees that he’s distracted. “Hey handsome, my eyes are up here.”

“And while your eyes are definitely worth admiring, I’m more intrigued by this ass you got, baby.” He can’t help but deliver a slight spank.

A flush creeps up her cheeks and she gasps his name softly, “Just go put these out by the kitchen and living room, please.”

“Si, jefa.” His grin widens, clearly enjoying her reaction, as he takes the box and heads toward the main rooms, leaving her to handle upstairs.

When Paloma rejoins them in the kitchen, she finds Javier and her father standing by the window, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the lanterns. They peer out into the storm, watching the rain lash against the windowpane.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these,” she comments.

Romeo, with a small scowl, shakes his head. “Leave it to everyone in town to think this is the work of the devil.”

She snorts at the remark, recognizing the truth in it. A weather anomaly in their small town is enough to stir up wild tales and superstitions. That atop of all the rising tensions and well…

“Yeah, one odd storm, and it’s suddenly the apocalypse,” Javier quips.

She moves to set the table. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to have dinner. In case the end times really are amongst us.”

They sit around the table, their conversation punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. As they finish their meal and clean up, her father clears his throat and stretches, glancing out at the downpour with a tired sigh. “I’m turnin’ in for the night,” he announces. 

Paloma and Javier exchange glances, her drying off plates next to her dad and him leaning against the kitchen island, trying not to show how eager they are to be left alone.

“Me too. Probably gonna read a bit before bed. Javier, we’ve set up my old playroom for you to stay in.” His lips twitch at the use of his full first name, and he looks at them both, rubbing his lips together.

“I appreciate you letting me bunker down here.”

“Not a problem. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw your tin can blowin’ across the yard.” Romeo jokes, drying his hands off then leaning over to pinch at his daughter’s nose affectionately, like he always does. She scrunches her face up in response.

“Night y’all. Javier help yourself to anything.”

He bites back a smirk, the first response to cross his mind being like your daughter? Like the smug bastard that he is. Instead, he gives him a curt nod. “Thank you, goodnight.”

“Night daddy.”

There’s a charged silence as Romeo saunters down the hall, and it’s not until they hear his bedroom door click close that he rounds the counter and walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“Help myself to anything I want. Hm…” he whispers hotly into her ear, one hand moving up to grope her breast, the other toying with the band of her leggings.

She exhales shakily, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and closing her eyes as she enjoys his touch on her body, the way she can feel his erection poking against her ass. “What happened to you not gettin’ hooked?”

He sees the small smirk on her face and he squeezes his grip on her tit, nibbling along her neck. She shudders.

“Shut up.”

Javier spins her around, caging her between him and the counter, dark eyes boring into hers. He goes in for a proper kiss but she stops him, pointer finger pressing against his pursed lips.

He growls her name out and it’s almost drowned out by the wave of thunder that rolls by.

“Meet me in my room in an hour.” She whispers, dropping her hand and spreading her palm against the center of his chest, pushing him back so she’s able to slip away from him.

“Always a tease,” he grumbles, adjusting himself in his sweatpants.

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Paloma walks backwards, blowing him a kiss before disappearing upstairs.

Javier stands on the other side of her door, exactly an hour later as instructed. He rasps his knuckles softly against the wood, and the door opens immediately.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They share a moment of silence, exchanging a lustful stare before she opens the door wider for him to come in.

“This is a bad idea, bebita. Your dad is just downstairs.” Though the statement dies on his tongue as his eyes rake over her body.

She’s wearing his red checkered flannel, the one he had let her wear the night of the Fourth of July. She hasn’t got anything on under it aside from the only thong she owns, since she isn’t privy to them.

Usually, she would just forgo underwear altogether instead of wearing the uncomfortable scrap of fabric.

But it’s serving its purpose right now.

The flannel doesn’t smell like him anymore since she’d washed it, but she still liked how soft it felt against her skin.

Plus, she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist once he saw her in it.

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” Her voice drops to a whisper, walking him back until he’s sat at the edge of her bed, Paloma standing between his spread legs and her hands cupping his face.

He swallows hard, his large hands automatically finding her hips, sliding under the flannel to feel the warmth of her skin. “You look incredible.”

Paloma leans in, her lips ghosting over his. “I wore it just for you.”

Javier’s heart races as he feels the heat emanating from her body. He gently tugs her closer, exploring the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips, then grabbing her ass. “You’re killing me, princesa.”

She loves hearing that coming from him.

“You gonna be able to stay quiet? Last time we had to be, I had to shut you up myself.” His touch shifts to the back of her thighs, fingers caressing the soft skin there, eyes focused on her and how she reacts to him.

Two lanterns bathe her room in warm light, casting a glow that aids her in her quest to seduce him.

“I think I can manage this time.” She ducks her head to kiss him, not hungrily or passionately, but slowly, savoring the taste of mint that lingers on his tongue.

His lips travel from her mouth to her jawline, and down the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Javi?”

“¿Si, muñeca?”

“I need your help with something.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Need you to talk me through sucking your dick.”

He pulls back abruptly, blinking rapidly as he processes her words. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” she juts her lower lip out, “I’ve… well I’ve never done it before and I really, really really want to do it with you.” She sounds desperate but she doesn’t care.

Paloma’s been fantasizing about it for a while now, the desire to do it only growing the more intimate they got. Her mind has been filled with images of him, his reactions, and the way he might look at her with that smoldering gaze of his.

The thought of pleasing him, of having his taste and scent overwhelm her, has her buzzing with a heady mix of excitement and nervousness.

“I’m having a hard time believing that. You’ve got perfect fuckin’ lips,” soft, plump, just begging to have a cock between them.

She giggles, feeling his fingers toying with the thin strap of her thong. “Thank you. I’d like to put ‘em to use if you don’t mind.”

He blows out a breath, trying to keep his composure. “How inexperienced are we talking here?” Javier’s cock is already twitching, knowing that no one has breached this part of her and that he’s the one who gets to do it is making him delirious.

“I know what it is. Given a hand job before but never had one down my throat,” she admits, her cheeks flushed.

He grunts at her wording. “I’ve seen a few dirty flicks where the girl’s done it. I think m’capable, but I wanna know what you like. How you want me to take it.”

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep my shit together.”

Another giggle escapes her lips as she slowly moves to her knees, the plush rug cushioning her descent. Her dainty hands come to rest on his muscular thighs, fingers gently kneading the fabric of his gray sweatpants.

He looks irresistibly sexy in his casual attire, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants that do nothing to hide the raw masculinity that has her already dripping wet, eagerly awaiting his instructions.

The look she gives him—those eyes, brimming with lust—makes him wish he had a video camera to capture this moment.

He wants to immortalize the way her lips part slightly, how her breath quickens, the way her hands tremble with enthusiasm.

He wants to be able to replay it over and over again, to remember how she looks up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze filled with an intensity that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.

“Unbutton the shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits of yours, sweetheart.” 

Her thighs clench, fingers flying to the buttons of the flannel, deftly popping them open to reveal her chest, a shiver skipping over her exposed skin and perking her nipples.

Javier’s eyes darken with hunger as he licks his lips slowly, savoring the sight before him.

He brings his hand up, cupping her left breast, his thumb brushing over her skin in teasing strokes. His calloused touch sends a ripple of pleasure through her, responding with ragged breaths.

Just as she starts to lean into his hand, he pulls away, leaving her yearning for more.

“Now touch me, princesa. Feel how hard you got me.”

This is how she dies, she thinks, with Javier Peña talking her through her first blowjob. Their little erotic phone call had been one experience, and now he is bestowing another one upon her. In the same week.

Maybe she’s already dead.

Her palm glides up and down his length, tracing the hardening outline over the soft fabric of his sweatpants. The sight of her full tits and pebbled nipples enough to get him fully hard.

Paloma leans in, gently lifting the hem of his tee out of the way. She places a delicate kiss just above his waistband, her lips brushing against the warm skin of his lower abdomen and her nose scrunching as the dark trail of hair tickles her.

Her hand continues its rhythmic motion, eliciting a slow, deep exhale from him— unspoken encouragement to keep going.

“So big,” she murmurs, “don’t know how I’m goin’ to fit it all in my mouth.” Her tongue darts out, teasingly licking around his belly button, causing his stomach to tighten in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, muñeca,” he coos, “We’ll make it fit.”

With starry eyes, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his bottoms, slowly dragging them down. He lifts his hips to help her, the fabric sliding off and pooling around his ankles.

His cock springs free, resting heavily against his pelvis.

Her eyes widen, mouth watering.

She’s felt his impressive size, but seeing it so closely in the flesh sends thudding pressure to her clit, blood rushing with a desperate need to please him.

He’s thick and perfectly sized with an enticing curve that has her tongue moving involuntarily in her mouth. The skin is a shade lighter than the rest of him, currently flushed a deep, heated red, the smooth head throbbing and glistening with precum dripping from the slit.

“Damn, Javi,” she purrs, a content hum vibrating through her chest. “Every part of you is handsome.” It makes her heart race, and she can feel heat licking at her labia, eager to show him just how much she aches for him.

He exhales through his nose, stroking her hair and gently urging her forward. “Give it a kiss, bebita.”

“Where?”

“Donde tú quieras.”

She sucks her teeth, contemplating how she wants to do this. The soft lighting of the room and the flashes of silver from the lightning outside accentuate every ridge and curve of his cock—making it look so yummy.

Javi can feel her warm breath fanning over him, then the blissful wetness of her plump lips as she presses them against the blazing skin of his base. Her tongue follows, tracing the path of a thick vein with deliberate slowness.

He curses under his breath, biting down on his tongue to stifle any involuntary noises, but fuck, it feels good.

Her tongue traces the protruding vein all the way to the top, circling around the head, mimicking what she’s seen in the pornos. More precum leaks from his slit, and she laps at it thirstily, welcoming the peculiar flavor. The salty tang mingles with the taste of his skin, driving her fucking crazy.

“It doesn’t look like I have to teach you much, chiquita, you’re doing an amazing fuckin’ job so far.” Javier praises, continuing to stroke her hair with a satisfied, wolfish grin playing at his lips.

“Really?” She seeks his approval like a drowning woman seeking air.

“Of course. Always so good for me.” His dark eyes gleam with ardor, “Now get it wet, baby, so it can slip in your mouth easily.”

Obedient as ever and fueled by his praise, her tongue moves with sinful precision, eyes fluttering close as she focuses on licking every inch, using her lips to press open mouthed kisses all over.

More saliva gathers in her mouth, and she deliberately lets a thick, glistening strand fall from her lips, dribbling over the sensitive tip and trailing slowly down the full length of him.

Paloma’s hand comes up, fingers wrapping around his dick with a teasing grip. Her movements are slow, pumping him gently.

“Your nails look so sexy wrapped around my cock like this baby holy fuck,” Javier can’t help but compliment as she squeezes him, clenching his jaw. “That’s right, así mero princesa, shit.” He grunts, the hand that had been tenderly stroking her hair now tangles into her long, silken strands, fingers gripping and gently tugging, a primal response to her actions.

He mentioned a long time ago how much he loved it when a woman had a fresh manicure, and Paloma, ever wanting to get his attention, has not missed a single appointment with her manicurist since.

“Got ‘em done just for you,” she coos, winking up at him and leaning forward to purse her lips, slapping his fat head against them.

“Gettin’ yourself all done up for me? Mi muñequita so eager to please. Go ahead and put me in your mouth. Wanna see those pretty lips around my cock.”

She can feel her slick dampening her panties, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good. Show up any other woman he’s ever taken to bed.

Holding him steady at the base, she parts her lips and slowly envelops his cock in her hot mouth.

The heavy, pulsing weight of him pressing down on her tongue amplifies her craving for more. His slick, warm flesh, generously coated in her spit, has him sliding effortlessly into her mouth.

Javier brings his fist up to bite into it, letting out a choked groan.

The weather continues its tyranny outdoors and he’s fucking grateful that it’s loud enough to cover the sounds of pleasure she’s pulling from him. “Take it slow, baby, open your jaw a little more.”

She listens, lowering her chin and taking him deeper into her mouth. The blunt tip grazes the back of her throat, causing her to gag and she pulls back, struggling to catch her breath.

The feeling is overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks in a low, gravelly murmur, eyelids heavy as he watches her.

The fingers previously tangled in her hair now brush away the few stray strands that have fallen forward behind her ear.

She responds with a breathy hum of affirmation, determined to push him further down her throat. But her eagerness causes her to overestimate her capacity, resulting in a sputtering mess as she chokes and coughs, droplets of her saliva splattering over him.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he soothes, his thumb gently swiping at the spit on her lower lip. “Take it easy. S’not a race.” The tender gesture only heightens her arousal.

“I jus’ wanna make you feel good, Javi,” she replies, voice hoarse from the strain of her attempt at deep throating.

“Trust me, you’re doing just fine. Here, let me help.” His hand moves to the nape of her neck, carefully guiding her closer. 

He slowly breaches her mouth with his cock again, slipping in and out in a gentle rhythm. He helps her find a steady pace, his care and control transforming the act into more of an intimate experience.

“Atta girl, just like that. Tan hermosa,” he murmurs, admiring the view of her flushed face. “Think you can handle it all on your own now?”

She responds with a soft nod, the subtle move has her teeth just barely grazing his throbbing cock and it makes him shudder, jaw going slack.

More confident and her jaw worked open more, Paloma hollows her cheeks and blows him with keenness.

Her hands join in, one cradling his balls while the other wraps around his dick, stroking him in time with her mouth.

She looks up at him through her wet lashes, a loving glint twinkling in her eyes.

Javier curses under his breath, head lolling back and eyes fluttering close as her mouth and tongue work together to tread the fine fucking line of his orgasm. 

She takes him deeper, her swollen lips stretching around his cock while her jaw aches from accommodating him.

He gathers her hair into a loose ponytail with his fist, hips starting to move in tandem with her mouth. “Just like that, palomita.”

She’s got the hang of it now, able to take him all in, nose brushing against the tuft of hair at his base that’s damp with the saliva from her ministrations. 

The storm rages outside, but here, in this moment, all he can focus on is the exquisite torment of her mouth tightening the coil at the base of his spine.

Paloma stills, swallowing around his length and he praises her in a hushed whisper.

Javi gently strokes her cheek with his fingertips, his touch tender and reassuring, the contrast of his soft caress with the way she’s got him down her throat making her heart do jumping jacks.

She struggles to breathe but she doesn’t really give a fuck. The intense thrill of his reactions has her losing herself completely, thighs tensing together.

Her thong, now drenched with her own excited mess, sticks to her pussy; reminding her of how hot and bothered she is from just blowing him.

Between her tight throat, swirling tongue, and pretty gags, Javier has to pull her off of him before he spills his load down her throat.

Gasping for air, her eyes are glazed with tears of both pleasure and strain.

She looks up at him again with an expression so intoxicating—he nearly paints her face at the sight. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nada, cariño. I’d just like to fuck your pussy and not come down your throat tonight.” Some other time, for sure.

“I take it as I did a good job?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

Paloma’s lips curl into a triumphant smirk, brown eyes glowing with satisfaction at his praise. She licks her lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as she leans in, pressing a final kiss on the sensitive tip of his cock with the electrifying touch of her lips.

Slowly, she rises from her knees, her movements fluid and deliberately sensual. She trails heated, open-mouthed kisses up his torso, each touch igniting a feverish path on his skin.

As she moves, she pulls his shirt up along with her, her soft breasts brushing against his firm stomach.

He reacts quickly, shedding the shirt and tossing it aside.

Their lips finally meet in a fervent kiss. It’s messy and passionate—they’re drunk off each other.

“How do you want me?” Paloma asks in a sultry whisper.

“Face down, ass up,” he grunts, pushing the flannel off her shoulders, eager to feel more of her bare skin beneath his touch.

She positions herself on the bed, her face nuzzling against the soft mountain of pillows, arms stretched out in front of her.

The recently fixed headboard offers a silent promise; no noise will give them away, and they won’t have to worry about getting caught.

That’s the last thing they need.

Whether they’re able to keep quiet themselves is an entirely different thing.

