#sicario 2 imagine

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 8

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Jealousy, poor communication, arguing, poor decision making, violence, kidnapping, gun violence, murder, death. Summary: Upset with Javier and determined to do things your own way, the tension in the apartment propels you into a situation no one could have predicted. Notes: High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. Please be advised that this chapter does contain multiple instances of gun use and gun violence. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Because he asked you to keep an eye out, you don’t leave the apartment that day. Cooking in silence and sitting down with your notepad is the most you can manage for daily activity but it’s better than nothing. When you’re able to leave tonight you’ll be out there with fire in your heart.

Elisa hears you moving around in the kitchen, but when she comes out, you are already back in your bedroom. Unsure of why she feels a chill in the air, and wanting to apologize if she’s overstepping.

Chi-Chi hears her coming before you do, shifting over from her place on the bed to face the door when footsteps sound. “It’s not worth it, girl,” you murmur to the large dog. Even if you do appreciate the sentiment.

Biting her lip, Elisa reaches out to knock on the door before she pulls her hand back. Uncertain if she is imagining the frostiness. Or if it’s any of her business.

Can you keep an eye on her for me? Javier’s words ring in your head and almost make you so frustrated you decide to ignore the knock altogether, but you promised. You promised, and he’s…he is more to you than you are to him.

After a long moment of deliberation, you pat Chi-Chi’s back and get up.

She hears you move around and takes a step back from the doorway so she isn’t right in your face. Smiling politely when you open the door.

“Hi.” What else are you supposed to say to the woman unknowingly fucking your soulmate?

“Hi.” She is kind of stuck now and she gestures towards the kitchen. “I, uh, I didn’t know if you had anything in there that I shouldn’t touch?”

“No. Groceries are for everyone.” Everyone is really just two of you and one very spoiled dog, but you’re not about to get into semantics with her. All you’ll say, to keep further guilt at bay, is what’s necessary. “I promised Javier we would stay inside today. The only time I’ll leave is to walk the dog and even then I’ll stay right outside the windows.”

“Okay.” She nods, wondering when you two talked, but that’s not her business. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“You surprised me last night.” It comes out of your mouth unbidden, blurted out into the tense silence between you almost like sick. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

“I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and looks down the hallway uncomfortably. “It was sudden. I had to be taken somewhere safe and Connie suggested Javier. Since he works with Steve.”

“You know Connie and Steve?” That is news to you — Javier has never once offered for you to spend time with his partner and his wife, although you know their names from the embassy and stories. Then again, why would he offer?

She nods. “I worked with Connie at the clinic.” She admits. “That’s how we met.”

"That explains the scrubs." She's dressed in what must be her own clothes today. Presumably they were either washed and dried here in the apartment, or she hadn't been wearing them long enough yesterday for anything to get dirty.

“Yeah.” She looks down at her clothes and chuckles. “I didn’t have time to get anything.” She admits. “Connie said she would get me something to wear so I don’t have to just wear this.”

"She sounds like a nice woman." As opposed to you – even if this woman wouldn't be swimming in your clothes, you still wouldn't offer. Purely out of bitter jealousy.

“She is.” There’s something brittle in your tone and Elisa decides it’s best to end the conversation. “I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you are doing.” She offers. “Uh, thanks for the information.”

"Help yourself to something to eat." There just isn't much else to say to her. If you let yourself say whatever pops into your head you might end up yelling and there's just no point in that. It's not her fault that you went and developed feelings for your soulmate. It's not her fault that you let your heart get in the way. "Javier usually works late, but he'll probably come back sooner since you're here."

“I doubt it.” She snorts and shrugs. “He’s not one to really be tied down, is he? He’s nice enough, but he’s not really a homebody, right?” She’s sure that plenty of women have paraded in and out of here.

"Not really." Not that you are, either. You wouldn't go so far as to claim that. But you wonder if she's fishing for reassurance, and can't stomach the idea of Javier deciding that she is worth coming home to instead of you. He might, though. He really might. "I'm sure once he finds the right person, that's all it will take."

She shrugs, knowing that it won’t be her. “Hopefully I’ll only be in your way for a few days.” She tells you.

"It will be whatever it will be." It isn't your call, after all. Whatever she's really doing here and whatever she is to Javier? Those things are between them. You're just his roommate. And that has never stung more than it does right now.

“That’s a nice outlook.” She licks her lips and wipes her hands on her pants. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat.”

"Okay." Considering this conversation has gone on far longer than you prefer, that is perfectly fine with you. "Just..." You may not like this woman, or the fact of her being here, but you're not cruel. "Don't eat what's in the white plastic container. That's Chi-Chi's food. You wouldn't like it very much."

She laughs, waving her hand appreciatively as she turns to walk down the hall. “Thanks!” She calls back.

“Sure.” You murmur at her back, thudding the door shut behind her, wishing you could have just ignored her existence altogether.

There’s something there. Elisa mulls it over as she goes through the cabinets and figures out something to eat. She just doesn’t know exactly what.

******

Chi-Chi is the first to sound the alarm when the front door opens in the late afternoon, though her barking turns to happy howls and a vibrant wagging of her tail when she sees Javier walk through the door instead of an intruder. The alert had brought you out of your bedroom though – with a paperweight in your hand to lob at any intruder who might dare to invade your space.

Instead, the sight of your soulmate makes your stomach turn. "You're home early."

Javi turns when he hears you, seeing the expression on your face and the paperweight in your hand. “Yeah.” He turns back to the door and locks it securely before looking back at you again. “Steve sent me home. Figured you’d babysat enough.”