Javier, now fully nude, strokes his cock slowly, savoring the sight before him. Her plump ass is on full display, tantalizingly framed by the thin, barely-there panties.

He grunts with satisfaction, his gaze hungrily devouring the view of her pretty pussy, ready for him to take.

As he closes the distance between them, he kneads her ass cheeks firmly, the smoothness of her skin and the way she molds to his touch triggering a searing lust in him. 

Every fantasy he’d ever had about her in this position is now a vivid, thrilling reality. He’s intent on taking full advantage of this, to make her his in every sense. 

“Don’t know if I can trust you to stay quiet,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls down her underwear, a string of her slick sticking to it, making the sight so fucking erotic.

Paloma can’t help but sway her hips, enticing him further, as she lays bare on the mattress. “I will be, honey, I promise.” She turns her head to try and get a better look at him, cheek resting on the cushion.

“Can’t take that risk. Not tonight.” The bed dips when he positions himself behind her, and his broad frame bends over hers, chest to her back, wet cock brushing up against the skin of her ass. “Abre,” he commands lowly into her ear and she whimpers, parting her lips.

Her eyes go wide with surprise and her pulsating sex drools when he shoves her damp, ruined panties into her mouth. The fabric is cool against her tongue, tinged with her own tangy scent, and she can taste the remnants of her arousal.

Her moan is swallowed by the material, muffled and contained, amplifying the sensation of helpless pleasure that floods her senses.

“Calladita te ves más bonita (you look prettier with your mouth shut),” he taunts, placing a kiss to her cheek, bristling mustache dragging at her shoulder, until he straightens up and takes his cock into his hand again, slowly rubbing it along her slit and spreading their mess all over her cunt.

Paloma clenches around nothing in anticipation, arching her back and spreading her knees a little more to give him the perfect angle to rut into her. 

He sinks into her pussy slowly, growling expletives under his breath at how fucking amazing she feels positioned like this. Her tight, wet heat wrapping around him as he splits her open on his girth. “Sucking me in so well, amor, just like that fucking mouth of yours.”

Every sound of ecstasy gets lost on the now wet cloth as drool pools from her lips, brain absolutely melting once he’s balls deep inside of her, the weight of them pressed up against her clit.

All she can think and feel is him. He doesn’t give her a moment to adjust, pulling out until only his fat head is inside before roughly snapping his hips against hers.

The pace he sets is deliciously brutal, tears sting at her eyes as he presses up against that spot inside her that makes more juices drip out of her pussy and slather all over his dick.

Javier is completely entranced, watching as her cunt stretches open for him each time he rolls his hips, spitting his cock out, covered in her creamy arousal.

He spreads her cheeks to get the best view possible, biting his lip harshly and digging his fingertips into her skin.

The thunderstorm doesn’t let up, perfectly masking the filthy sounds of their fucking. “Feels fucking amazing baby, shit, can feel you clenching around me. Love being gagged, don’t you?” He can’t help himself, moving his hands so one hand tangles itself in her long hair, pulling at it so she’s on all fours now while the other grabs onto her hip.

Like a doll, she lets him move her however the hell he wants. Her arms tremble as she holds herself up, her scalp burning from his firm grip, each tug cascading waves of blissful electricity all over, starting at her toes.

Sex with Javier is unlike anything she’s ever experienced—raw, fiery, and profoundly exhilarating.

As he moves, her body dances to his rhythm, each motion perfectly synchronized with his. The soft flesh of her ass jiggles enticingly with each thrust, the twin dimples at the base of her spine deepening and winking at him.

Beads of sweat glisten on her golden skin, trailing seductively down the arch of her spine. He leans closer, his tongue darting out to lap at a single drop of perspiration, savoring the salty sweetness.

Paloma keens, bringing one hand back to dig her nails into his wrist as he fucks her like those stars in the dirty flicks.

Javier moves quickly, pinning both of her wrists at the base of her spine, her face falling flat on the pillows and further making it hard for her to breathe. She loves it, loves the way he’s manhandling her.

His balls tighten, as does the grip on her wrists.

He’s right at the edge of his precipice. But he can’t let go just yet—not without getting her off first. “So proud of you for taking this cock so well, muñeca. C’mon, baby, come all over it. I can feel how close you are. She’s grippin’ me so tight. Doesn’t want me to leave.”

Paloma squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating on the relentless way he fucks into her. Her walls convulse around his shaft, each stroke lighting up every nerve in her body.

He’s filling her to the brim, burying every bit of his soul and essence into her pussy.

It’s a raw and intimate exchange, a way he opens up and surrenders himself to her.

She sings, he fucks. He’s finding a healthier way to fuck his feelings into his woman without the devastating angst.

Unlike before, where passion was tangled with pain and regret, he now seeks a more fulfilling release.

Javier finds solace in their sex.

A stark white flash of lightning illuminates the room, casting fleeting shadows over their intertwined bodies, followed by the familiar, rolling rumble of thunder. The storm outside mirrors the tempestuous passion in her bedroom.

Thank-fucking-God her daddy was a heavy sleeper.

He yanks her up, pressing his chest flush against her back and trapping her wrists between them, the heat of their bodies melding them together.

One arm snakes around to grab her bouncing tit, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, while his other slips down to her clit, alternating between softly pinching and rubbing circles against the sticky, sensitive flesh.

“When I pull the panties out your mouth, I want you to moan my name. You understand?” he whispers hotly into her ear. At first, she’s too lost in the pleasure he’s bringing her to fully grasp his words, mind clouded with nothing but Javier Peña.

He delivers a particularly harsh thrust, making her gasp and snapping her eyes open––bringing her back to the present.

Repeating himself in a throaty and commanding voice, she nods faintly, understanding now, her body quivering.

After a few more intensely euphoric moments, another strike splits the sky. Javier hastily removes the gag from her mouth, his fingers brushing her lips. “Give it to me, Paloma,” He grits through his teeth.

And she does. The crack of the lightning and the storm’s thunder roar loudly, shaking the house, her primal cry of bliss drowned out by the heavy noise.

“Javi!” her jaw falls open, walls contracting tightly around his dick, milking him as her climax crashes into her.

The sensation is so much, she nearly blacks out, her vision swimming in a haze of pleasure. Paloma’s body tenses, and that’s all it takes for him to follow suit.

Javier tightens his grip on her, his fingers pulling at her nipple as his own orgasm hits.

His cock twitches, releasing his hot seed deep inside her, filling her up completely. He grunts against her neck, his breath ragged, teeth finding and sinking into her damp skin.

He kisses her sloppily, leaving a trail of wetness from his tongue as he marks her, claiming her in their shared moment of fucking paradise.

They stay like that for a few moments, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in sync, as they come down from their respective highs.

“M’never, ever, ever gonna get tired of that,” she pants out with a satisfied grin, tilting her head to pepper kisses along the side of his head as his lips continue to press against her neck.

“You and me both, princesa.” Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, both of them smiling into it. His hold on her loosens, now cradling her affectionately, and she melts into his embrace.

“Lay with me, Javi, please?” she whispers, running the tip of her nose along his cheek, giggling softly as his mustache tickles her skin.

He nods, momentarily forgetting where they were and the implications of what would unravel if the man downstairs decided to come up and check on them. “Okay.”

They untangle and she isn’t bothered by the way their mixed release seeps out of her, smearing all over her folds. She’ll shower it off in the morning.

They move beneath the sheets of her bed, settling against her pillows and the many stuffed animals she owns. “Damn, how many of these shits do you have?” Javier asks, holding a tattered bunny in his hand that she takes from him and tenderly caresses.

“Hey, don’t be rude. Mr. Bubbles was my very first best friend and a very important member of the family.”

Javier snorts, and she shoots him a playful glare, carefully placing her beloved plush on her bedside table. He shuffles as she leans against the headboard, his head resting on her stomach while her fingers play in his hair.

The rhythmic pattering of the rain is comforting now, the warm lights in her bedroom embracing this moment with a soft glow.

It’s quiet for a few moments, his lips placing tender kisses all over her soft skin. When he reaches the scar on her hip, he can’t help but bring his curious fingers up to gently trace it, the question hanging on the tip of his tongue.

“How’d you get this?”

Paloma takes a deep breath, her fingers still entertaining themselves in his curls. “I got it when I was thirteen,” she begins softly, “I used to love climbin’ this big tree we had in our backyard. I’d always go as high as I could, ‘n once I reached the top, I swore I could see the whole world from up there. It was beautiful, you know? The view, the feelin’ of being so free and above everythin’.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips as she remembers the exhilaration of those childhood climbs. “But one day, I saw somethin’ out in the distance—a shadowed figure. It made me feel… uneasy. I’d dreamt of somethin’ like it before, so seein’ it in person… it instilled this fear into me. Felt like a bad omen.”

Paloma shivers slightly at the recollection, and Javier’s hold tightens around her in silent support. “Somehow, I lost my footin’. Slipped off the branch and tumbled down the tree. The fall was chaotic as hell. One of the sharp branches nicked me and cut up my side. It was real deep, felt like I was gonna die.”

It was a miracle she didn’t break a bone or snap her neck. “I smacked the ground hard, it knocked the wind right outta me. I remember jus’ layin’ there, unable to breathe, and seein’ the blood. It was everywhere. The pain was so intense, and it took almost ten minutes of pure agony ‘fore I could use my lungs again. I started screamin’ like a banshee and my parents rushed out, absolutely frantic.”

The tip of his nose grazes the mark, his lips following suit, showering it with tender kisses. Her skin prickles with goosebumps as her fingertips gently scratch at his scalp.

“They rushed me into town to see Dr. Hughes. She stitched me up and told me I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Daddy and a few of his lumberjack buddies cut the tree down the next day. I was so sad.”

“Bet you didn’t climb more trees after that.” He smirks up at her and she snorts softly.

“I did, I was jus’ more careful.”

Javier’s affections trail upward from her stomach to her sternum, then to her neck, and she sighs happily.

The feel of his body between her legs, flaccid cock pressed up against her sore pussy, cradled in her arms, is a high she’s going to spend the rest of her life chasing.

They kiss and kiss until her lips are blue and his lungs beg for oxygen, exchanging tender touches.

His hand finds its familiar place around her neck but doesn’t apply any real pressure, thumb gently brushing against the column of her throat.

She revels in the feel of him.

Her dainty hands roam over his muscular back, broad shoulders, and toned triceps, exploring every inch they can reach. Each touch feels like a declaration of their mutual addiction.

The way they fit together, both physically and emotionally, is intoxicating.

She can feel his love in every movement, every kiss, and every gentle brush of his thumb.

This is their sanctuary, a moment where they can express their deepest emotions without fear.

“I could stay here all night.”

“Why limit yourself to all night? Why not forever?”

He groans out in satisfaction, nipping at her chin, needing his lips on some part of her at all times.

“As much as I’d love to pretend like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I have to go back across the hall.”

“You don’t have to do anythin’. Said it was a bad idea to mess ‘round while my daddy’s downstairs but that didn’t stop you from fuckin’ me.”

She can’t even take the expression he flashes her seriously, not with his hair sticking up in odd places and that fucked out glaze over his brown eyes.

“Just leave early in the morning. Or at least wait until I fall asleep.” And out of spite, she’s tempted to stay up all night just to keep him in her bed.

“Fine. Until you fall asleep.” He kisses her on the lips, moving from between her legs until he’s settled behind her, scooping her into his arms. Her head rests on his chest, one leg hitched over his, and her palm sprawled against his stomach.

He trails his fingers up and down the length of her spine, the other hand stroking the thigh draped over his hip. He nuzzles his nose against the crown of her hair and inhales deeply.

Her scent is not only an aphrodisiac but also incredibly calming.

She feels the accelerated pounding of his heart and before she can ask what’s wrong, his tongue loosens.

“I had this partner in Colombia. Steve Murphy. The most American American you’ll ever meet.” A small smile forms on his face as he reminisces, “Didn’t speak a lick of Spanish but still managed to help me get shit done. We went through the fuckin’ trenches together down there and I put him through the wringer so many goddamn times. I was such an asshole.”

“Was?” She can’t help but quip, kissing up on his chest. Javier slaps at her thigh.

She can tell he holds fondness for this man and she wonders why he’s just now bringing him up. Regardless, she enjoys hearing about his time in the DEA, despite how dark it can get.

He was a completely different man with baggage she can’t even begin to fathom.

“We found a baby girl in her house one day. Her mother and the rest of her family had been shot up by some of Escobar’s men. They were about to kill her when we showed up.”

The conversation takes a turn, and Paloma lifts her head to meet his gaze, but he looks relatively calm as he goes on with the story.

“We chased those bastards all over the neighborhood. Right as I got the upper hand on one, a kid no older than ten cornered me with a fucking pistol.” Her eyes widen, and she brings her fingers up to touch his cheek.

“‘Course I wasn’t going to shoot a fucking kid. They both ran off. Murphy and his wife, Connie, ended up adopting the girl. Olivia, they named her.”

“Olivia’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s precious.”

The context of his past has jaded such a good man, molding him into a cynic over the years. No wonder he struggles to be vulnerable.

His eyes, though calm, reveal a depth of pain and reflection, the memories of those days etched into his soul.

“I think they’d like you.” He turns his head to kiss her palm, nuzzling against it as she cradles his face.

“Well maybe I’ll get to meet ‘em one day. Your pops, too.”

“Oh I know he’d love you. Just knowing how you tend to the house and yard is gonna have him wanting to steal you from me.” Javier playfully nips at her fingertips, those golden flecks she loves to see in his eyes returning.

“If he’s anything like you, then you’re in trouble, cowboy.” 

She’s tickled by the hairs of his mustache and accidentally lets a loud laugh slip, causing him to grip her jaw gently as he shushes her. “Shhh, baby…” His thumb is at her bottom lip, “Gonna get us caught.”

“Tell that to your ‘stache, sir. S’always ticklin’ me.” Paloma bites down on his thumb playfully and he lean in to kiss her for the millionth time.

They indulge in more pillow talk until eventually she’s just humming in response, half asleep, her body going limp against his and her breath leveling out.

Exhaustion tugs at him, the weather lulling him into an almost serene state. Watching her sleep in his arms, her already soft features look even more angelic.

Her long lashes rest delicately against her cheeks, and the rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic, reminding him that she’s real and here for him.

Javier doesn’t want to leave even though he knows he must. He doesn’t want to rob himself of this moment—of how, for the first time in a long time, he’s able to cradle something in his hands and not break it.

Her presence is a soothing balm to the wounds of his past, and he wants to savor every second of this newfound peace.

But as he holds her, the rhythmic patter of rain against the window and the rumble of thunder weave a lullaby that’s impossible to resist. His resolve falters and his eyelids grow heavy.

He takes in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against his, and the feeling of absolute contentment that she brings.

It’s a sensation he convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of experiencing, so having it now fills him with a profound sense of gratitude.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake and to tell himself to get up, he eventually succumbs to the exhaustion, his head resting gently on hers. His arms tighten around her protectively, even in sleep, as if to ensure she remains safe and close.

The storm rages on outside, never letting up despite the tranquil note in which their night ends.

[capitalist-kasaneteto]

what are your favorite teto songs? (utau and synth)

mine are letter to the black world, tiny me, pathological facade, hide/seek, and igaku (pretty sure thats the name of the song. the one with the silly little 3d clay noodle teto)

What a great question! First off I want to congratulate you for your great taste. They are all extremely good picks.

So I suppose I can't count Triple Baka as a Teto song since it's more of a Miku ballade. Sooooo....

I am absolutely still in love with Teto Territory. I just love celebrating the things that make her special! Additionally it is one I think straight up sounds better as the Utau original when compared to synth V covers.

Next up we have Ultra Trailer, which is a song I don't often see in people's playlists even though it's amazing! It fills me with energy.

But above all my (currently, because it changes constantly) favorite song is Liar Dancer specifically because I relate to it really hard. I am just used to putting up a show to stay in people's favor. The fact that it's a certified banger obviously helps as well!

Of course I could extend this list extremely far but those three are pretty consistently up there for me.