"Good." Normally having some extra time in the apartment together would be cause for a homemade dinner and maybe even a movie, but you're loathe to suggest spending time together tonight. It simply isn't even worth considering. Instead, you shift the paperweight in your hands and your own weight from foot to foot. "I'll get ready and go work, then." You huff quietly, mostly at yourself. "Shift change."

“I don’t think you should go out tonight.” Javi has thought about how to approach it all day and he knows you won’t be happy about it. “But, if you have to go, let me send on of the SearchBloc with you.” It seemed like a good compromise, and since he couldn’t leave Elisa home alone, it was better than not having anyone with you. “Trujillo said he wouldn’t mind.”

While he isn't necessarily wrong to be concerned about safety in most of the city, the way your hackles raise at something you would otherwise consider a kind gesture is just...it is so indicative of your stubborn nature as much as your current heartache. "I don't need a babysitter," you tell him unilaterally. "That's apparently a service I provide, not something I need. Besides, I never even told you where I'm going tonight. For all you know I'm interviewing the ambassador in her ridiculous mansion."

He doesn’t know what burr is up your ass and he says as much. “Why are you being fucking difficult?” He hisses, narrowing his eyes at you in annoyance.

"Me?" That earns him a deep eye roll. "You're the one begging for favors and then trying to hinder my work with an asshole in a uniform. Do you know how hard it is to do my job with a cop standing over my shoulder? No one will talk to me."

“He can be discreet.” Javi tells you, knowing that the younger man would wear regular clothes if he told him too. “I would go myself, but-“ he gestures down the hall towards his room where Elisa most likely is.

"What makes you think I would bring you with me, either?" The paperweight in your hand thunks on the nearest flat surface with determination. "All of a sudden you give a shit what happens to me?"

He frowns at your venom, the bile that he hears. “What the hell is your problem?” He demands, getting pissed and glaring at you.

The truth of it is far too cutting, and the heat blasting in your fury keeps you from holding your tongue. "You." You spit back at him, before stalking down the hall and back into your room. There is goddamn work to do and you can't go out into Bogotá at night with tear streaks down your face looking like a mopey schlub. You have to get yourself the fuck together, and you definitely can't do that around Javier.

Javi stares after you, jumping slightly when you slam the door shut and blows out a frustrated sigh. You two had been getting along and now you had come back from your night out with an attitude that was almost worst than the one you had when you first met him. “Fuck.” He hisses under his breath.

"Javi?" Elisa is standing in the doorway of his room, having heard the commotion and stayed well out of harm's way.

“Hey.” He frowns, knowing that she had to have heard and he doesn’t have one damn clue on how to explain that. “Connie gave a bag of clothes to Steve.” He tells her, motioning to the bag he had dropped by the door.

"Thank you." The coast seems to be clear, and she comes out into the living room to retrieve the bag – but also you say hello. "Your roommate is..." She frowns, considering what words to use. "It seems safe to guess that she dislikes me."

“She was rude to you?” He frowns even more, sure you would have at least taken to her and interviewed her. You always ask about anyone involved in the case against Escobar and now you seem practically apathetic towards the best witness he has.

"No." Elisa shakes her head. Once she has picked up the duffel bag from the door, she leans into his side and presses a kiss to his cheek. "But being overly polite is sometimes worse and has more tension than anything else. We only spoke this morning."

He grunts and shakes his head. “She is being stubborn about something.” He doesn’t understand it, but you are a grown ass woman.

"I'm sorry if my being here has caused tension," she offers, not really sure what else to say.

“It’s not you.” He assures her, although he has no proof of that. But this isn’t her fault, no matter what. “Have you had dinner?”

"Not yet." Truth be told, she was waiting for him. For a touch of comfort and companionship. Fresh clothes, a good meal, and Javi will take care of all of those needs.

“Okay.” He nods. “I can order something to be delivered.” He orders with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Ah." She nods in understanding. "It's her cooking in the refrigerator. Not yours."

“Yeah.” He admits with a grin. “I can make you some eggs and toast. That’s about it. Or slap a sandwich together.”

"There is nothing wrong with a sandwich." Far be it from her to turn her nose up at any kind of food, really. She isn't a fussy or picky kind of woman. "What did your ambassador say?"

"It's going to take a day or so to get clearance," Javi admits. "But with the attack on the Palace, they want to get you to a safe location. One where you can't be touched by Escobar." He doesn't mention that the military is demanding to know who she is and interrogate her.

“I wish I could go back for some of my things,” Elisa admits, but she knows it isn’t possible. The target on her back is too large and too clear. “But thank you. When it is finally safe to come home again I might to thank you for that, as well.”

He knows what she means by thanking him and his cock twitches in his jeans, even as he is glancing down the hallway towards your room. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

"Or perhaps when your roommate leaves." Elisa shrugs, not wanting to get into the complications of it. She will not be here for long and it is not her life. "You wanted dinner, I think?"

Grateful that the other woman in his life isn’t trying to argue with him, he nods. “Do you have something specific you want?” He offers, pulling out the take out menus.

"No, I'm flexible." She pauses, smirking at that, and catches Javi's eye to have him smirking, too. They had tested that fact very well yesterday.

He almost comments, but you open the door to the bedroom and come marching out. Javi looks down at the menus and grabs the one off the top. The Indian restaurant. “How about here?”

"Sure." She really doesn't mind much and it's clear that the tension in the apartment extends to him and doesn't simply emanate from you.

"I'm leaving." Wearing slightly more revealing clothing that you normally would and checking the purse you have stashed your notebook and a pen into along with your essentials, you breeze straight past them without looking around. "I might stay with Inez tonight." There are no more courtesies than that, no other explanations about where you're going or what you expect to do. Things that you might have told him if you weren't so pissed at yourself for expecting him to simply intuit the change in your feelings.