[boltlightning]

hey gamers. the dead man’s chest soundtrack has been rolling around my head a lot lately; the extended soundtrack from this playlist has been a godsend. specifically i want to gush about the instrumentation.

the potc soundtracks use a standard orchestra composition, focusing on strings and brass and less on woodwinds. DMC introduces the kraken and davy jones, who are associated with davy jones’ organ (of course) and — well. hans zimmer went nuts and recorded the orchestra, then piped that recording back over the music through a guitar amp. it sounds uncannily like an electric bass (and yes, a guitar now and then), so for our purposes i am going to say it sounds like electric bass with CRUNCHY reverb. it seems a little counterintuitive to associate ancient and cursed beings with more modern, experimental sounds, but altogether it creates this delightful, otherworldly, primordial rock band feel.

let’s take the track from when we first meet davy jones, dutchman arrival, for instance. it gives us a touch of that electric bass underneath jones’ theme when the sailors first show up, then pivots to normal orchestration as will is fighting. HE doesn’t know who they are, only that they’re odd — and when jones shows up finally, you get the bass holding that melody all on its own, this terrifying, growling refrain that sounds like it’s seething just under the surface. an undercurrent…a heartbeat, perhaps.

hold onto that thought. let’s move on. davy jones and his organ. jones having something as dramatic, expensive, and dominating as an organ on his ship speaks to how authoritative his character is — he’s playing his self-pitying music while his crew is breaking their backs to keep this awful ship sailing. he plays it solo, then the entire orchestra joins in, and beneath it all…the thrum of a heart. the melody of jones’ theme fits lock-and-key with the beat of a heart. here, everything is orchestral, but we’ve added the warm tones of choral voices under it all, like this is a horrible waltz that everyone aboard is doomed to keep dancing. and then it spirals into discordant chaos.

as a bonus: pipe organs have the countermelody playing with foot pedals, usually. imagine jones and his peg leg playing this kind of shit while the squid beard tickles the keys

i also L O V E the chorus humming in the back half of the whipping scene. it makes my skin crawl.

this all builds to the second kraken attack, the attack that introduces the viewer to the kraken in person. just…the constant buzz of the bass under these insane, warning low brass flourishes. the guitar-alike sound is in full force here and drapes this growly, eerie echo over the entire score. just when you hit the natural apex of the song, when you think you might reach some sort of musical resolution, it cuts out for a caesura — and bursts back in with the organ melody, huge and overwhelming over it all, as the kraken FULLY CRACKS A SHIP IN HALF. just in case you forgot who made this all happen. this is the EXACT way a heroic theme would triumphantly emerge in any classical piece of work. eat your heart out, holst.

the way jones’ theme is reprised with horns in the ship to ship score is so chilling too. it’s played in will's instrument after all! it's this teeny little bit of hope, a sign the pearl might get away — yet it’s getting lost in all the tenor voices just to really remind you how hopeless this all is. and then everything drops away and jones’ theme fully emerges in the low bass; it’s raunchy and nasty and so, so scary. god. what a score.

they do such a good job with the themes, even without visuals it’s so easy to tell who is on screen doing what in any of the tracks from the wheel of fortune section (specifically heart madness on the extended soundtrack). if there’s soaring brass and string stings, you know local romance heroes will and norrington are trying to kill each other on the wheel. if it’s quiet with a plucky little string soli, low reeds, and snare accents, you know jack is doing some shenanigans off to the side. if there’s deep and growling bass and organ swells, it’s elizabeth and pintel and ragetti racing against the crew of the dutchman for the heart.

in particular there’s this delightful bit in the track immediately preceding it, 3-way sword fight, where the melody starts and stops as all three dudes with swords are getting their footing on the various precarious places they take their fight. it builds and builds, and soon the melody is getting juggled by three different groups of instruments as elizabeth gets drawn into the fight too. talk about chaos.

on a related, but more lowkey character note: i ADORE that beckett’s associated instrument is the harpsichord. you only hear it a little bit in the track when will is bargaining with beckett. the harpsichord immediately puts you in the mind of aristocratic england; it was a household instrument back then, it’s plausibly an instrument beckett could play himself! it’s particular, but at the same time it’s subtle. it’s not dominating. he’s a new player in the game with a unique position, and damn does he know how to play the game.

and FINALLY. to compare beckett to someone ostentatious in a much different way: jack is associated with two themes, summed up perfectly in this track. this big, great, sweeping, seafaring melody we know and love, with regimented snare drum and timpani, the whole nine yards. it invokes jack’s reputation, the captain in his title…and then it fades to that stupid little soli, the gremlin trickster we all know and love.

yet compare that track with this demo of the same themes — it’s the exact same music, just with a solo piano, and it sounds so moody, even when the key and tempo pick up. THAT’S the power of instrumence baby! the texture, timbre, and context of any given melody changes the weight and impact, even if the notes are exactly the same. 

finally finally: i hope the timpani player finds a million dollars every day in the street.

ok. phew. this soundtrack makes me want to go learn cello and i needed to get that out of my system. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[the-stolen-century]

Raeda band AU sketches

Thanks to @itsgrandmasguy 's excellent Raeda playlist I have been imagining Eda and Raine in a band. What's the Tumblr etiquette when it comes to posting sketches? Also, can anyone help me find a Raeda discord server or should I make a new one?

Specifically I was imagining Eda and Raine playing this: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=IP8pcJm-F30 (Joan Jett's version of Rebel Rebel). I wanted to overlay that track with a violin cover of the same song, so that it sounds like Raine is playing and Eda is singing, but failed. Perhaps there's a musically inclined person willing to help me out? :D

Thoughts on what they'd be wearing as cool musicians? :3 I was thinking of a human AU where there was no Rats and thus no stage fright for Raine.

Anyway, while researching pose references I realized that I don't need to write a band AU because the real life story of the Russian band The Night Snipers already has it all: the restrained, quiet violinist (with extreme NB swag - a garment that is a biker jacket in the front and a tailcoat in the back, holy shit) and the passionate firecracker singer forming a romantic and creative union that transformed the face of rock music, breaking apart to the point of never mentioning each others' names, and then finally performing together after 15 years apart... someone please tell me you want to hear more about this :D

[prismatica-the-strange]

Bite Me | God, I Love Party Girl Brains

Warnings: 18+, alcohol use, Blaine is nasty as usual, sexual tension, exhibitionism mention, smut, p in v, degradation, multiple creampies, kind of fluffy at the end

Synopsis: There's a mix-up in the Scratching Post kitchen and Cori and Blaine take advantage of it.

Word Count: 2.3k

Party Mix Playlist Link

"Don E!" Cori whines, bursting through the doors of the kitchen of The Scratching Post.

"Yeah, what's up C?" He asks, not looking up from the plates he's moving.

"I think there was a mix-up," She wraps her arm around her stomach, tossing her hair, "You said you gave me the creative writer, but I think I got party girl instead."

"No, nope," He shakes his head, "No way there was a mix-up."

He looks up to see her head tilted, annoyingly chewing gum with her mouth open.

"Though I have been wrong before."

"Something wrong?" Blaine asks, coming in the back.

His eyebrows raise when she sighs, "No. It's whatever."

"Okay..." He glances at Don E.

"I'm gonna go change," She says, tugging at her cargo pants, "I'm gonna send you an EDM playlist D, you should play it tonight. I wanna dance."

Blaine watches her walk out, specifically the sway of her hips and ass, before turning to Don E, looking for an explanation.

"We're gonna have to change the menu for tonight, some idiot switched the Writer and Party Girl brains."

Divider by Saradika

Link

"What happened to the playlist I sent you?" She pouts at Don E, tits threatening to spill out of her tight top when she leans over the bar.

"No way am I putting on that trash, sorry C."

"Can you at least get me a shot of Patron?"

"How about some Vodka?"

She stomps her foot and huffs as she stands up. She crosses her arms and turns to scan the crowd.

She makes her way through a group of people when she spots Blaine, latching onto his arm.

"Blaineyyyy," She whines, "Don E's being mean to me."

"I'm sorry, sugar, I'll take care of it once I'm done here," He kisses the top of her head and she looks absolutely crestfallen. She stays there, hanging off of him for another ten or so minutes before storming off.

She walks right behind the bar and picks up the sound system tablet.

"What are you doing?" Don E asks, reaching to take it from her.

"If you're both going to ignore me, then I'm putting something to dance to," She explains, pulling it away from him, "If you're serving Party Girl, you should have the right vibe anyways."

She taps play on her playlist and her face lights up, setting down the tablet and downing the drink he was about to serve.

He looks flabbergasted when she hands the empty glass back to him and walks out to the growing crowd on the dancefloor.

"Kesha? Really?" He calls after her and she flips him off.

Blaine is more confused than he should be when music starts blaring from the club's speakers, bass boosted so hard, the liquor on nearby tables is rippling in its glasses.

He looks over at the bar only to see Don E rolling his eyes and muttering to himself.

He can barely hear the possible 'investor' he's talking to over the noise.

His attention wanders, as do his eyes, flitting over the crowd until he sees her. She's jumping and moving to the music, lost in her own world, and his stare rakes down her body.

"That has got to be the shortest skirt she owns," He says absentmindedly, small smirk on his lips.

"I'm sorry, maybe we can finish this conversation later when it's not so loud," He says to the man standing across from him before heading to the bar.

"Cori said you were being mean to her," He chuckles.

"Yeah, I wouldn't play her shit music or start her on tequila."

"Looks like she found a workaround," Blaine laughs, pouring himself another drink.

"Dude, we've gotta get her on a new brain," Don E groans, "She wants to add a permanent DJ booth and was looking into getting an industrial fog machine and glow sticks in bulk."

"Ah, we'll just keep her from making any big purchases and it'll be fine."

"You sure about that?" Don E motions to the dance floor and he turns to see what he's talking about, sipping his drink.

Cori is rolling her body against some random guy in time with the music while he runs his hands across her curves, fingers dipping just below the waistband of her skirt. She seems blissfully ignorant of how she's being stared at by a handful of patrons.

The glass surprisingly doesn't crack when he slams it back on the counter. He shoves his way through the mass of writhing bodies until he's standing in front of her. He grabs her arm and tugs her away from her dance partner, his eyes red and face more pallid than usual.

After successfully scaring off the potential threat, he turns to her.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" He spits.

"Well, you weren't going to dance with me."

"Sweetheart, that wasn't dancing, that was him dry-humping you on the dancefloor."

He can't help but agree with Don E's idea of getting her off this brain when she rolls her eyes.

"Hey," He grips her chin, forcing her to look at him, "If you wanted someone to fuck you in front of all these people, you could have just asked."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm exactly how you like me," He growls, pushing his lips against hers.

She's into it, he can tell by the way she tugs him closer by the shirt and moans into his mouth.

"I get the feeling you find the idea appealing," He teases, making her whimper, "Aw, but someone wanted to dance."

She smirks, accepting his little challenge of who will break first. She turns and sways her hips to the music, pressing her ass against him, arms raising to trail her fingers down his cheek.

He can't help but laugh, he's so whipped for her.

His hands hold her waist, taking a moment to find the beat and move with her.

He tries not to groan when she grinds back on him, already hard in his tight jeans, his grip bruising. She cocks her head aside when he starts sucking her neck.

She has to pry him off her to step away and peel her jacket off, revealing all the bare skin of her chest and shoulders he needs to get his mouth on.

He pulls her back in, thumbs rubbing her midriff, "You're so hot."

Her fingers trace his chin before she swivels her hips to the beat, reaching down to take one of his hands. He raises it to let her spin slowly, leading him back to the bar.

He presses her against the counter, the edge cutting into her stomach.

"What do you want?"

She pushes her ass against his hard-on and he chokes out, "Tequila! F-fuck..."

"So she just gets whatever she wants?" Don E complains.

"I always do," She grins, throwing back the shot, taping the rim to signal she wants another.

Don E looks back at Blaine who eagerly nods for him to do what she says.

"You know, if I had done something like this," He pours her another shot, "I wouldn't still be here."

"Fucking the owner has its perks," She winks at him and Blaine buries his face in her neck, nipping at her skin, "Speaking of which."

He starts pulling her away, towards the office.

"Please don't fuck on my desk," Don E calls after them, "Blaine? Cori? Please?"

(MDNI Banner by CafeKitsune)

She cuts him off by sliding the door shut behind them. Blaine ambushes her, hands sliding under her shirt, tongue shoving it's way past her lips.

She pulls away with a grin, "I win."

"Shut the fuck up," He chuckles. He grabs the back of her thighs and hoists her up.

She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him while he moves to set her on the desk.

"Oh please Mr. Club owner, I swear I thought I could pay for those drinks," She says with an exaggerated pout, "How can I ever make up for it?"

He laughs against her lips, tickled by her theatrics.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways, sweetheart," He starts bunching her skirt up around her waist, drooling at the sight of her black lace panties.

He presses two fingers against her slit through them, letting out a shaky breathe when he feels how wet she is.

He hooks them on his fingers and drags them down, tossing them over his shoulder.

"Now why don't you be a good girl and keep these pretty legs spread for me?"

She bites her bottom lip as she raises her legs, heels resting on the edge of the desk.

She watches him unbutton his jeans, pulling off her shirt. She can't stop herself from reaching between her legs to play with her clit as she watches him, muscles tensing at the feeling.

"Oh, honey," He groans, frozen with his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, eyes zeroed in on her cunt, "That's gotta be the hottest thing I've ever seen."

He shucks off his underwear and slowly starts fisting his cock, "You touchin' yourself cause of me, sweetness?"

"Uh-huh," She nods, "Blaine..."

He could almost cum from the way she sighs his name while sliding her fingers into her pussy.

He watches her for a minute, taking note of the way her eyebrows furrow when she can't reach the spot she needs.

"Your fingers too small?" He teases, pulling her hand away, "Need me to make you feel good?"

"Please," She whimpers at the feeling of him running his tip through her utterly soaked folds.

"Please what?"

"Please make me feel good, Blaine," She begs, "Need your cock-!"

She chokes on her words when he slams into her, the force making her feet slip so she has to wrap her legs around his waist.

"F-fuck! Blaine!" She holds onto his shoulders for dear life as he pistons in and out of her.

"This is what you wanted, right?" He growls against her ear, "Wanted to be fucked like a whore?"

"Yes! Yesyesyes!" She whines, "Wanna be a good whore for you baby!"

"Just for me?" His possessiveness taking over.

"Just for you," She confirms, pulling him to her lips.

She cries out when he grins and reaches down to rub her clit.

"Then be a good little whore for me and cum."

The laugh that leaves him is nothing less than sadistic as she jerks in his arms and screams out his name.

"Oh fuck baby," He chokes out, "Juuust like that. So tight sweetheart."

He doesn't slow down and her vision blurs.

"B-Blaine! Fuck!"

His abuse of her clit only worsens when he sees tears start to form.

"Aw poor p-poor thing," He forces out, "But this is what she wanted, yeah? Wanted to be fucked like a slut? Just couldn't keep her clothes on. Needed my dick inside her sooo bad."

"Blaine!" She sobs when her second orgasm wracks through her and he gasps.

"Baby- Cori- ah," He presses his forehead to hers, mouth hanging open. Her eyes roll back when she feels him spill into her, "Ah, Sweetheart, beautiful girl."

She slumps back onto the desk, pulling him with her. He rests his head on her chest and mutters soft praises as he kisses her skin.

"You're soft," He hums. He takes his time squeezing and groping her hips and thighs.

He straightens up and pulls out, making her shiver.

Propping herself up on her elbows and locking eyes with him while he pulls on his pants, she reaches down, collects the cum dripping out of her, and fucks it back inside her with her middle and ring finger.

"Don't do that," He breathes, pants hanging off his hips, dick already starting to harden again, "That's my job."

He yanks her off the desk before spinning her around and shoving her face down on it.

She claws at the wood, pornographic moan leaving her when he slams back into her.

"That's it, baby," He grins, "I know you love it when I'm rough with you."

She tries to give him a witty comeback, but it comes out as a garbled, rambling mess.

He's feral, not giving her time to breathe, making her gasp with each thrust.

"You wanted my cum, huh?" He asks and she nods dumbly, "Well, you're gonna get it, sweetheart. Load after load of it in this sweet, sweet pussy."

Her heartbeat is nearly up to 20 beats a minute by the time he's done with her. The desk is a mess. Not just strewn with papers and pens but with cum and sweat smeared and puddled on it.

"Blainey," Her voice is hoarse from screaming, certain the clubbers outside the door could hear them going at it like rabbits. She clings to his neck, nails scratching at his scalp.

He's lying on top of her, trying to catch his breath.

"Please don't ask for one more, baby," He pants, "Cause I'll be honest, I don't think I have it in me."

"'M tired."

"Yeah, me too."

He pushes himself up, leaning on his arms to look down at her.

She looks absolutely wrecked. Countless orgasms and her hair is everywhere, lipstick smeared, eyeshadow running down her cheeks.

"You're beautiful," He whispers, leaning down to kiss her, "Let's go home."

She nods, letting him pull her into a sitting position.

He throws his clothes back on and helps her pull on her panties.

She tries to stand, but her legs are jelly beneath her and she nearly falls.

"I gotcha, sugar," He hooks his arm under her legs and scoops her up.

She wraps one arm around his neck, resting the other on his chest.

"My Prince Charming," She sighs sleepily.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far," He grins, "But I appreciate the compliment."

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

Do you have a playlist of all the songs you recommended listening to in "It's The Colours You Hate"?

If not, can I make one? With all the songs in the right order?

(whenever I think about the song "Colours" I wanna cry btw)

heyoooo!! go for it! i might??? i don't think so a;lsdkjf and if i do i dont use spotify which im assuming is what you'd be using. thanks for checking in :D

song list under the readmore if you need/could use it!! i went chapter by chapter so it should be order specific but i did take out the names

Colours by Grouplove

This is Gospel by P!atD

Clarity and Beautiful Now by Zedd

Big Empty by Stone Temple Pilots

Count on Me by Bruno Mars 

Flicker by Porter Robinson

Safe and Sound by Me vs Gravity (Cover)

Wiped Out! By The Neighbourhood

Love, Save the Empty by Erin McCarley

Cameo Lover by Kimbra

Everything Black (Feat. Mike Taylor) by Unlike Pluto

Honest by The Neighbourhood

Toxic by 2WEI, Karma by AJR

Goodbye to a World by Porter Robinson

Tear in my Heart by Twenty One Pilots

Addictive by Royal Republic

Love me Dead by Ludo

Girls like Girls by Haley Kiyoko

I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift (Or We Came as Romans if you pref punk)

Same Damn Life by Seether

Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea by Fall Out Boy

When I Grow Up by Mayday Parade

Something About You (ODESZA remix) by Hayden James

Done With Love by Zedd

Safe and Sound by Capital Cities (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KX54fWP-os4 the lyric video is so cute guys)

Sing Sing by Marianas Trench

Endless Fantasy by Anamanaguchi

Mac'n'Cheese by Shawn Wasabi

Flowers for a Ghost by Thriving Ivory

Graceless by The National

Soundtrack for Last House on the Left starting from ‘In the Woods’, by John Murphy

In the House, in a Heartbeat by John Murphy (28 Days Later OST)

Collapse by A Cold Dead Body

Non-Instrumental:

Forever by Hurt

The Last Remaining Light by Audioslave

Tonight You Belong to Me by Joseph William Morgan

The Package by A Perfect CircleAnything and everything by Blue Stahli Instrumental: Crazy Train by Joseph William Morgan Non-Instrumental: Don't You Worry Love by Warmer'Instrumental': Silent Heaven from the Silent Hill OST Non-Instrumental: Daydreaming by Radiohead

Who Will Save You Now by Les Friction Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Oyster Cult Rise by State of Mine From the Ashes by In This Moment Hello My name Is Human by Highly Suspect I'm Alive by Sia

Girl from Petaluma by Megatrax

Don't Stop Believin by Journey

More Than A Feeling by Boston

Nothing Special illScarlet

Breathe Me by Sia

Itoshii Hito by Miyavi (This one specifically https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4ujzMWccjY)

Safe and sound by Me VS Gravity (Cover w/male vocals)

What is love by Tears and Marble

Colours by Mike Taylor

[maddie-the-theater-kid]

“You can’t skip chapters, that’s not how life works. You have to read every line, meet every character. You won’t enjoy all of it. Hell, some chapters will make you cry for weeks. You will read things you don’t want to read, you will have moments when you don’t want the pages to end. But you have to keep going. Stories keep the world revolving. Live yours, don’t miss out.”

- Pillow Thoughts 2 by Courtney Peppernell (found the quote on pinterest)

🎃TRICK OR TREAT ON THIS ACC🎃

Hi here’s my intro post>>>

Here's what you'll find here that will hopefully pique your interest☟

~Art

~Stories (fandoms or stories im writing myself)

~memes

~vents/updates (they are really fuckin random but stay with me on this)

~reblogs

Here's some things abt me☟

Name: Madeleine

Nicknames: mads, maddie, marie, mad, maggie, em, etc. (now some might be names of my hearttypes)

Age: minor‼️

Pronouns: she/her, or any fem pronouns

Sexuality: Bisexual

mbti test results: ENFJ-T (main character vibes😝✌️)

aura color: blue💙💙💙

Now some random facts abt me☟

💛i listen to music more than i should…(specifically my musical playlist with way to much heathers😆)

💛baby witch (i havent done any spells before but i do tarot a lot)

💛i love all of my friends <333 Im so lucky to have them and i would literally die for them❤️❤️❤️❤️and my mutuals idk how the hell i got those but i’m very grateful

💛i’m otherhearted!!! i have multiple hearttypes and my main ones right now are prob German Shepherd and Raccoon :3

💛cabin 3/6!!! (poseidon or athena)

🩷 “this is modern feminism talking” “i expect to rule the world in shoes i cannot walk in”🩷

💛"Everyone's pushing, everyone's fighting. Storms are approaching, there's nowhere to hide. If i say the wrong thing, or i wear the wrong outfit, they'll throw me right over the side. On the tiniest lifeboat."💛

💞V, K, H, C, E, A, B, J, E, E, A, S, L💞

🇵🇸river to sea, palestine will be free🇵🇸

💛Fandoms☟

Owl house, Craig of the Creek, Superstore, Gravity Falls, Amphibia, Big Bang Theory, She-Ra, Adventure Time, Harbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, PJO, etc. (ik ik i’m a nerd)

💛I do theatre and student council

💛DNI: DMs (im not allowed to talk to strangers online but if ik u irl then u can dm, or if you want to ask a simple question), Transphobes, homophobes, racist ppl, Z00s, N@Z!/neo-N@Z!, s3xists, p0rn bots (im a fucking minor), p3d0s, nsfw.

💛Links☟

𖤐Pinterest

𖤐Spotify

𖤐Tumblr Community

𖤐My post about my series i’m working on

𖤐The first chapter of The Killer Circus!

𖤐My userboxes are here: (im still working on it so i dont have a link 😔😔😔 srry)

Just remember that you are amazing <3 Like literally the best and i know that hearing that from a total stranger may sound crazy and creepy, but i genuinely care about my friends and mutuals. Have fun here, so yeah byeeee :]

[kuromi-hoemie]

10 and 24?

10: About someone I think is funny: random tumblr users and kids lmao 😭 and me..

further out of my sphere i love Kennie JDs personality so much. fellow black woman rawdogging ADD

she has a YouTube channel and has a “Bad movies and a beat” playlist where she talks about bad movies while putting her makeup on. she's so gorgeous and her looks come out beautiful and her personality is a huge part of the draw 😹 she's sorta got a series within that series too called “Good movies and a glam” which is the same thing p much but she talks about movies she enjoyed.

we don't fully overlap in our interests but she talks about horror movies sometimes and i love listening to her talk and watching her reaction to things. there are definitely some videos that have me stopping like 5-10 minutes in like wait let me go watch the movie first bc this sounds like it's gonna be an Experience. i think it's very validating and fun to see how she feels about things I've seen, and even if it's stuff I'm not interested in i still think it's fun to see her do her thing :3

sometimes she does a good analysis, sometimes it's more of a summary w some thoughts and reactions here and there, and for some she's just does a straight reaction to it bc she doesn't think there's really anything to talk about. the worse the movie is the funnier she is 💀 but she's just funny period. Atlanta queen 🫶🏾

comedy is a hard one for me.. there's a lot of jokes and comedians that don't really land for me but i think it's bc I've always been surrounded by ppl i think are funnier or more outta pocket offline and online.. something something ppl who try to be funny vs ppl who just are.

24. An unusual talent I have: o: i don't know.. electrical engineering i suppose? as an end to end process w schematic design, 3d modelling and printing, soldering n circuitry etc. i think it's very rewarding to have a bespoke thing that's the only one of its kind.. technology that does exactly what u want it to do nothing more nothing less no unwanted upgrades/planned obsolescence/privacy policies/cloud bs etc. u can make technology do plenty off of ur home network alone, if u want it to be controllable/accessible from a network at all. i only call this strange in the sense that it's not common.. but in another perspective i think I'm v good at tinkering with stuff in general!! I've built and taken apart enough things in life that a lot of stuff feels very intuitive atp, more so for furniture or something more.. mechanical, than electronics but I'm good at tinkering w that too :3

not good enough to be able to tell which specific part of a complicated circuit board stopped working (unless there's obv physical damage or a disconnected cable), but i can put stuff together from scratch or bypass certain things for more desired behavior. like i built an ebike once but instead of using its pedal assistance i bypassed it and just made it full throttle. it did like 32mph lol 😭 i made that when covid first hit and i didn't want to bus anymore but i usually otherwise make stuff for taking care of my indoor gardens, when i have them (i do not rn). a simple and handy one to do is replacing a battery source with an AC adapter so u can get full power and the thing will never die on u. or at least when it does it's in the way that all electronics will eventually stop working after enough use, but nothing's died on me yet :3

also making web tools for data analysis! (or just something u can use in the browser basically but it's on ur computer not The Internet™). i don't have the time to educate myself in other fields fully but i do like looking at the data they produce and learning more about things that way!! my favorite visualizations to make are maps but I'll make utilities that i can use to strategize for my games sometimes too.

oh and i also like modding games :3 i have made my own mods for 13 games so far. playing the game is already nice but to me it's about really fine tuning the experience to be how i want it to be and making it my own. sometimes I'll start modding before even starting the game 💀 like hmm let me take a peek at what y'all got going on here, then being like eh that sounds annoying I'll just do this instead. my favorite game to mod is elden ring, their spell system has a LOT of different pieces and phases and effects of spells that u can mix and match and chain together to make ur own spells. in this way getting a new game can be like getting a new project at times, and when i don't wanna do that i just use WeMod and call it a day :3

[massivedreamer]

THREE DAYS

Pairing: Dave York x Cartel boss Fem!Reader

Summary: The greatest thing Dave York will ever learn is to be loved… and to love in return.

Rating: E

Word count: 6,304

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, language and explicit content, no age gap, no use of y/n, use of a nickname, no physical description. Kidnapping and captivity (don’t worry, David's a big boy and it all ends up consensually), mentions of corruption, drugs, violence, prostitution, child trafficking, illicit activities in general, infidelity, invasion to privacy, masturbation (male/female), unprotected p in v (don't do it at home, kids), rough sex turns vanilla cause two baddies are in love, face riding, doggy style, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cream pie, emotional orgasm. I think that covers it all.

A/N: This is some psycho killer rom com fever, I have no idea where it all came from but I'm a Pisces so there's that.

My first fic in a long, loooong time and my first Pedro's boys related tale. Encouraged to go back to the writing path by the lovely @lavendertales. English is not my native language, so please, forgive any trespassing. Written for the @pedrostories 's celebration (Did I make it before the deadline??)

Hope you like it and do let me know what you all think!

Yes, there's also a PLAYLIST

The kidnapping was the easiest part. Dave York´s daily routine must have been as predictable as his sex life with the wifey. It was disappointing, really. Your team had only surveillanced him for a couple of days and got his schedules and routes all figured out. For a DIA agent, not to mention a DIA agent-turned-mercenary, he had been sloppy. Lazy. The enemies gained through so many years of being a traitor and a greedy scumbag were all out there. Did he really think he was safe living his suburban life? Wasn't he scared his side job would have consequences at any point?

Did Dave York really consider the possibility of you forgetting him? 

Of course, you sent Chet. He was your chosen brother, your lieutenant, your most loyal dog. Even though he could have done it alone, he took three of the new boys with him. He had personally trained them and thought this task as their perfect baptism of fire. The jet would be waiting. Your newest runway for the Washington deliveries, paid by unaware constituents, would be ready for the illegal flight in which only Dave would be sent to California. To the mansion/dungeon they had just finished building according to your specifications, somewhere in the desert. 

-“Not again…” said Dave, rather calmly and through the hood once he could sit up and hear Chet´s voice. He could recognize that ridiculous high pitched male tone anywhere. “¿What the fuck does she want now?” 

–” I don´t know, York. And it's not my place to give a fuck. But I hope it hurts”. Chet turned to the driver and whispered instructions on how to get to the private tarmac, fast but inconspicuously. 

Dave chuckled and kept his cool, but on the inside, he began to worry. They had seized and crushed his iPhone as soon as they got him in the truck. Carol would soon start freaking out if he didn't answer her messages. Why the hell didn't he bring the satellite tracker today? He tried to guess where they were going, paying attention to the stops, the turns, the sounds. He could definitely recognize when they were passing Constitution Ave. But that was it. He had the feeling the directions Chet was giving the driver were solely to confuse him. After a while, the rhythm of the vehicle became monotone. They were cruising a highway. But, which one? Nevermind. It was obvious that the destination was in the outskirts of DC. 

- “Out, York!” 

Trying to deliver his most menacing voice, Chet yanked Dave by the arm and handed him to someone else. The highway trip was about 20 minutes and even though he was still with his head covered, it didn't take too much effort for him to realize they had arrived in some sort of an airport. She is definitely thriving. 

- “I guess we´re not going to Cozum…?”

Dave didn't have the chance to finish the joke. The needle did its job perfectly. You couldn't risk your favorite bad boy using his legendary photographic memory, not even from the air. 

A white room.

A bed. 

A chair.

One small window.

Sunlight.

What time was it? What day was it?

Shit. Dave opened his eyes and before moving a muscle, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He had to make sure he was the only one in that cell. Because that's where he was. You had put him behind fucking bars. He´d be lying if he hadn't considered the possibility of going to prison someday. But that you were going to be his judge, jury and executor? 

In the upper left corner of the locked room, there was a discreet, up-to-date camera that definitely recorded sound. Two speakers, matching the color of the walls, were hanging at each side of the bed. It was a California King Size. All of the sudden, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby” started blasting through them. Dave sat up and some obscene flashes from the recent past slapped his memory. And, unexpectedly, fueled his groin. 

-”There´s not coming back from this. Did you know that, right?” – Dave spoke over the loud music, not sure if you were able to hear him. “You kidnapped a federal agent. You´re fucked!”   

Donna stopped abruptly but you continued the singing. You always had a lovely voice. In another life, you could have been a terrific singer. “IIIIIIII… love to love you babyyyy…!” 

“Did you change your number?” – you asked, with a fake curiosity. “I cannot seem to reach you anymore…” You sighed, almost moaned. 

“I only updated my spam call list” – Dave answered, nonchalantly. “What do you want, Killer Q?”

“ I can’t stop thinking about you” 

“ Awww...  You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby…” – Dave laughed. 

That laughter hurt. Look at what this motherfucker does to you. One year ago, you were the most ruthless woman that had ever set foot in the drug trafficking industrial complex. As a boss. And in the US, of all places. Your facade of a succesful businesswoman, though a cliché, was more than efficient. The reality was that you had become the cocaine Godmother, the meth Empress, the Goddess of opioid. Your name had started to be known across the substances’ world, with a reputation forged under seas of blood. Every single poor devil, with so little brain to disrespect you and everything you had to go through to get where you were, was either impaired or underneath some surface. 

And you were a witty bitch. While supervising the traditional kneecapping session reserved for dealers with dreams of entrepreneurism, you love to deliver some really funny lines. And yet, Dave York mocking you, left you speechless.

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then I guess Muhammad must kidnap the mountain…” – You were back. 