“Okay.” Javi frowns, wishing you would stop and talk to him, or at least take him up on his offer of Trujillo, but you just walk out the door. The silence lingers for a moment and Javi clears his throat. “Pour us a drink while I order, hm?”

"Sure." Elisa nods again and moves to the bar cart that Javi keeps in his living room. She has a feeling that he will need more than one, but that is up to him. "Whiskey?"

“Yeah.” He answers, picking up the receiver from the hook in the kitchen and dialing the restaurant. He doesn’t know what exactly to do, but he can only handle one problem at the time right now.

******

The night is oppressively hot and sticky, not yet cool enough to have brought the temperature down in the city and the warmth of so many people swirling through the busy streets as people go about their evening plans. Powered by frustration as much as anything else, you make your way through the streets on foot to catch a cab to your old neighborhood.

The cab driver asks if that is where you really want to go, shaking his head and sighing when you say yes and starts to drive cautiously towards the area of town that has grown increasingly violent.

The man you’re going to interview was displaced by the raid on the club just like you and Inez, with a similar situation of a landlord evicting their tenants and selling the property to get away from sicarios invading the neighborhood. He has promised a full interview with both him and his brother as anonymous sources, and suggested a semi-public place to meet. There are dangers, of course, there always are, but if you’re normally stubborn about things…Right now you’re downright blind to them.

The small café is around the corner from the old building the club used to be housed in. Rundown, one of the widows is boarded up from being shot out just two days ago. The waitress gives you a nervous look when you walk in the door.

“I’m meeting some friends,” you tell her politely, trying not to fidget in the clothes you picked for tonight. They’re not really not revealing but they’re more fashionable than you normally choose so you feel a bit like you’re on display. “Could I have a coffee please?”

“Sure.” She motions towards the empty tables, the seating area empty besides you. She can tell you are American and that makes her even more uncomfortable.

Convincing yourself that the tension in the air is you projecting your own emotions on the place, you sit and sip your coffee with one eye on the door. Everything is fine. You’re just upset and it’s making you prickly.

The cook in the back slips outside, unobserved by you and the waitress taps nervously on the counter as she waits for something to happen.

Five minutes click by. Then ten. Your coffee wasn’t the best but you know you’re a snob about it so you don’t say anything to the anxious-looking waitress. It isn’t until the door open again and a short man with thick, dark hair walks in wearing the promised blue linen shirt and denim jacket that you show any interest in anything whatsoever.

His eyes find you in the corner with your back to the kitchen and he plasters a smile on his face as he walks over to you. Saying your name for confirmation, to make sure that it’s you. As though there is anyone else in this seedy little café to be confused for.

“Is your brother not able to join us?” Enrique has turned up alone with a cigarette behind his ear and a friendly smile. “Join me. Have a seat.”

“He will be here.” Enrique promises, smirking slightly as he pulls out a chair and flops down into it opposite you. “Had to do something first.” He looks around and notices that you don’t seem to have anyone with you. “You came alone?”

“The nature of what we have to talk about is relatively private.” Hence the cafe — deserted aside from its employees, although you were bolstered to see the large window through to the kitchen, ensuring more than just the waitress for witnesses.

He nods and plucks the cigarette out from behind his ear and produces a lighter from a pocket of his jacket. “Figured you would have that DEA agent with you.” He comments as he blows out the first puff of smoke.

“…What DEA agent?” You hadn’t said a word about Javier in your phone call with this man, and suddenly the tense air in the cafe goes from thick to oppressive. All it takes is an instant and you’re wondering if you can get to the door before the man twice your height can block the way.

“The one who has been passing the word that the American woman journalist looking for an apartment is under his protection.” He continues conversationally and points at you with the cigarette between his fingers. “That is you, no?”

You’re going to fucking kill him. You’re going to tear Javier Peña a new asshole the second you get home tomorrow. He blew your fucking credibility that bastard! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You manage to lie without stammering or sounding fearful. For that, you will reward yourself later. With rum. “I have a place and I certainly don’t work with the DEA.”

“Yes, you do.” He smiles, a thin stretch of his lips that has lost the charm from earlier. “Someone wants to meet you.”

The front door is probably no more than twelve feet away. The door to the kitchen is only five or six, but you would have to wind through the whole thing blindly to find the exit, and potentially give this stranger the opportunity of pick up a weapon. The front door is the cleanest choice. You remember the way to the nearest busy neighborhood center from here and at this time of day you can blend into the crowds making their way into bars and clubs. That will give you enough time to duck into a bathroom and get another cab.

In the split second it takes you to make all of these plans, you wrap your wrist in the chain of your purse under the table and move your feet as subtly as you possibly can. Using the bottom of the booth to push off like a runner in the Olympics, you sprint for the door.

Only to find the way blocked as soon as you reach the frame.

Grabbing your arms, his ‘brother’ grins as you as he holds you. “You don’t want to leave, do you?” He tsks and Enrique laughs. “Pablo would be so disappointed.”

Pablo.

“I can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know.” That, at least, is true. Your job is only to gather information and report. The information that he is putting out into the world. Him and his sicarios — the misery and mayhem that they reap.

“He can be the one who decides that.” You are turned from the door, a gun in Enrique’s hand now. Pointed at you. “Let’s go. Out the back.”

You don’t need to glance at the bar to know the waitress is gone, and you don’t need to even think twice to know that you are not going home or to Inez’s tonight. In fact, you’re probably not going home ever again. If you’re lucky, they’ll just kill you outright is all you can think, with the imagine of Helena’s nearly comatose body in your head.

One foot in front of the other, you are marched through the abandoned coffee shop and out through the kitchen, where the only employee pays you no mind whatsoever and another man is sitting in the driver’s seat of a car. The puddle of white fabric in the dirt might be an apron, you can’t tell.

“The trunk.” The motion of the gun guides you to the back of the car and he smirks when you try to push back against the man behind you. “Don’t make it harder. He said we had to get you to him, not what condition you had to be in.”

“There’s no reason for him to waste so much effort on me,” you repeat, annoyed when your own not inconsiderable strength does nothing to help you.

Both men chuckle and your hands are bound behind your back. “It’s no effort at all.” Enrique taunts. “You came like a lamb to the slaughter.”

It's insulting how true that assessment is, and even more insulting when the two men shove you into the trunk of the car and slam it shut while laughing to each other in Spanish, as if you don't understand them perfectly. The slamming doors rock the car, and the movement of the two large men settling into seats shifts you back and forth even more, but it doesn't matter.

Your hands have been duct taped so thoroughly that even your fingers are bunched together and your eyes aren't adjusting to the darkness of the trunk like you expected them to. Trying to compensate for your lost and muddled senses makes paying attention to the car's twists and turns very difficult, and even though you know this neighborhood you lose track of the route you've driven after about ten minutes.

That would be bad enough on its own, but then the driving doesn't stop. Deep potholes jolt you violently hour after hour until you've managed to bite your lip and tongue bloody from the way the car bounces and your head has hit the top or bottom of the trunk just hard enough that you're wondering if you might have a slight concussion from it.

But hour after hour, it never stops and the car never slows.

It’s only when you’ve completely lost track of what time it is, and fell asleep a few times that the car stars to slow down. Creeping along for a few minutes before finally stopping. Arriving at your destination.

The stopping is what wakes you, as cars open and close and the vehicle jostles multiple times. Voices raise outside the trunk, muffled but audible. When the key turns in the lock and the trunk is flung open, your intention to throw yourself off the floor of the thing and lash out with feet if nothing else, is abruptly squashed by the fist that comes down on your cheek. You see the outside world just long enough to know that it's near sunrise when a cloth bag is put over your head and you're manhandled out of the trunk back onto your feet.

Two different pairs of hands grab at you. Shoving you along and when you struggle, one of them punches you in the stomach and makes you double over, gasping for air. “Move, bitch!” It’s not Enrique’s voice this time, but the tone is evil. The voice of a man who has no sympathy in his entire body for anyone.

It feels like they intentionally trip you on a short flight of stairs, pulling you up again by your armpits when you stumble and fall, landing on stone not just once or twice but three times. From the way your shins sting and ache, you've got a few cuts and will have throbbing muscles in no longer than an hour from now. If you even make it another hour. The possibility that you won't is unnervingly real.

“Sit her down.” The voice comes from your left, the order in Spanish and there is the slight sound of a disappointed sigh. “What have I told you about kidnapping women?” The voice says. “You treat them with respect.”

"American pig." Sneers one of the other voices that you don't recognize. If you can figure out who it is later on – and if your mouth is ever untaped – you'll spit right in his eye.

“But a valuable one.” There’s the sound of footsteps and the scrapping of a chair as one is dragged closer to where you are standing. “Remove the bag.”

The fabric is ripped from your head, definitely taking some hair with it, and suddenly you become sharply aware that you're facing east. Sunrise is blinding you so badly that you have to flinch away and let your eyes adjust. Which means it's almost a full minute of standing there before you realize that Pablo Escobar is the figure outlined by the rising run.

Your full, government name is said, leaving no doubt that the biggest drug lord in Colombia knows who you are. They had gone through your purse on the way here, but that’s not the point. “Please, sit.” Pablo offers, motioning to the chair in front of you.

For the rest of your life, regardless of how long that is, you're going to be proud of yourself for not immediately pissing yourself in fear at the sight of him. He's nothing special. Not really. A mid-height chubby man with curly hair and an unfortunate mustache. He looks very...disarmingly...normal. But this ruthless murderer is not to be underestimated.

So you sit.

“Ah.” Pablo smiles, the gesture meant to be disarming and charming. “And they say Americans are stubborn.” The men around him chuckle but he keeps his eyes on you. “Forgive our manners.” He tells you, not really meaning it. “I’m afraid that it has become harder to talk to the people I need to now.”

The irony does not escape you, and you shoot him a look that says I can't talk to anyone at all right now while momentarily slipping your grip on the fact that this situation is deadly serious. Thankfully, the man laughs and waves one hand, which one of his armed flunkies takes as a direction to come over and rip the duct tape off of your mouth.

Pablo watches as you hiss in pain and move your jaw around. “There. Now we can talk.” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “What is your connection to the DEA?”

"I have none." That hasn't stopped being true – or mostly true – just because they drove you out of the city and out to what looks like one of Pablo's mansions.

“Then why was a DEA agent saying he as protecting you?” He snaps his fingers at one of this men. “What was the asshole’s name?”

"Peña." Supplies Enrique. Or, the man who told you that his name was Enrique.

Fucking hell. Why did soulmate have to be such a meddler?

"I don't know why he said that," you answer honestly. Mostly because it doesn't make any fucking sense to you but also because you really don't know his logic.

“Is he fucking you?” Pablo drags his eyes up and down your body. You aren’t bad, but you are thicker than he likes. Tata would like you though.

"No." To date, Javier Peña has never even hugged you or any much physical contact with you at all. Which is what makes his claims of protection so aggravating. It's like it's a performance on his part.