“I thought we were done doing business” – Dave started losing his confidence. Not knowing what the hell you wanted started to have its effect on him. Deep down, and after all he had seen and heard, he had to admit he was a bit afraid of you.

“Business?” – you tried to disguise your vulnerability. “So, I’m just another deal to you, huh? 

“Yes…" –Dave looked at the ceiling – "And no? I thought you and I were benefiting from each other AND having fun.” 

There was a silence that, by no means, you intended to float so heavy in the air.

“Well, I guess for me… it turned into something more than entertainment…” 

You had to close the mic to drink from the Evian bottle. You hadn’t planned to spill your truth in the first minute of conversation but there you were. Finally, admitting it. Out loud.

Were you going to say the word though? One thing was for sure: you had never felt like this. Let's be honest: a 13 year old, lured out of her miserable home, from a miserable town, having her soul ripped by men and their huffs and grunts, every single night, for a decade, was never meant to be the fairytale princess archetype. And other 10 years of her life, just surviving, lowering her head, listening to the important conversations, connecting with the right people, even escaping slavery through a marriage of convenience with a kingpin, didn’t contribute much to her personal knowledge of what love was. Or is? 

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” – you demanded. 

“What do you want me to say?” – Sat at the edge of the bed and in the absence of the woman confessing such feelings for him, Dave just kept staring at the wall. “That I still don’t know why I’m here?”

“Oh you do…” – you sounded darker – “Think”

“Wait… Do you wanna have sex with me, Killer Q? Is that it?” 

Now you were the one laughing. 

“Oh my God… Men. Why are you all so basic? – You were enjoying this – Do you really think that if I only wanted to fuck you, you’d be in that cell, without me all over you? C’mon, try harder, York…” 

“Do I really have a choice…?” Dave mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, his brain trying to come up with what scheme could be the closest to the one in your mind. You made it clear it wasn’t sex. Money, maybe? Extortion. You were infatuated and planning to send some incriminating material to Carol. You surely could have set up the equipment to record your encounters. Vegas? Last Spring? That’s when Donna played over and over, right? Memorable. 

You watched through the monitor and smiled at the sight of the supposedly cold mercenary, slightly blushing. 

“What do you feel for me, Dave?” 

“Right now, I hate you.” 

“I doubt that, baby… I got a better idea. It’s getting late, I’m tired and I need to go to bed. It’s sad we can’t share it yet. We will. But first you´ll have to seriously examine your actions, thoughts and, most importantly, your feelings in the recent time" – you took a long pause – "so you can be more honest with your responses in the next three days we’ll spend together. Night night, David” 

"What? Wait! Three whole motherfucking days here?!” Dave was equally outraged and concerned. “I’m hungry! And…” - he hesitated and lowered his voice – “What about going to the bathroom and…?”

Two sliding doors opened almost in unison. One, small and by the bed, produced a tray with some delicious seafood dish, a glass of Chardonnay and a generous portion of Creme Brulee. The other entrance, bigger and near the main gate, showed him a luxurious bathroom, with a change of comfortable clothes and toiletries.

“You have two hours until the lights are off”

Day ONE

Daylight bathed the cell and Dave was surprised by how soundly he had slept. It must have been some residual effect from whatever tranquilizer they gave him before getting him in the jet. Or was it maybe that he felt comfortable? Bullshit. He was the renowned CIA agent David York and this was a dangerous situation. Even infatuated as you claimed to be, you were a threat. And, come on… you didn’t mean anything to him. He’s had his pretty decent share of affairs and he had come to terms with his cheating asshole condition. You were no different from the parade of office girls who begged on their knees for one more night of cuffs, lube and discarded condoms, right?

Right.

Still in bed, Dave looked longingly in the direction of the food door, mentally begging for a black coffee, no sugar, scrambled eggs and bacon. Not knowing the time was slowly driving him crazy. He trusted his appetite and the sun elevation angle to say it was close to noon. Of who knows what day but it was something. He went to the bathroom and freshened up.

“Uhmm.. Hello?” — Dave talked to the air, in the hopes you presented once more, vocally. Not that he was particularly interested in hearing your voice again or anything. “I could use some breakfast, you know? By the way, dinner last night was awesome. If you tell me where we are, I would highly recommend this place on TripAdvisor!” 

Nothing.

Nada.

Wait.

There was something.

Suddenly, and as if he was in a real hotel and some nextdoor honeymooners were doing what honeymooners usually do in hotels, Dave started to hear some lewd sounds coming from somewhere nearby. At first, it was barely audible, which made it difficult to pinpoint the source. But it rose to a crescendo, getting higher, clearer. Hotter. Dave realized it was not coming from any place near the cell but from the speakers crowning his prisoner bed. 

“Give it to me, daddy…! Ohh…Fuckfuckfuckfuck… Yesyesyesyeyes!”

It was you. You were fucking some random dude and broadcasting it live and in stereo. For him to be the only audience.

"Ooooh Gooood…Yeaaah… Harder! Please! Please! Pleaaaase! I’m so close! Make me come! No one can make me come like you, daddy…!” 

Dave was standing in the middle of the room, hands on the hips, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. If this was your strategy, it was beyond pathetic. The skin slapping skin sound was getting louder and faster. You sounded so satisfied, kept moaning and begging. Dave had to admit that the guy was doing a great job. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just panting and grunting. There was something about him though. The noises he was making, the pace he was fucking you… The only sexual activity Dave had eavesdropped in his life was his dorm roommate, back in college, 25 years ago. And after all that time, he still recalled it was a lousy job. So, even though there were no parameters to be based on, in this case, Dave could strangely tell, just by listening to his performance, that for this guy it wasn’t just sex. What a loser, putting so much care into making you come, probably watching your face in ecstasy, proud of himself, thinking you’d adore him afterwards…

You came. Hard. 

“What are you doing?” – Dave was done.

A giant screen popped up from one of the walls, revealing some truly NSFW scenes. So it was not just audio after all. There you were… and Dave York, fucking you senseless, chasing his own high in that Colorado cabin, last time you were together. 

“You mean, what are we doing?” – you sounded so full of yourself. 

“Take it off” – He was watching the video, weirdly mesmerized. - “Take. It. Off”

“Oh but here comes the best part! - You imitated a little girl who didn’t want to go to sleep.

“Take it off. Or I will “ – Dave grabbed the chair and walked in a menacing way towards the screen.

His movements in the video were frantic. His beautifully formed butt, hammering between your legs, was the star of the piece.  He was about to watch himself reaching orgasm, with a woman who wasn’t his wife. What a piece of shit he was.

“Ooooh fuuuuuuck… unnngh… I fuck…ing.. I... fucking LOVE YOU…”

Dave dropped the chair and the screen went to black. It’s not that he didn’t remember saying that. The problem was that he had been trying to forget that he said it. He composed himself.

“You gotta be kidding me…” – he chuckled and calmly returned the chair to its place – “Really? What’s your point with all this?” 

“I think it’s quite obvious, David” – you lit up a cigarette and reclined in your leather armchair. 

“You know? I thought you were crazy, but with this, you’ve exceeded my expectations”  – Dave didn’t try to conceal his rage anymore – “Do you really believe that the shit we say during sex is meaningful?!”

“I have a question for you, Dave. If this thing between us was nothing, why didn’t you stop calling me? Because let me remind you that it was you who looked for me. Not the other way around” 

You were right. He desperately tried to find a plausible answer to your question. “Well, I guess it´s because you´re a great fuck, Q.”

“I am. In fact, I absolutely excel in bed. ” – You paused – “And yet, none of all the men I’ve been with, not a single one of those motherfuckers really wanted to see me again after a couple of times” 

Dave remained in silence.

“Oh but you were only ‘having fun’ with me for, what? Almost 2 years now? – Yes, you were counting –  “Until you cut me off completely, last week. Excuse me for only being sensical at reading this situation, York"

He had to admit you were right.

 “So tell me… What happened? Little Carol found out about your feelings?”

“Don’t you bring Carol into this…”

“Oh but she already is! What was it? – You fake a gasp – Did you say my name while making love to her tenderly…?”

“Shut up!” – Dave almost growled. 

“Sorry” – you said, sincerely.

“What?” 

“I don’t want to antagonize you, Dave. It’s just…”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why you kidnapped me…” 

“You gave me no choice, Dave. Look, I know you think I’m a heartless woman. I myself thought I was. This is my desperate measure, to my desperate times. I love you. – You fought the impending tears with all your strength – And call me crazy all you want, but I know for sure you love me back. That’s why you ghosted me. It scares the shit out of you feeling something like this for someone like me.”

Dave couldn’t think of any explanatory response. Because, in fact, he had none.

The little door suddenly opened, showing a bistec with a colorful salad, his non-optional lunch offer for the day, that went uneventful after your mic turned off.   

Day TWO

Nothing had happened since the dawn of that second day. Dave hoped you were having second thoughts and maybe were planning on releasing him. He also questioned himself if that’s what he wanted. After a quick shower, he noticed night had finally fallen in whatever place this majestic prison was located. He had no clue what time it was and, honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. While laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was the only entertainment he could find, Carol and the girls suddenly came to his mind. What would they be doing right now? He felt for them. Even though he had long come to accept that he didn’t love Carol anymore, he truly valued her. She was a great woman, a perfect mother, and at this point, a resilient wife. And his daughters… They were the most beautiful beings he could have produced and the only decent footprint he will leave on this Earth. What would they think of him if he divorced their mom? Dave mentally punched himself for considering that.

Complete darkness swallowed the cell. Of course, it was getting late for the daily event. All lights went dead except for the big screen that suddenly started showing some CCTV images. It was Dave’s street. 

“Have you been to my home too, Q? Pfff, I don’t know why I’m surprised…”

There was not a comeback from your part. 

After a few minutes, it was clear that the footage was an edition from different days, but at similar hours. Dave realized that in those cuts there was something concerning. The same man appeared  to be jogging, but discreetly glancing at his house. Everyday. He was wearing different sporty outfits and anyone could think he was simply a neighbor trying to be fit. But for the trained eye of Dave York, it was easy to understand that that guy was something else. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember the job I got you, 6 months ago, for that Qatar minister? You and your men failed, Dave. They launched an investigation over the dude. And he eventually had to resign. Guess what? He isn’t the forgiving type. He came to me and asked for your personal inform…”

“You put my family in danger, you fucking psycho?!” Have you lost your mind?

“Do you really think that your family would still be alive had I done that, York? 

“Q, you have to let me go” – Dave didn't want to joke anymore – “I need to warn them. Please, let me just do this and I promise, I swear on their lives, you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Please.” 

That pleading made you fall even more in love with him. 

Dave kept watching the footage, terrified of what could be coming next. The video was fast forwarded and he could see as the jogger, who was running his usual target street, crouched and pretended to tie his shoelaces. All of the sudden, he disappeared behind a white van that passed by him and slowed down right where he was. He never reappeared after the van kept on going. A knife was left abandoned on the pavement. Exactly 15 seconds after that, the Mercedes with Carol and the girls turned around the corner, coming back from school. Now Dave remembered the night his wife had commented how weird it was finding that knife in the middle of their street. Dave didn't think anything of it.

"Sometimes I ponder how easy and convenient it would've been for me to let that "tragedy" to happen"

"What about Al-Salim? He could send more people…"

"He fell into depression. And sadly took his own life back in Qatar, the very afternoon this healthy man suffered a heart attack, at the entrance of the George Washington hospital. Dark coincidence, don't you think?"

Dave was at a loss for words for the longest moment. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you’d done for his family. For him. 

"I guess… you don't need my services anymore. It seems like now I can hire you for this kind of job. Thank you, Q" 

The screen went dead and it was pitch black again. Dave didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Aren't you curious about how I hacked your security camera?  And your home intranet, DIA agent?" – your tone was playful again.

Your voice wasn’t coming through the speakers anymore but from right outside his cell. Like in a theatrical performance, the beam of a projector somehow lit up only you and your body. There you were, no make up, loose hair, sitting on a kitchen chair and wearing nothing but a white long dress. The powerful lightning made you look like a sexy specter. 

“How are you Dave? Comfortable, I hope” – You crossed your legs and adopted the pose of a therapist who was about to have her first session with a new patient. 

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it” – Dave was not lying. 

“I suppose you do. Tell me, do you also sit in the dark at home, late at night, when you Google me?

“Oh, please… Don’t flatter yourself, Killer Q”

“Please, your Honor! I have some unmistakable evidence to substantiate my case…”

You stood up and the projector revealed, over your curves, recordings from a computer screen, where your name appeared, over and over again, in searchings with a variety of word combinations that ultimately lead to the same topic: your romantic life. Your name + the terms “boyfriend”, “dating”, “partners”, “love life”, “marriage plans”, “past relationships”. 

 Dave felt his face on fire and thanked the darkness for concealing it.

“That could be anyone's computer”

The images of the hacked screen then changed to a divided layout of his deceitful puppy eyes, his hands on the keyboard in which he was entering the terms, all matching the dates and times of the searches you previously and sensually had helped showcasing. 

“I think that’s your computer, agent York.”

You got up and came closer to the cell, took down the dress straps, one at the time, and let it fall to the floor. You could barely see Dave but you could sense his eyes roaming your naked body. Neither of you said a word. You ceremoniously came back to the chair and sat again, feeling the wetness that had been accumulating since he had thanked you for saving his family. 

“I just know it, Dave. Please, just say it” – you begged with hooded eyes.

The projector was now bathing you with a soft shade of pink, matching the glistening between your legs, on full display for your prisoner to see. When you started circling your clit, your nipples rock hard even before getting undressed, you knew you were not going to last. On the other side of the bars, Dave was breathing heavily and his bulge began pulsing. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t give in to the need to pull his cock out and get himself off to the magnificent scene he was witnessing. He had always thought your body was glorious, even with your scars. Maybe, because of them. 

“Baby… Mmmm… can’t you see? This is… all… yours… Oh… I… am yours…”

You were stabbing your cunt with two fingers, curving them at the right place, at the right rhythm. The sounds you were making, increasingly wetter, desperately faster. One foot on the ground, the other stepping on the spindle, you had definitely used that wooden chair for sinful exercises before. And your moans echoed in the room where Dave was. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, gulping and palming himself, fully erect and finally doing what he very much had resisted. You could hear him and it turned you on even more. Almost standing up, you went back to your clit, frantically rubbing it, keeping your eyes fixed in Dave’s direction. When he saw you come, it was like looking at some goddess sculpture, with a gaping mouth expression, frozen in ecstasy for a few seconds, screaming his name right after. Spitting his hand and fisting himself, once, twice, thrice, Dave spilled his seed all over the tile floor. Panting and slightly sweating, still in the dark, he watched you approach the cell again, still naked and with a satisfied grin on your face. Your hand, still covered in your juices, went straight to grab one of the door metal bars and smudge it with your flavor. Then, you picked up your dress, gave Dave one last look and left. Everything went dark again. But before any light would turn on and gave him away, Dave rushed to the door and licked what you had left for him.   

Later in the shower he had to take care of himself for a second time.  

Day THREE

A huge smash woke Dave from one of the best sleepings he had had in a long time. The lack of proper rest in the past 48 hours had been highly balanced out by the self pleasure activities shared with you the previous night. In his haze, he could hear that there was some commotion out there but, again, he was unable to determine the source. “What is it gonna be today…” He rubbed his eyes and then rolled them. 

Dave stood up and walked to the door, grabbed the bars and listened closely. There were two voices. They were arguing. And it didn’t sound pretty. “You don’t understand! It’s not because of you! That was definitely your voice. “Why the fuck do you even bother? With him? I always stood by you, you ungrateful bitch…!” 

Chet. 

Wait. Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Dave was baffled. He had always thought your loyal lieutenant was a rampant homosexual.  “Chet, stop it, please!” You sounded more and more scared, on the verge of tears, almost. Dave’s heart started racing, his knuckles turning white while squeezing the bars of the door. It was like Chet was bringing the whole house down. Glass crashing, furniture flying, walls being punched. Then Dave heard a slap and a muffled gasp. And he lost it. 

“Cheeeet! You coward piece of shit, leave her alone!!! You want me??? Here I am!! Come and get me, fucker!!!” 