“And you are a journalist?” He asks, tilting his head as he wonders why the DEA agent is interested in protecting someone that he isn’t fucking.

"Yes." If he knows your name and he knows who Javier is, then he already knows that. There's no point is denying it when he basically catfished you with a phony story for your column.

He takes another drag off his cigarette and slowly exhales the smoke. Considering his options and then nodding. “You will interview me.” He decides, smirking slightly at his genius idea.

"Excuse me?" The idea of it takes you so off guard that you just stare at him for a moment, but he looks so fucking pleased with himself and is already motioning around to his men and issuing rapid fire orders. Someone is to bring him a chair. Someone else a drink. A third person is sent to fetch his breakfast. Still another is waved inside to check on Tata. You're fairly certain he didn't even hear your confusion over his own self-satisfaction, but you manage to cut through the noise of movement with your second thought. "I'll need my hands for that. To take notes."

“Bring a notepad and a pencil!” Pablo shouts after the men, cursing when he realizes that no one else is here to cut you loose. “You try to run and I will put a bullet in your head.” He tells you casually as he pulls out his gun and shows it to you. “Then I will have my men in America kill your family. Understand?”

Your family. The thought of Escobar sending goons to carry out hits on your mother and your brothers terrifies you far more than anything he could do to you, and you nod once. "I understand."

“Good.” He gives you that charming smile again, but his eyes are watchful, calculating. “Then you will write the story and tell the real truth about what is happening here.”

It's an odd and sickening guarantee. You will live long enough to write your article. To carry his words to the world. Whether or not they let you live longer is up in the air and highly improbable – but if you can drag this out a little you might be able to figure out how to survive. Attempting an escape seems like a surefire way to get his sicarios sent after your family, and you aren't willing to take the chance he may not be bluffing about having that ability.

The men return, another chair and a table being brought in. Notepad with several sharpened pencils are slapped down on it. One cold coke in a glass bottle, obviously not for you, and then a bottle of water that might be for you are also added.

You're careful not to look anywhere but at your hands in front of you, somehow convinced that making eye contact with any of these people will end in violence. On Escobar's orders your legs are tightly tied to the chair and the tape is cut from your hands. There is no way you're going anywhere, but at least you can flex your fingers and feel the blood flow return to them.

"Where do you want to be begin?" Pablo asks curiously before he turns in his own seat and berates one of his sicarios for not bringing an ashtray to the table.

"Well..." Reaching for the notepad and a pencil with tentative hands, you flip open to the first page and instinctively date the top line. Swallowing is a dry and hazy endeavor but you manage to remind yourself to breathe. "Let's start with your full name and where we are." The more corroborating information that you can get, the better. Maybe after the article is done and Escobar inevitably has you shot, the work will still help convict him somehow.

"Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria." He announces his name dramatically and with a slight hint of theatrical flair. He is vain enough to know that most people, even Americans, recognize his name. What he craves is respectability. "We are in—" He tilts his head and smirks slightly at the attempt to get information from him on your location. "Colombia."

"You don't have to give me the longitude and latitude." You're not dumb enough to think wherever you are actually has an address. "But...in general. Are we at your home? A safe house? The home of a business associate?"

His brows furrow in anger, his jaw tightening. "In hiding." He spits, sneering at the mere thought of the indignity. "Because of your fucking DEA."

"That must be very hard for you." The top of the page is marked out with the date and the name of your subject, and from there your pencil flies across the pages. Taking down direct quotes from both Escobar and you – questions and answers exactly as they're said. Your training is kicking in despite the fear. Writing in shorthand ensures that you can actually get everything down without having to pause in the conversation and ruin the flow. "To have to hide with your family when you are also working to be a community leader?" He did run for office, after all. You aren't leading him fruitlessly.

"Why does America care about me?" Pablo demands. "I am a businessman." He stresses, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray and shaking his head. "I care about Colombia. But you are here, for me. Your DEA is here, for me." He shrugs. "Why do you care?"

"Your business has made it all the way to America." Calling it a business makes your skin crawl, but following his proverbial scent and the thread of the narrative he wants you to tell for him matters. "We are always interested to know about the people who bring their business to our country."

"Then ask me what you want to know." He offers.

The situation is so loaded from every angle that you almost don't know where to start. The drugs, the smuggling, the international reach of his enormous illicit business dealings. His family. His public image. You might be the only American reporter to ever get to sit down with the world's most infamous drug lord and squandering that opportunity is basically a waste of the end of your life – since you really are sure you won't make it out of this place alive.

"Start at the beginning," you offer, starting a new line in the notebook you've been given. It's a miracle that your hand isn't shaking too badly to write, but you're not going to question it. "When you started this business, what did you hope to achieve?"

“Support my family.” Pablo tilts his head, surprised by the question. “My mamá had this couch. Worn, broken.” He snorts. “It was a piece of shit. I wanted to buy her a new couch. To buy her things she sacrificed having raising me.”

“With a worldwide business, would you say that you have now achieved that goal?” The longer you can keep him talking, you decide, the better. The more he will feel you have become sympathetic to him. The more likely he is to perceive you as friendly and slip on something. Something seemingly insignificant that can be used against him somehow. You have to try. You have to try.

“Perhaps.” Pablo shrugs slightly. “Visions change. Goals broaden.” He crushes out the cigarette and picks up the Coke bottle to twist the lid off the drink to take a swallow.

“You have goals for more than just your family now?” He must, considering her ran for office, but you’re willing to pick up any thread he gives you.

“I want to be involved in politics.” Pablo admits, his expression tight. “I would be good at it.”

“Tell me what happened,” you prompt. Just breathe. Keep him talking. You’ll find the angle eventually and some tidbits along the way. “In your own words.”

Pablo starts to weave a tale of honorable intentions derailed by jealousy and a corrupt system that would not let him come to power. Finishing his coke during the long-winded story as you write notes.

If you had been asked what you expected to hear, this would be something close to it. A man who saw himself as a savior being thwarted at every turn, his good intentions stagnated time and time again. He truly must have no idea how bloviated with arrogance he sounds. How self-absorbed and self-righteous. How delusional.

The article he wants you to write and the one that you’ll print if you ever survive this horror show are two very different beasts.

“We should have a recorder.” Pablo frowns as he thinks of it, snapping his fingers at the man that is guarding the door.

Anything he wants is available to him at the snap of two fingers from either a man who looks terrified to misstep, or a man who looks smugly confident of his own self-importance. The juxtaposition is stark, but the ones who do the scurrying and fetching are the terrified ones.

“Thank you.” Even in your own anxieties and fears, somewhere in your mind you’re convinced that good manners might buy you a little more time. “This will be very helpful.”

“I would hate for the story to be misquoted.” Pablo muses, although his brow arches up. “Smoke?” He offers, holding out the pack as he waits for the machine to be brought in.

The idea of accepting anything from this absolute insect of a human being is repulsive and you almost can't even stomach it. But there is a solid chance that if you don't take the offering he'll be offended, and that could end in your end. More plainly put? You're not going to take the chance that Escobar will be so mad you rejected his 'gift' that he kills you for it. So you say yes and manage to even sound grateful through the strain of a dry throat and however many hours you were jostling around in that car.

He shakes out a cigarette for you to take and even pulls out his own zippo to light it. Flicking the striker even as he growls to the other man about what is taking so fucking long with the recorder.

For the first time in all of this, the thought in your head is wondering what Javier would think if he could see this now – and not in an angry and cursing sort of way. Just in the way where you are absolutely bewildered with every new moment of this.

And then suddenly, as Escobar is cursing out his men for taking too long, you know exactly what you're going to do. The chances of your surviving this are low. Infinitesimally low. And the notebook that you're writing in is entirely in shorthand. Unless one of Escobar's henchmen has studied to be a secretary at an American college, they're not going to be able to read your notes. Maybe that was folly, maybe it was just ingrained habit.

Either way, it is going to let you fill this notebook full. Two articles – one that Escobar will approve of and one that tells the entire truth of your kidnapping and everything you witness while in this compound.

So even though you won't make it out, there is at least a chance that the truth will survive you.

Waiting makes Pablo Escobar angry. He’s not a man who enjoys waiting for things. Especially when it appears to make him lose face in front of an American Journalist. Picking up the water bottle, he hurls it at the other man in the room. “Hurry the fuck up!”

A man skitters into view a minute later with a tape recorder in his hands, begging forgiveness and practically tripping over his own two feet to place the recorder on the table. A split second before it is fully set down, you realize with horror that there is no cassette tape inside.

It takes him two seconds, two bone chilling- heart stopping seconds. The fierce glare on his face is cruel, almost demonic. Pablo pulls out his gun as the man starts to back up, holding his hands in front of him. “Boss- boss, please-“ Escobar doesn’t give mercy, pulling the trigger three times and shooting the man down right in front of you.

Your heart stops. Breath catching in your lungs and blood running cold in your veins. And then your stomach lurches, revolting on you, and the only saving grace of the moment as you fall forward and dry heave in your seat is that there is nothing left in your stomach to actually empty out.

Pablo watches you retch as he puts his gun away. “He was disappointing.” He explains casually, not mentioning that the man had fucked up numerous times before.

Another man appears moments later with a new bottle of cold water to replace the broken one, and a fresh tape. He unwraps it from its plastic and plunks it down beside the machine without sparing you even a glance, but you don't care. You can't even process anything else. You had managed to make it this far in life without seeing anyone die, let alone be murdered in cold blood. But you can't say that anymore.

"I hope," you manage, feeling your throat croak and ache. "For everyone's sake, that no one else disappoints you."

Your pencil flies automatically, like some kind of ingrained reflex or biological imperative that operates entirely outside of your personal horror at the situation. It helps ground you, reminding you of the unyielding truth of this moment: that these horrors are, at their core, so deeply and terribly human. When you can breathe another steady breath, you reach for the tape recorder to hit the record and play buttons. “Let’s continue,” you manage, knowing how shaky your voice will sound on that tape.

“Perhaps I should start again?” Pablo asks, watching dispassionately as another couple of his men come into the room to drag out the body.

“For the record.” Speaking as clearly as you can into the tape recorder, you state your name — No use in pretending he doesn’t know it, he’s said it before. Even your middle name. — and the date. “Interview conducted in private at subject’s request.” It’s pure professionalism. Every single step meant to ensure that he believes you are taking him seriously. “The first part of this interview was taken by shorthand notes by the reporter.” Polite. Always polite. Looking back up at him and somehow managing not to flinch, you motion to the recorder. “Please state your name for the tape, as you have already done for my notes, and anything you would like to repeat. Then we will continue.”

He goes through the major points again, sending you a pleased smile when he comes back to the point where you had left off. “Now. We will talk business.” He nods.

“What kind of business would you like to talk?” He’s in the driver’s seat of this interview, after all. You’re just holding on for dear life.

“The kind that brought you to Colombia to write about me.” He smirks and picks up another cigarette.