Dave started furiously kicking the bars, of course, to no avail. He searched and searched, for some sign of a door opening device, while he kept hearing your screamings. He scanned the cell and looked at the chair. The window. He probably was not going to be able to break it, or fit into it but at that point anything was worth trying. He stepped on the chair when suddenly everything went quiet. Fearing the worst, he stepped down. The screen turned on and there it was your face. Dave York never thought the day would come when he’d get to see you in such a state. Your hair in disarray, reddened puffy eyes, bloody lips and sheer terror plastered in your expresion. Still so beautiful. You were whispering to the camera installed in the control room from where you clearly operated all these days, looking to your side every five seconds, afraid of Chet entering any minute. 

“I’m so sorry Dave! – you were sobbing but quickly tried to get yourself together – “There’s a panel… uhm… hidden, on the inside wall… it's the right side… No! Sorry! Sorry! Left side by the cell door! You give it a little push and…” – you froze and glanced at your flank –  “It will show a big red button…You push it and it will open the door. Please, you gotta help me, please! He’s gonna kill me, Dave…! Forgive me, I was so stup…”

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed you by the hair and yanked you out of the frame. The screen went dark.

Dave heard three gunshots somewhere nearby.

He rushed to the door and followed your instructions. Once he was free he ran like a madman. He didn’t recognize himself, feeling a desperation so uncommon for a cold mercenary like he had been for so long. It was corridor after corridor, and they all looked the same. The walls were slightly curved, lacking any pictures or decoration. The little windows above his head, just like in his cell, provided great lightning, but he couldn't help thinking it was like being inside a pantheon. He tried one door, then another. And another. They were all locked. It resembled a mental facility, Greek style. At last, Dave reached a T turn and when he looked, it was a long corridor on both sides. But to the left there was something he hadn't encountered so far: an opened door. In fact, it was ajar. Dave came to the frightening realization that Chet could still be around, armed. While he only had his bare hands. He cautiously entered and came across your control center. A dozen monitors, a camera, a microphone and a tumbled armchair. Some screens were still transmitting video from different parts of the house and Dave instinctively looked for the one broadcasting from his dungeon. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you, laying still on the California King. Dave didn’t stay to check on your state through the monitor but ran through the door and raced the corridors again, trying to remember the path back to the place he had been for the past three days. Were you passed out? Or were you dead? Focus, Dave. Hurry up. 

“Wow. For someone who only had fun with me, that’s… pretty moving, baby”

Dave had run so fast the last part of the hallway leading to the cell, that he virtually bounced on the ending wall. It would’ve been almost comedical if he hadn’t launched like an animal to the now closed jail door. When he desperately looked inside it, there you were. Unharmed, gorgeous, laying on your belly holding your head with your hands, looking at Dave with innocent eyes. Naked. He was trying to catch his breath, holding the metal bars, looking down. A smile, one that you had never seen on him, appeared on his face when he lifted his head and gazed at you. 

“Let me in” – Dave said in a deep whisper. His smile was gone and his eyes were almost black. 

“Have you had enough time to think about our conversations…?” 

“Let me in” 

“You know? I’m not so sure… What are your plans to spend this lovely afternoon in this cozy space with… me?”

“I want to eat”

Your cunt pulsed at those words. Dave looked indeed like a vampire.

You stood up and went to the opening panel, taking your time, walking painfully close to Dave, cold metal as the only barrier preventing him from pouncing on you. You finally gave a push to the red button and the cell was open. Dave stood still, leaning on the threshold. 

“This isn't what I signed up for when I joined the DIA”

“What?  Consorting with criminals…?”

“Falling for the fiercest of them” 

Dave charged and lifted you in one powerful move. And you held onto him for dear life, your mouth colliding with his, so happy you could cry. You locked your legs around him while he carried you until you both crashed against the nearest wall. Dave stopped for air. He caressed your cheek and took a good look at your face, every inch of it, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He once again tried to devour your lips but you put your fingers on his mouth. 

“Wait... Can I ask you something?

“Fire up” 

You both giggled.

“I don’t want you to fuck me…” 

“But…” 

“I want you to make love to me”

Dave's perplexed reaction turned to a sassy one. 

“How many orgasms do you think you can handle?”

“Five”

“I like those odds” 

He put you down, laid back on the bed and went upwards in the direction of the headboard. 

“Up, Q”

You moaned loudly when you sat on his face and Dave started his attack on your pussy. His tongue had been there hundreds of times now. And yet it felt like it was the first time he was licking and sucking your folds like that. 

“Oh my.. God… Dave… Keep going, like that, please, oooh please…!”

His brown eyes alternated between being open and fixed on you and closed due to the pleasure. The noises he was making, how your juices began dripping down his stubble, the way he was gripping your thighs, everything had you riding him like there was no tomorrow. 

“Dave, baby… Unnngh… I’m… Mmmmcoming… Please, make me come…”

Instead of fulfilling your wish, he pushed you away, making you lose your balance and falling on your back. But you didn’t even have time to protest since Dave was on you again, turning you around, on all fours. You felt his still clothed erection grazing your ass. 

“Are you ready to receive my love, Q…? – He cooed in your ear. 

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“All of it?”

“Give it to me…” –you sounded almost pathetic. 

You heard him taking off his shirt and sweatpants and then slapping his cock. Ass up, your wetness was now going down your legs. Proudly licking his lips, where he could still taste you, Dave teased your entrance with the tip of his length and you squeezed the sheets in desperation. You cried his name when he entered you and couldn’t breath when he started his thrusting. Slapslapslapslap. His big hands sank in your flesh, keeping you in place so your face was pressed to the mattress, muffling your whimpers. Dave then lifted you, tenderly embracing you from behind and also reaching your clit and circling it with expertise. 

“Are you close, baby? Hmmm? Talk to me…” 

“Yes baby, I think I’m… explode… am” – you weren’t coherent anymore.

“Lay back…”

He gently pulled you back, making you lean on him, both now seated on the bed.

“Open your legs, Q. Open them wide”

You obeyed. Dave put one hand on the bed for support and the other one went straight between your legs. When you realized what he had in mind, you granted him more access, placing your hips forward. 

 “Two. Or three?” 

“Three… is my lucky… number” 

He then started fingering you. He went in and out frantically, making sure he was properly hooking his fingers to get to the patch of heaven inside your vagina. Your eyes went to the back of your head and you were unable to make any sound. Dave wished there was a mirror in front of the two of you so he could witness your cute O face. All of the sudden, a loud squelching echoed across the room and Dave grinned in anticipation. 

“Here it comes, baby. Alright baby, alright, baby. Come on now” 

“Ooooohhh mmmm... Ghhhhhhhaaaaah!!!!!

You felt indeed like something had exploded out of you. It was liquid pleasure like you had never experienced before. It kept on leaking, down your legs, down the bed, down Dave´s hand. You weren’t sure how to feel or what to do next. Dave continued encouraging you, kissing your earlobe and cradling you in his chest, waiting for you to get down from your high. When you were back on Earth again, you turned around and looked him in the eye.

“Love me, Dave”

He flipped you over, kissed you lovingly, fist himself a couple of times and entered you. His pace was now slow, with a calm he had barely known in his whole life, in any aspect of it. How long he’d pretended you were merely a substance trader who happened to cross his path of illicit choices. You kept your eyes open. You wanted to make sure he was there, that he was real. That he was David York. The mercenary, the federal impostor, the cheating husband, the lover you never thought you deserve. That this wasn’t another of your sex fantasies at night. 

“I love you, Killer Q”

Dave increased his rhythm. 

“Say it again”

“I. Fuckin. Love. You”

“Come for me, daddy”

Dave thrusts became erratic, his breathing increasingly difficult. You held his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m here, baby. Look at me. Give me everything you got. Fill me in”

Those words did the job. Dave groaned deep and long, as he spurted his hot load inside you. But he was not finished. With what was left of his magic, he intended to make you come one more time. In and out, in and out, in and out, just at the right angle, to burn your clit one more time. 

And it happened that you burst into tears as you orgasmed. Dave kissed them dry.  

“Don’t cry, Q.” – Dave stared at you adoringly –”Thank you”

“For what…?” You used the pillow case as a Kleenex.

“To show me what an idiot I’ve been all this time. I really deserve being hurt by Chet. Hopefully, he’s not around...”

You laughed.

“He’s with one of the new boys”

“Training him?”

“I don’t think so…”

[takami-takami]

HAWKS YANKING IT !!!!!

now that i have your attention, this was a bit back but remember when you mentioned one of the songs from ur hawks playlist being abt an angel of death that has to kill when all he wants is to protect peopleYEAH i searched up and down to find it (this is a joke i just looked thru ur spotify topster:p) cus its been plaging my mind for the past few days and..i found it….

v how could you deprive us (/lh) of something this painfully beautiful. sigh, biting my fist, sobbing into my pillow, punching a wallSIGH. its so good:( i won’t spill the name tho dw

ALSO i remember u mentioning a soft song about seeking freedom and i thiiiiiiink, i think i also found itBUT IM NOT SURE !!! even if it isnt that song i feel like it would still be in ur playlist anyway cus..the singer THE SINGER in this specific song sounds a bit too much like keigos dub voice for me to be normal about it

hope this isnt a weird thing to send in WHSBDJS,, i just wanted to share cus 1. hearing it for the first time has now permanently changed the trajectory of my life and i CANNOT be quiet abt this thank you very much. 2. the amount of tears ive shed from listening to this song…. pacing around my room

- 🍵 anon

Please dont look through my spotify bro idk how you found my music but i said i didnt want to share it for a reason, as respectfully as possible please stop looking through my songs

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XII.

GIF by uuuhshiny

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Lives for the memory, a woman who's just in his head (just in his head), and she sleeps in his bed (his bed) while he plays pretend. So pretend. –– She, Harry Styles.

WORD COUNT: ~5.6k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: discussions of religion, murder mention, smut :p, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, car sex, more of that sweet sweet detective!javi, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: not javi relapsing 😭 once a whore always a whore, am i right? hope you guys enjoy this week's chapter <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

The next month crawls by at an agonizingly awkward pace. Each day drags on, and Javier feels like he’s losing his mind more and more. Determined to keep his promise of tailing August and his cohort, he shadows them relentlessly.

He comes to find out that they’re just fucking around more often than not. It doesn’t take long for them to notice his presence. They turn the tables, leading him on a wild goose chase around town, making him feel like a complete idiot. Javier comes to terms with having severely underestimated their cleverness, and now he must compensate for the time he’s wasted.

There are no revelations, not even after his efforts to dig into the lives of the other victims. Javi had hoped that a fresh perspective would uncover something significant, much like his breakthrough in Jessica’s room, but he was quickly proven wrong. He’s back to square one, with no solid leads to follow or sound suspects to look into. The restlessness builds as he waits for the files from Rome to arrive. In the meantime, all he has to hold him over is the diary.

His sleep pattern is a wreck again, not that it ever truly straightened out, but it had become tolerable until his separation from Paloma and the subsequent dead end in the investigation.

She is glued to her new group of friends, and it’s clear this attachment has fueled her recent defiant attitude. Despite the fact that he harshly told her he wasn’t her goddamn babysitter and had stopped following her even before their relationship fell apart, Javier can’t help but worry about her constantly. The fact that they’d caught onto his surveillance rightfully pissed him off, forcing him to abandon his efforts entirely. Now, he can no longer keep tabs on her, and this loss of control claws at him.

Such a bitter pill to swallow, knowing she’s slipping further away into a crowd he mistrusts. A mistrust born from envy and happenstance towards the head of the clique who appears to be her new boyfriend. Shithead kid.

Javier despises how they’re influencing her. From his distant observations and what Romeo tells him at work, he sees the changes. Paloma is spending multiple nights away from home with little to no explanation, picking more arguments with her father, and frequently calling out of work. Her weekend performances at The Whiskey Fox have dwindled. It’s as if she’s transformed into a different person. One he doesn’t recognize. The vibrant, dedicated girl he knew is now a shadow of her former self, lost in a crowd he can’t reach.

She, on the other hand, is overwhelmed navigating the revelations of her bloodline. August has managed to explain everything as thoroughly as he can, and while it all still sounds so otherworldly, she decides to follow him with unwavering trust and loyalty. He shows her more photos of her mother, proving her involvement in the original group of believers, and that’s enough to keep her from questioning him until he brings up the more violent aspects of the ordeal.

“There’s someone who’s dying to meet you,” he told her days ago, convincing her to travel further out with him to meet this mysterious person.

They’ve crossed the state line into Louisiana in the dead of night. Being this far from home stirs an unfamiliar feeling in her gut, but it is quickly replaced by ornate curiosity as they navigate the swampy lands of the property. Here, the only other surviving member of the original group lives, and she’s surprised that’s he’s been so close all this time.

The dense, humid air clings to her leaving her skin sticky in sweat. The thick foliage rustles with unseen creatures that frighten her but she manages to keep her composure. Every step forward feels like a step deeper into a world she is just beginning to understand.

The house is… modest. Kindly put. It’s nestled amidst bald cypresses and weeping willows. The occasional twinkle of fireflies adds a touch of magic to the scene, making it feel more picturesque than what it really is. There’s a creaky wooden bridge that runs over the water leading to the small home, her boot snagging on a raised plank which causes her to stumble slightly.

“Careful, angel,” August warns, his voice cutting through the night, “helluva lot of water snakes and other critters lurkin’ out here. Would hate for ya to be snagged up by a gator.” He steadies her with a firm grip, and she mutters a brief ‘thanks’, shuddering at the mere thought of coming face to face with a fucking alligator.

Sloane and August cross the threshold as if it’s their own home while Gabe lingers outside nursing a lit cigarette. She hesitates for a moment before trailing in after them, her nose wrinkling at the stale scent hanging in the air mingled with something far more pungent.

In the dimly lit living room, an elderly man reclines on a tattered and weathered couch, his frail form beneath the worn fabric of a blanket. His sickly demeanor is evident, emphasized by the array of pill bottles strewn haphazardly across the coffee table. The room itself seems to sag under the weight of neglect, every creak and groan a testament to its precarious state; as if it could crumble at any moment.

“Guardati. Così bella. Così giovane. Avvicinati, la tua somiglianza con lei è sorprendente.”

She can't make sense of his thick accent, but August intervenes and gestures for her to come to the center of the room.

“He’s sayin’ you’re beautiful,” He translates, his words a lifeline in the sea of  her confusion, “and that your resemblance to your momma is uncanny. He wants to get a better look at ya.”

Her feet seem rooted to the floor at first, an uneasy sensation creeping over her once more. Despite her apprehension, she nods hesitantly and takes a few cautious steps forward. Standing at the foot of the couch, the elderly man’s weathered hand beckons for her to get closer, his eyes alight with curiosity and something else. Something she can’t quite place.

“Sarai una madre fantastica. Più grande di quella che ti ha preceduto. Tante vite perse e valorosamente sacrificate per far posto a te. Paloma, la matriarca della nuova era.”

She’s still so lost, the only thing she’s able to make out is her own name and the word mother. She turns to look over at August, who is watching intently as she silently asks him to translate again. He exchanges a glance with Sloane, who, uncharacteristically, remains silent.

“More monumental than your mother. He’s callin’ you the matriarch of the new age.”

Inhaling sharply, uncertainty clouds her thoughts as she struggles to decipher the old man’s intentions. When her attention returns to him, her breath catches in her throat once she notices a dagger clutched in his wrinkled hand. Panic surges through her veins and she instinctively moves to retreat, but his sudden grip on her wrist halts her in her tracks. She recoils, a sharp hiss escaping her lips as she tells him to let go.

“Take my life, Paloma. It would be an honor.”

Her blood runs cold at his words, eyes widening with a chill creeping up her spine. A sinister gleam flickers in his eyes, and she yanks her hand free, stumbling backward until she collapses onto the grimy floor. Terror grips her heart as she scrambles to her feet, her eyes darting frantically between the old man, August, and Sloane.

“Why did he say that?” Paloma’s voice cuts through the heavy silence, her confusion and nerves palpable.

There’s a moment of silence that only serves to fuel her growing agitation. She feels like she’s overreacting, but deep down, she knows she’s not. The old man’s request has unsettled her to the core. He asked her to kill him.

What. The. Fuck?

“He’s obviously sick and needs medical attention. Why did you bring me here?” Paloma’s gaze fixes on August, her tone tinged with accusation. As he steps closer to her, she instinctively takes a step back.

“For him. For this. He’ll be gone any day now ‘n his last request was to see you in person. He’s on his deathbed, Paloma. Remember ‘bout all the pain and sufferin’ that could end at your hands. Consider this part of that. Put him out of his misery–– he’s in so much pain and wants you to end it.”

“I-It’s murder.”

“If you think of it like that, you’re only hurtin’ yourself.”

She bites down roughly on her tongue, struggling to contain the torrent of emotions swirling inside her. A hesitant glance is cast toward the couch where the old man’s gaze remains fixed on her, his plea unyielding.

But she can’t bring herself to do it. She won’t. With a determined shake of her head, she takes a few steadying breaths. “M’not goin’ to do it. I’m sorry,” she declares, her voice wavering. It’s absurd, this situation they’ve found themselves in, and she can’t fathom how August could expect her to be remotely okay with it.

Sloane’s eyes roll with exasperation as she finally speaks up, her tone dripping with frustration and blunt honesty. “The shit we’re involved in ain’t always goin’ to be picture-fuckin’-perfect, Paloma. S’downright biblical—convoluted ‘n harsh. Not some fairytale. You’re goin’ to have to get your hands dirty eventually. This is tame compared to everythin’ that’s come before you, before me, before all of us. Quit pussyin’ out ‘n end this poor man’s sufferin’.”

She lets out a sound of disbelief, her mind reeling at the casualness yet intensity with which her friends discuss such a grave matter as goddamn murder.

But is it really murder if he’s this old and sick—moments away from ‘seeing the light’ and practically giving his life over to her to end? The moral ambiguity of the situation hits her hard, a cold shiver dancing down her spine. Despite the doubt gnawing at her conscience, she remains resolute in her decision. “No,” she states firmly, trembling with conviction.

Sloane scoffs in response, her displeasure evident when she abruptly exits the room, presumably heading outside to vent her frustrations to Gabriel.

“Baby––” August’s voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the weight of the situation

“No, August ‘n I mean it.”

More silence ensues, that is until the man begins to cough harshly, each spasm wracking his frail body. Splatters of blood stain the dirty blanket that envelops him. Paloma watches in stunned silence, unsure of what to do as he loses himself to the violent hacking. Her heart pounds in her chest with each agonizing moment, until finally, his body goes rigid, the coughing fit subsiding into an eerie stillness.

The events that follow unfold in slow motion. Gabriel and August wrap the man’s lifeless body in sheets scavenged from around the dilapidated house. They work in hushed tones, their movements methodical as they obscure his form before solemnly carrying it outside. With a heavy silence suspended over them, they toss it into the depths of the swamp, the murky waters swallowing the remains of a life now lost.

Paloma remains silent throughout, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts. She can’t shake the feeling of unease that squeezes her. At first, she argued for them to call an ambulance, to involve the authorities, but her pleas were swiftly dismissed by August.

He explained, with a grim certainty, how the action would backfire on them. The last thing they needed was to draw attention, to risk implicating themselves in suspicion. And as much as it pained her to admit it, she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. The consequences of involving the authorities were too great, and the thought of her father discovering that his dearest daughter was far from home, involved in something like this was a chilling prospect she couldn’t bear to contemplate.

He’d never let her out of his sight again.

The ride back to Seminary is long, restless and tense. She continues her vow of silence, ignoring them all together and shutting out the world around her. Even when August attempts to sweet talk her, his words fall on deaf ears.

It all feels surreal, like some fever dream she’ll wake up from at any moment, safe and sound in the comfort of her own bed. The memory of a dead body being dumped into a swamp as alligator food long gone.

She hops out of the truck as soon as it stops in the familiar driveway, grateful that her father wasn’t home yet, and August follows hot on her heels.

“Please say somethin’, sweetheart.”

“If it’s peace I’m bringin’, then why the need for violence? Why do I need to ‘get my hands dirty’?” 

“It’s… part of it.”

“Y’know you keep sayin’ that but never really explain what the hell it means.”

He sighs heavily, scratching at his jaw as he struggles to find the right words. “To appease our deity we have to give somethin’ up. I told you, s’very similar to the Genesis story of Cain and Abel and their offerings; ‘cept in this iteration Cain was favored instead of outcasted and cursed.”

“So killin’ that man would have been seen as an offering? What will you give up now that he’s dead, huh?” Her voice wavers with uncertainty, resolve beginning to falter. Maybe she isn’t ready to take on all this responsibility. While at first, she had fantasized about being a savior, something divine to help the world in its entirety, now it’s looking like she’s getting a lot more than she can morally handle.

“You told me all those nights ago that If I needed space ‘n time to think things over that you’d grant me that. So I’m askin’–– no, tellin’ you, August, that m’gonna need some distance to really think things through,” Paloma declares, her voice firm as she asserts her need for clarity and space.

His jaw twitches with a hint of exasperation, his piercing blue eyes searching her warm brown ones for understanding. He knows he’s pushed her too far, made her wary of him and his enigmatic cause. Despite his reluctance, he nods in resignation.

“Fine. You’re right,” he concedes, his voice tinged with regret. “Did say that ‘n I meant it. You take all the time you need, little dove. You know where to find me.”

There’s a pause as he hovers nearby. With a tender gesture, he leans in to plant a gentle kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before reluctantly pulling away.

“M’sorry for making you uncomfortable,” he murmurs softly with remorse. She doesn’t say anything, and with a final glance, he turns and departs, leaving her standing there with her arms crossed as she watches them drive away. Alone with her thoughts and exhausted, she can’t help but wonder what the hell she’s going to do now.

“I don’t see why we need to keep draggin’ this out. S’only goin’ to keep bringin’ more problems ‘n stoppin’ us from what we’re tryin’ to do.”

August stares out the large window that overlooks the backyard of the property, half listening to Sloane’s opinion as the three of them discuss what their next move is.

“This is exactly how it all went to shit last time. They showed their hand too early ‘n it scared Calmana off. She fucked ‘em over then went into hiding. That won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”

“And you don’t think takin’ her out to Louisiana was you showin’ your hand too early? Fuckin’ scared her off and now who knows if she’ll ever think ‘bout comin’ back.”

He mulls over her words, back still facing them and eyes lost in the vastness of the ranch. “Maybe so, but we can still turn this minor setback around.”

“How? When? Hate to be the bearer of bad news but the next full moon s’tomorrow. No way we get her back on our side by then.”

“By continuin’ to be patient, Sloane.” He snaps at her, turning his head to the side, “In the meantime we find someone else t’ give over.”

“Full offense, but that’s a stupid ass idea.” She voices unapologetically, “Specially with that cop boyfriend of hers. He’s been gettin’ too close, August. If another dead body shows up you know he’ll find some bullshit reason to bring us in ‘n who knows what’ll happen after that.”

He licks his teeth, irritation flaring in his eyes. “So we pluck one of our own ‘n you do what you do best and handle him.”

He turns to face them fully, his gaze sharp and probing as he studies their reactions. “Or is that a problem?”

Gabriel, who rarely interjects in these planning sessions, speaks up. “Not a problem. We jus’ gotta be careful.” His eyes lock with August’s, a silent battle of wills. Gabriel has harbored reservations for a while now, but Paloma’s increasing involvement has intensified his suspicions.

Was what August promised even real? They’ve been at this for years, taking innocent lives with barely anything to show. ‘It takes time’ were the pacifying words August had repeated over and over. For a while, they had kept him satiated, but now those words feel hollow and weightless. He doesn’t know if he can continue with the senseless killing as they wait for Paloma to come around.

“We will,” August insists, his voice calm but firm. “We’re playin’ the long game here. Have been for years now. S’the only way. The payoff will be more rewardin’ than anythin’ I’ve ever promised either of y’all. You just have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

The question lingers, laden with excessive weight. The three share a look, the silence stretching as the gravity of their situation settles over them.

Gabriel’s trust continues to weaken. Sloane’s is resolute. Finally, they nod in unison.

“Yes.”

The files from Rome arrive right at Javier’s doorstep, and the amount of them leaves him stunned. Expecting a box or two at most, he assumed from his phone call with the professor that there wouldn’t be much material to comb through.

He was wrong. Big time. About a dozen boxes now litter his trailer home, each one packed to the brim with documents and photographs. 

Nestled among the boxes is an unexpected addition: an Italian language learning guide. Within it is a neatly written note from the woman who sent everything over.

Sorry these took so long. I translated as much as I could. Let me know if I can do anything else for you. Hopefully this helps.

His gaze bounces between the guide in his hands and the mountain of boxes. The enormity of the task ahead is almost daunting, but there’s also a flicker of excitement. This could be the breakthrough he’s been waiting for, buried in the copious amount of tangible information.

He sifts through each box thoroughly. Papers are strewn about, forming a chaotic landscape around him. His brows pinch together in concentration as he absorbs the gravity of the crimes committed, the horrific details coming to life through the countless documents. He reads how these assholes twisted the Catholic religion to their will in a blasphemous manipulation tactic.

The symbol appears again and again, more times than he can count. Its presence is an undeniable thread connecting past atrocities to present dangers. There’s no escaping the conclusion: whoever was involved back then is still pulling strings now. Javier clings to a sliver of hope, or perhaps it’s a desperate prayer, that it’s just one person and not an entire community entrenched in the same malevolent way that plagued the city of Rome.

As he delves deeper, the hours slip away unnoticed. It’s only when his stomach grumbles loudly that he realizes how late it’s gotten. The clock is nearing ten. He hasn’t eaten all day, not deliberately but because his hunger was eclipsed by the information he’s been processing. The realization snaps him momentarily out of his research-induced trance.

“Just one more,” Javi mutters to himself, metaphorically knee-deep in the files detailing the exploitation of countless women. Each folder reveals more barbarities, more lives shattered by sinister manipulations.

He flips open another manila folder, expecting more of the same grim details. Instead, he’s met with a photograph that makes him do a double take. A brunette with strikingly familiar features stares back at him. The intensity of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the pout of her lips—it all mirrors Paloma with an unsettling accuracy.

“Fuck this,” he snaps the folder shut without bothering to read the accompanying information. Her presence in his mind is relentless, making it impossible for him to concentrate on the task at hand.

He stands from the couch, pacing the small space of his living room while running a hand through his hair. It’s as if she’s everywhere, her likeness etched into the horrors he’s uncovering. Her ability to infiltrate his thoughts is infuriating, a constant reminder of the unresolved feelings that he can’t seem to overcome.

He needs a fucking breather.

It’s a slow night at The Whiskey Fox, and Javier feels a wave of relief as he steps inside. The atmosphere is a welcome break from the overwhelming sea of files that waits for him at home. After quick meal and a drink here, he’ll be ready to dive back into the labyrinth of information, hopefully with a clear head.

His moment of respite is cut short as Sloane saunters over to his side of the bar, her expression a mix of amusement and mischief. She leans forward, her shit-eating grin unwavering.

“What’ll it be, handsome?”

Javier keeps his voice plain as he tells her his order, his eyes flicking up to the television screen nearby that is broadcasting a college football game.

He can feel her gaze lingering on him as she uncaps his beer and slides it across the wooden countertop. Her stare is almost palpable, a prickling sensation erupting along his skin under the weight of it, but he refuses to react. Instead, his eyes stay fixed on the screen, ignoring her presence altogether.

Javi takes a long swig of the cold beer, the emptiness of the bar that had initially brought him solace now feels charged with unspoken tension; a reminder that no matter where he goes, complications seem to follow.

“Long day?” she asks casually, her hands busy with wiping down counters and rearranging bottles.

“Every day is a long day ‘round here,” He responds, attention still on the game. He hopes the curt reply will end the conversation, but Sloane isn’t so easily deterred.

“You’re right. The days do seem to drag by. ‘Specially workin’ with a job like yours, officer.” she continues, her tone light yet probing. 

His gaze flickers over to her then, only to find dark eyes and a seductive smile looking back at him. There’s a knowing glint in her expression, one that makes him uneasy. He doesn’t bother responding, focusing instead on his beer, then devouring the bar food that arrives shortly after.

“I’ve been told m’really good at bein’ a distraction,” she purrs, leaning closer. “Not to overstep, but you look really tense. I could help relieve some of that stress. Make tonight a little more bearable.” She bites her lip and tilts her head, her eyes swimming with suggestion.

Javi can feel the heat of her gaze, the overt invitation simmering between them. He’s tempted to look away, to bury himself back in the files at home, but something about her boldness holds his attention. For a moment, he considers the offer, the promise of temporary relief from the relentless pressure he’s under.

He finishes his meal in silence, the taste turning bland in his mouth as he mulls over his next move. The night is full of possibilities he’s not sure he wants to explore.

Javier taps his fingers against the wooden countertop as he watches her work, now his turn to do the staring. Sloane doesn’t back down; their gazes matched when she approaches him again. It’s a challenge and invitation rolled into one. The sparse number of patrons nearby do nothing to pull her attention away from him. She’s all in.

He knows he shouldn’t, but between the mess with Paloma and the complexity of the cases, a quick hook-up might just be what he needs to relieve some of that stress, as Sloane had so bluntly put it. It’s not his best move, sleeping with someone who had been on his suspects list; and it’s certainly not wise to get with the best friend of the woman he can’t seem to get over. 

The prolonged silence between them is thick with building sexual tension. Deciding to be fucking reckless, he leans forward slightly, a question forming on his lips.

“What time are you off?” he asks, his voice low.

“Twenty minutes,” she replies quickly, her excitement barely concealed.

Javier nods, effectively confirming the salacious invitation. Sloane giggles, biting her lip as she brings him another beer, finishing her shift with practiced motions. He closes his tab, feeling a mixture of anticipation and guilt nestle in his chest.

Stepping outside, he heads to his truck parked at the very back of the lot. He lights a cigarette, taking a long drag as he contemplates his decision. You still have time to back out, the angel on his shoulder reminds him, the voice of reason in the quiet night. But the devil, fueled by his sexual frustration, whispers back, Or you can keep doing what you’re doing and allow yourself one quick, good fuck to get your head back on straight.

He puffs away at his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkness as he weighs his options. The decision feels heavier than it should.

Sloane saunters out of the building, her eyes scanning the parking lot until they land on him. A flirty smile tugs at her lips as she draws closer.

“Thought you woulda changed your mind. Happy to see that wasn’t the case,” she teases, casually plucking the cigarette from between his lips. She takes a long drag, savoring it, before returning it to its original place.

Javier narrows his gaze, irritation and desire flickering in his eyes. “I should. Probably a dumb fuckin’ idea, but I don’t really give a shit at the moment.”

Her smile broadens into a smirk. “Got tired of watchin’ us from a distance and wanted to see the real thing up close?” Her nimble fingers toy with the button of his shirt, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looks up at him.

His jaw flexes at the mention of his patrolling, a reminder of the line he’s about to cross. Javier shrugs, playing it cool. “Had to make sure you weren’t causing any trouble around here, sweetheart.”

She laughs, a sultry sound that dances around them. Slowly, she begins unbuttoning his shirt, her touch deliberate and teasing. “M’always causin’ trouble, officer, and I think you know it, too.”

Javier finishes off the cigarette, dropping it to the ground and smothering it. His large hands reach out, gripping her waist firmly as he swiftly switches their position. Pressing her against the side of his truck, he ducks his head, placing a few kisses along the line of her jaw. His lips trail down to her neck, eliciting a soft gasp from her as her hands roam over his now-exposed chest. 

Their lips meet in a heated kiss, making out passionately in the shadows of the nearly deserted parking lot. Sloane’s hand comes down to palm Javier through his jeans and he shudders, his own hand fidgeting with the door handle until he swings it open and ushers her to climb in.

Once they’re inside the spacious cab of his truck, Javier pulls Sloane into his lap and his tongue slips into her mouth, fingers digging into skin as they undress one another as best as they can in the confined space. He’s turned his mind completely off, losing himself in her eager touches and lustful moans.