******

It is a whole twenty-four hours after you are supposed to arrive at her apartment that Inez decides to call. She would have sooner but – as you always say – life happens and she just assumed that you had decided to go home again despite being annoyed with your Javier. Now that she is finally able to pick up the phone and call your apartment, she's wondering how you are feeling after your interview. If you got anything worth while out of the brothers who had contacted you.

Javi had been expecting a phone call from Steve, staying with Elisa today since you had decided not to come home. So when the phone rings in the apartment, he picks it up. “What have you learned?” He asks immediately.

"Um...hello?" Inez's voice fills with a frown. "Is this Javier?"

A woman’s voice. Javi rolls his eyes slightly as he tries not to sigh. He feels like he’s in a version of hell concerning the opposite sex. “Yes?” He asks, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Who is this?”

“My name is Inez.” In an instant she understands why you’re constantly so annoyed with this guy. He’s snappy and huffy on the phone, which means he probably doesn’t have much better manners in person. But the warm depth of his voice is nice. “I was calling for your roommate,” she tells him, adding your name in case he doesn’t remember who mentioning her to him in the past.

Javi pauses, frowning and his brow furrowing together. “You’re the bartender from where she used to live?” He asks, prompting her to confirm. “She’s not home. I guess she hasn’t made it back from your place.” He twists his head to look at the clock on the wall. “I’ll let her know when she gets in.” He doesn’t even want to unpack why it was so easy to say ‘home’ where you are concerned.

“She didn’t come home last night?” Inez’s voice is immediately tense.

“She….said she was staying at your place.” Javi’s gut curls, the warning bells starting to ring in the back of his mind. “What time did she leave?” You were angry enough that you might have gone to a bar and went home with someone, or went to the brothel. So the panic starting to creep into his veins could be completely unwarranted.

“She…never came over.” The sickening feeling of panic in her chest tightens and makes her stomach flip.

“What the fuck do you mean she never came over?” Javi growls, gripping the receiver tight in his fist.

“I figured she went home after the interview!” Inez defends, startled by his tone. “I was calling to check on her!”

“She hasn’t been back.” Javi breaks off in a string of curses. “Give me your number, I’ll call you back.”

Quickly rattling off a string of numbers, Inez takes no offense when he slams down the receiver afterward without saying goodbye. She’s shaken and fearful, left sitting on her couch wondering what the fuck happened, and wondering if she should call Vanessa.

As soon as Javi slams down the phone, he is picking it up again, calling Vanessa. Trying to ignore the way his fingers shake as he punches the buttons.

“Hello?” Vanessa’s voice is bright and cheery when she picks up her private line.

“Vanessa, please tell me that—” Javi says your name almost desperately, “came over and is still with you or Freckles? Or fuck, any of the girls?”

“What?” Vanessa frowns immediately. Javi never sounds scared or panicked unless there is a very good reason. And right now he sounds both. “No. I don’t think so? Hold on.” Freckles is there in the room with her, having just finished with a particularly irksome client. “You haven’t seen our girl lately, have you?” She asks over the receiver.

“No.” Freckles shakes her head, barely glancing up from her magazine. “Not for a little while now.” She tilts her chin at the phone. “Is that Javi?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa nods while her own frown forms and she readjusts the phone on her shoulder. “She’s not here, Javi.”

“Goddamnit.” Javi hisses, shoving a hand through his hair. “If she shows up, call me!” He demands before he is slamming the phone down so he can call Steve. You’re missing and there’s the small issue of the fact that you are his fucking soulmate.

The phone line rings twice before it’s picked up, making the world feel like it’s moving in slow motion around him. “Murphy.” His partner drawls on the other end by way of greeting.

“I’ve got a problem.” Javi spits out.

“So do we all, Peña.” Steve chuckles on his end of the call. “Something new, I take it?”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” Javi hisses and says your name. “The journalist? The one that lives with me? She’s fucking missing.”

“Shit.” Steve sits up in his seat, alarmed at Javi’s tone. “How long?” An American tourist going missing in Bogotá is bad enough — but one living with a DEA agent? That shit would be like catnip to sicarios.

“She left last night to go interview someone, I don’t know if she ever made it there.” Javi admits, blowing out a sigh. “I tried to get her to take Trujillo but she wouldn’t.”

“Where was the interview?” Steve asks, pulling out a notebook to start taking notes.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Javi should have asked Inez if she knew anything more, but he had been frazzled and not thinking. “I’m assuming her old neighborhood.”

“Shit.” More emphatic this time, Steve rubs His hand across his forehead and reaches to grab his jacket. This has officially become a situation. “Is there someone she would have told? Or does she keep notes somewhere in the apartment?”

“I don’t know.” Javi shakes his head. “She has a friend. Inez. She was supposed to meet her after and she had told me she was going to stay with her last night. Inez called me just a few minutes ago asking about her.” He rattles off the phone number. “Get her in to go over any fucking detail she can remember. I’m going to search her room.”

"Copy that." Steve hangs up without preamble and then immediately picks up his phone again. It's a whirl of activity as he drops his jacket, dials the number he wrote down – all the while wondering what it is about this woman that has his partner so knotted up as to actually sound scared on the phone.

Javi hangs up and immediately bolts down the hall to your bedroom. The panic he’s swallowing covers up any hesitation for imposing on your private space. He starts at the shelf closest to your door and starts searching methodically.

Things are fairly well organized in your room. The small closet is full of clothes with shoes lined up in a row on the floor and your suitcase stashed up on the top shelf. Two other, clearly empty bags are beside it and even though those bags are all empty, they're still the first things he goes through. The shoe box on the end of the shelf comes down with a clatter, revealing nothing more consequential than a collection of knick-knacks all tagged with the date and location of your purchase, and a name – small mementos of Colombia that are meant to be brought home with you later as gifts.