“Knew you’d be good at this,” Sloane breathes out, tilting her head back as Javier begins to leave hungry kisses and lovebites all over her neck and collarbone. Back in Colombia, the girls at the brothel had jokingly given him the nickname Javi el Vampiro due to his bad habit of leaving marks. Once he realized it was bad for their business, he quit doing it.

He hasn’t changed a bit. The bite on Paloma’s shoulder an example of it, and now the evidence he’s eagerly leaving against Sloane’s pretty, flushed skin. Javier can’t get enough of her taste, her scent, the feeling of her writhing against him. He grinds his hips up as she presses down, both of them desperate for more friction, more contact, more release.

He hikes her skirt up, moving her panties to the side as two of his thick fingers press against her clit and she moans wildly, her wetness coating his digits.

No matter how bratty or self assured the women who pursue him act, they always succumb to his skilful touch.

“You like that, baby?” Javier asks with a tilt of his head, applying more pleasure as she mewls out a filthy yes. He slowly moves his fingers inside of her, fucking her gently as she moans and begs.

“Need to feel all of you,” Sloane selfishly requests in which he quickly complies, raising his hips to pull his jeans down to his mid thigh and he expertly grabs a condom, slipping it on.

Her hands rest on his shoulders so she can lean in to kiss him messily, biting on his lower lip. The tip of his cock nudges against her clit then down her slit, collecting her arousal. “Put it in, sweetheart.” He orders and she complies once he moves his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his thick base as she guides it to her weeping cunt, slowly sinking down on him.

“Shit,” Javier’s head falls back against the headrest at the feeling of her tight pussy clenching around him. The windows have fogged up due to their ministrations, and there’s a slight rock to his truck once she fully sits on him and begins to move her hips, tastefully alternating between bouncing and swiveling around. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Sloane moans, her nails digging into his shoulders as she takes him on the ride of his fucking life.

He pinches her nipples then soothes the feeling over with his wet tongue, bringing her closer as he places open mouthed kisses all over her bouncing tits. The scratchy tickle of his mustache has her walls clenching around him viscerally. 

“I’m not, oh f-fuck, I’m not Paloma. You don’ have t’hold back.” She sputters, slowing her movements. Immediately his demeanor changes, pulling back from her chest and bringing his hand up to grip her jaw.

“Touchy subject. I know all about it,” she licks her lips, urging him to tighten his hold on her face, “S’okay baby. Take whatever you want from me,” her voice drops to a whisper, hips beginning to move again slowly and sensually. “I don’t mind bein’ used.”

The clasp on her jaw don’t relent, her filthy words stroking his kink for hearing beautiful women be so vulgar.

“That what you want, babygirl? For me to use this tight little pussy of yours?” His hand lowers from her jaw to wrap around her neck, thick fingers pushing in to the delicate skin. 

“Yes, please your cock feels fucking amazin’. You’re so big.” She relishes the feeling of his fingers wrapped around her neck and the lack of airflow, eyes fluttering shut and her lips parting open as he begins to thrust up into her, completely taking control. 

Javier’s free hand grips her waist, guiding her up and down roughly. “Atta girl. Takin’ it so good, baby.” His grunts and her moans interwoven with the obscene sounds of her squelching pussy and his rabid thrusts fill the air of the cab, bodies glistening in sweat as he fucks her like she’s nothing but a toy.

Her walls cling to his cock when she cums all over him, the creamy ring of her release evident against the condom as she shouts his name with a litany of expletives, falling forward against his chest.

Both of his hands find purchase guiding her ass, the change in angle enough to bring forth his own orgasm, shooting his load into the condom and leaving bruises along her supple skin.

Sloane breathes heavily against his neck, her soft kisses trailing along the column of his throat and under his jaw as he tries to steady his racing heart, already craving nicotine. 

“Mmm, that was fun. Save a horse ‘n ride a cowboy,” she giggles, pulling away to kiss him on the lips one final time before easing off his cock.

He only huffs as they straighten up and redress, stepping out of the truck. The subtle breeze offers a welcome relief from the heat that had built up inside the cab. Javier wastes no time lighting a cigarette, taking a deep drag and offering one to her, which she declines.

Tonight has been nothing but a blur of poor decisions, culminating in an act he can’t take back. The temporary relief he sought from his stress vanishes as they peel out. Alone with his thoughts, the magnitude of his actions begins to sink in. Fuck, why had he done it? Why hadn’t he just listened to his conscience and left? Why hadn’t he stopped when she said Paloma’s name?

Now he grapples with the repercussions of his colossal screw-up. Javier berates himself, unable to suppress the self-loathing that constantly gnaws at him but seems to be doing a real number on him now. How could he be so stupid, so weak? He let his primal, sexual urges eclipse his judgment, allowing a moment of feebleness to infiltrate his hardened demeanor and dictate his actions.

It’s the same vicious cycle he finds himself in constantly. The only difference is that he’s repeating it here and not back in Colombia.

With each drag of his cigarette, he replays the scene over and over, each time feeling a sharper sting of regret. 

He feels Sloane’s lips on his neck, her hands on his shoulders and the sweat from her body clinging to him uncomfortably. He wants to wash it all off, baptize himself in whatever body of holy water that’ll refine his morals and character.

Paloma is everything he wants, whether he wants to admit it or not—kind, compassionate, and genuine. He doesn’t deserve her, that much is apparent, but it doesn’t deter him from how strongly he feels about her; even if he tries to stifle it and acts out like a complete asshole in hopes that he can trick his heart and mind into dismissing her. To no avail.

He’s jeopardized any semblance of reconciliation for a fleeting moment of escapism with Sloane. The stress he thought he could shed by seeking solace in another’s arms has only deepened, leaving him feeling more burdened than before. The emptiness of the night echoes the hollowness he feels inside. No amount of nicotine is going to change that as he thinks about Paloma.

He imagines her face, the pain and disappointment she’ll feel if she finds out. It’s a look that he hates he’s so familiar with, having hurt her more times than he ever should have. All that cruelty he’s inflicted on her to keep himself from hurting her further down the line has only doubled back with a vengeance.

He really is a piece of shit, as he’s been reminded of plenty of times by a vast amount of people—not just women, but colleagues, higher-ups, everyone. Then in the same breath being called a hero. As if.

He’s a bad person, undeserving of Paloma’s or anyone else’s love and forgiveness. So much for him wanting to better himself. If his mother, may she rest in peace, were here–– she’d definitely be disappointed by the man her son has become.

I didn’t raise you to be like this.

His fists clench at his sides, discarding the finished cigarette as he leans against the hood of his truck, running his fingers through his hair.

To spit in the metaphorical face of the so-called respect and admiration he has for Paloma, over something as meaningless as a fleeting fucking moment of lust, fills him with a profound sense of shame. He stands there, staring into the darkness, wishing he could turn back time, make different choices, walk away, and preserve her dignity.

To erase the pain he keeps inflicting on this poor girl.

But the damage is done, he thinks bitterly. There's no undoing it. Now he has to face whatever consequences come his way, knowing that he’s long lost the best damn thing that’ll ever happened to him.

The realization cuts deep, a cold, hard truth that he can’t escape. Paloma’s bravado, her gentle nature, and the genuine connection they once shared—all of it is now further tainted by his continuous thoughtless actions.

Italian translations:

Guardati. Così bella. Così giovane. Avvicinati, la tua somiglianza con lei è sorprendente. = Look at yourself. So beautiful. So young. Come closer, your resemblance to her is striking.

Sarai una madre fantastica. Più grande di quella che ti ha preceduto. Tante vite perse e valorosamente sacrificate per far posto a te. Paloma, la matriarca della nuova era. = You will be an amazing mother. Bigger than the one before you. So many lives lost and valiantly sacrificed to make room for you. Paloma, the matriarch of the new age.

[roleplayfinder]

🌧️🪻🕯️🔮 Hello friends!

Looking for 20+ only. No minors, no exceptions.

Advanced literate, novella style. I typically respond with 3-7 paragraphs, depending on the moment. No one liners! I don’t expect you to write a book but give me some genuine effort! I write mostly on Discord, but staying on Tumblr would be perfectly acceptable too.

I am open to romance, but it’s not a priority. Natural chemistry is the best. I only do WLW pairings in this regard. Sexual themes can be present, however, I don’t enjoy writing them in detail. If it happens, it will have to be “fade to black” only. Plantonic soulmates, found family, and sibling dynamics are very much accepted!

I’m an adult with an active life outside of roleplay. Please be patient and give me time to response. I make an effort to reply at least 2-5 times a week, but that can sometimes be slightly less.

Now then, onto the fun stuff!

I want to create a fandomless, original story with inspiration taken from various media - something soaked in high fantasy, medieval lore, magic, mythology, and more! Give me kingdoms rising and falling, epic wars, political conflict….. Let’s create something unique and watch what happens!

I would be taking inspiration from the following:

God of War: Ragnarok

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Game of Thrones

Lord of the Rings

Baldur’s Gate III

Dungeons and Dragons

Dragon Age: Inquisition

🪻

I love, love, love shared passion for our characters! Let’s rant and gush about them, get excited about the world we’re building together! Playlists, Pinterest Boards, Media inspiration, I want to see it all!

Currently, I don’t have any super specific plots in mind. I do, however, have a lot of loose ideas. Let’s brainstorm and put the pieces together!

If this sounds like you’re kind of thing, like, comment, interact with this post and I’ll be on the lookout!

🪶🌲🌳🎻⛰️🦌⚔️

.

[gingerjunhan]

Hello!! It's 🧈!

It's been awhile! I just wanted to request something for Jun han with a vkei (visual kei) reader? And they listen to a lot of bands like jiluka, dadaroma, and kaneto-juusei? (You don't have to know the bands, it's js Japanese rock).

But like the reader is very nice to Hyeongjun but is just super quiet but gets comfortable REALLY fast.

Sorry if this isn't the best request, I haven't requested anything from anyone for like a month😭🙏

☆彡 welcome back 🧈anon! Sorry this one took a while, but I'm finally digging through my requests lol. Hope you enjoy!

word count: 454| pronouns used: none | genre: fluff | cws: none!, lmk if I missed anything!

You’ve found yourself sandwiched between Hyeongjun and Jooyeon in the backseat of Gunil’s car on your way to meet up with a few friends for the day. Your drive was decently long, and you knew that it would be a battle for the aux between Jooyeon and Jungsu, who was riding in the passenger seat, so you decided to bring along some headphones.

You tapped along to the beat of the drums on your dark pants, finding yourself getting lost in the music. As the concert played on in your head, Hyeongjun couldn’t help but take note of how you seemed to be in your element a bit.

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder, taking you out of your trance a little bit. “What are you listening to?” You and Hyeongjun were definitely two of the more reserved members of your friend group, so you both tried to reach out to one another to make sure you were feeling included. You both knew how it felt to be in each other's shoes, so that made it easier for you two to get along.

“Oh, it’s just this, um, this band that I like,” you answered awkwardly. You felt like your music taste wasn’t for everybody, so you didn’t bother giving any specific details.

“What kind of music is it?” Hyeongjun asked with a small smile.

“It’s a Japanese rock band,” you admit shyly. At that, Hyeongjun’s eyes lit up a bit.

“Oh, cool,” he nodded. “Who do you listen to? I’d love to check them out sometime.”

You couldn’t help the dumbfounded look that swept across your face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “I love sharing music with people, and it sounds pretty cool.” His response was completely genuine, and you found yourself smiling back at him. Although you both weren’t the most talkative, you had always found ways to make each other feel more comfortable.

“Okay,” you beamed. “I can make you a playlist of some of my favorites and send it to you! I’ve really gotten into the v-kei genre and style lately; I think it’s super interesting.” Hyeongjun smiled as you spoke, enjoying that you were opening up about your interests with him.

“Awesome. Send the playlist my way and I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Yeah, totally! I can start on it right now. There are a few songs with some really cool guitar parts I think you would really enjoy.”

Hyeongjun watched as you happily made his playlist, asking questions about some of the groups you chose and what you liked about them. Although you weren’t always the most open with the things you liked, you always knew Hyeongjun would be there to geek out with you over anything.

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

[puppy-phum]

5 Songs Tag - QL Shows Edition

tagged by vi @feralmuskyscentedhoepran​​ ♥ thank you once more for thinking of me with these cool tag games ^^ 

When you get this, list 5 songs from the Asian QL media that you actually listen to.

🎶They do not have to be custom-made for the series. 🎶Non-western tracks only. Let's support Asian music and languages! 🎶Feel free to tag anyone who may be interested in participating. 🎶Add #5qls tag to your post for others to find the new favourites!

all of these will be from thai shows as i mostly pick up songs from those. i've also been watching mainly thai shows lately so i don't have much else to choose from, sorry...

I. ข้างกัน (City) - Fourth Nattawat and Gemini Norawit (Cover) My School President OST / Original by Three Man Down

To be honest, I love both the original version and this cover from MSP. The cover just holds double the meaning. It is both part of TinnGun’s story – their first meeting, their beginning, the reason why Tinn fell for Gun and why they fit together now – and PuenTalay's story in their own universe. It connects these two universes too, and that is why I’m so fond of it. Also, Gemini and Fourth make this song sound even softer than it already is. (My other favorites from MSP ost are Healing, Let Me Tell You, and the cover of Just Being Friendly, tho the whole soundtrack is just phenomenal.)

II. ใครคลั่งรักกว่ากัน (Madly in Love) - Jimmy Jitaraphol and Sea Tawinan Our Skyy 2 x Vice Versa OST

This song is so very PuenTalay but also so JimmySea. It’s extremely soft, romantic, a little playful, cute, and just loving all the way around. It compliments both of their voices and styles, and just makes me super happy. The lyrics are nice too. My favorite part is the one where Jimmy changes the way he sounds in the chorus (Idk what to call it sorry). It’s towards the end of the song. It’s just super cool somehow and very addicting.

III. คลาด (Over the Moon) - Khaotung Thanawat The Eclipse OST

Absolutely obsessed with this song. One of the best theme songs a BL has ever had, hands down. Truly lived up to the hype I got from hearing this song in the mock up trailer. I love Khaotung’s voice, the visuals in the MV, the lyrics, the instrumental. Overall just a perfect song for me specifically. (To be fair, The Eclipse has had two of my favorite soundtracks with this and their Our Skyy 2 song. Instant hits, no question.)

IV. ก่อน - Pchy Dew The Movie OST

I don’t think any other piece of media has ever made me feel the way Dew The Movie does. It was, and still is, simply everything to me. And this song. This song. I cannot put into words how perfect, how wonderful, how special this song is. I cry every time I hear it because it’s just so fully packed with all these feelings I cannot describe. I love it. I love it so much. And for the love of god, if you haven’t watched this movie, go do it right now. 

V. ร้อยล้านวิว (Million views) - Stamp Last Twilight Pilot Trailer 

I don’t know how well this song fits the criteria for this game but I found this lovely thing bc of the Last Twilight trailer and now I cannot get rid of it. It’s been on my playlist ever since this trailer dropped in November and not a day goes by that I don’t listen to it. It’s just so good and always brings me back to these moments. I keep hoping they would keep this song in the show itself or that they will get an OST that sounds similar, instrumental and lyrical wise. Bc my god did this song hit again once I stopped being lazy and looked up a translation for the lyrics. Now I’m crying even more bc of it thanks.

Bonus: พระเอกจำลอง by Getsunova from the Theory of Love OST. One of my eternal favorites. This song just is the show.  Special mentions: These are western songs so I didn’t want to include them to the list itself but I have to mention that Blueming brought me back to sød ven’s music bc they used the song hollow for the show (the beach scenes to be specific). I am forever grateful. Also, I love the songs both Not Me and Never Let Me Go used in their soundtracks, specifically this one and this one (both are instrumental as these shows have made me appreciate instrumentals a lot more too).

Tagging: @dimpledpran​​ @snimeat​​ @wanderlust-in-my-soul​​ @dragonsareawesome123​​ @oswlld​​ @leonpob​​ @stormyoceans​​ @ayan-sukkhapisit​​ @nongnaos​​ ♥