If he was trying to get a sense of you as a person, this would be a treasure trove of information. But none of this helps him find you. Not until he finds the matchbook for a small café. It’s one he swears that you’ve mentioned several times and there’s a good chance that you might have stopped by there or maybe even tried to set up your interview there as a neutral setting. It’s better than nothing and he shoves the matches in his pocket as he continues to search.

The small table at your bedside holds a leather notebook and a copy of Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, stacked one on top of the other beside the photo of your family and a half-drunk glass of water. Even the bureau on the wall opposite your bed is tidy, with a tray of makeup and other beauty products laid out carefully beside your small jewelry box.

Surrounded by your belongings, those things most intimate to you, Javi starts to panic. The fear started to set in, as he reaches for the hairbrush that you have lying on the dresser. “Fuck.” He hisses, nearly picking it up and throwing it through the mirror, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He can’t do this right now. Not when you could be in danger and every minute that passes without knowing where you are, that possibility increases one hundred fold.

"Javier?" Elisa's voice comes from the hallway, nervous and quiet but still loud enough for him to hear. "What happened?"

Turning his head where he was staring at your make up, he sees Elisa hovering in the doorway. “I’ve got to go.” Javi decides, unable to stay here and wait. Not when you might be in trouble. “Stay here. Lock the fucking door.” He tells her and pushes away from the dresser to get the backup gun out for her. “Shoot anyone who doesn’t belong if they come through that door.”

"Be safe." She says after a moment's pause. Whatever is going on, it is clearly dire and he is upset, so she simply takes the gun and bolts the door behind him when he bolts out of it like a rocket.

He had his cell phone and he’s immediately calling Steve back, rushing to his vehicle. “I’ve got a possible lead.” He tells him. “Café near the nightclub.”

"Address?" Steve stands and grabs his jacket, ripped his note page off of the pad he had been scribbling on while talking to Inez. "The bartender didn't know a location but had the names of the men she was meeting with. Might be pseudonyms but it's a start."

“Goddamnit.” Javi slams the door of the jeep and slaps the steering wheel. “I don’t fucking like this!” He hisses. “She needs to be found right now!”

Steve smothers a groan, hightailing it through the halls of the embassy on his way out the door. "I know she's a missing civilian but I always thought this woman pissed you off to no end. You're acting like the sky is falling."

Javi doesn’t have an answer for him right now. Growling down the line. “Hurry the fuck up.” He snarls before he ends the call and peels away from the curb.

******

The cafe is just as decrepit as he feared it would be, and while the block is deserted that could either be a good thing or a very bad one. The only person in sight is the woman in all black wearing a half apron smoking a cigarette by the front door, but that's a start.

Javi walks up to the woman and pulls out a pack of cigarettes to take one out. She seems like she’s someone who’s seen plenty. “Busy day?” The fact that he’s as calm as he is remains a surprising miracle, but he’s hoping he might get some information out of her casually.

She snorts, exhaling smoke from her last drag and waving her hand dismissively. “Never.”

Javi hums, flicking open his lighter and bringing the flame to the end of the cigarette. “How about last night?” He asks after the first puff, slipping the zippo into his pocket and watching her carefully.

“Never.” She repeats, but mostly in a bored way. Most of the men who come through here on business aren’t nearly this handsome, and she’s bored to tears. She doesn’t mind having a chat. Just as long as he doesn’t ask too many questions.

Javi pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks the ashes away from her. “Friend of mine told me about this place.” He lies. “Said she was coming here last night.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” She lies, just as easily. Though her lips flatten and she takes a longer drag from the cigarette to finish it faster. The only woman who came through last night was the one Esteban and Manuel came for.

“I’m sure she said this was the place.” He looks around the front again and then back at her. “American, curvy.”

The woman’s shoulders tense and her stomach revolts, and she quickly stubs out her cigarette. “No Americans.” She insists, as though she were stating a policy and not panicking. This man knows something.

She springs up from her perch on the stoop and Javi lunges forward, grabbing her arms and spinning her around to face the wall and yanking her arms behind her back. “Where is she?” He shouts.

“Who?!” The waitress cries out, shoulder pushed firm against the stone building. She’s been warned to keep her mouth shut enough times that she is going to play dumb with this Americano. The sicarios who own her apartment building have made it clear that her daughter’s life is at stake if she doesn’t. “I don’t know what you mean!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Javi hisses, pulling back slightly and pushing her up against the building harder. He pins her with his weight and reaches for the cuffs tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. “The journalist! She was here!”

The sound of car tires screeching to a halt only adds to the chaotic atmosphere, and Steve Murphy is jumping out of his car practically before it has come to a complete stop. “What the fuck is going on?” He demands, seeing Javi about ready to drag this woman off to prison. “You find something out?”

Steve’s talking in English, and this woman doesn’t seem to understand him. “She’s lying. She knows something!” Javi tells Steve as he slams her against the wall again. “Tell me!” He roars in Spanish at her and spins her around to see the fury in his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve hisses, pulling his partner back from the woman he has slammed against the wall. Javier’s managed to get the cuffs on her and she looks as confused and terrified as he does furious. “She told you she doesn’t know shit and you’re mad about it? Is that what’s going on here?”

“She’s fucking lying!” Javi growls as he pushes back, getting up in Steve’s face. Glaring at him before he turns back to the woman and switches back to Spanish. “I will kill you before the sicario’s can touch you.” He warns her. “She’s a DEA agent’s soulmate.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” The hammer of understanding lands swiftly on Steve’s brow, and he’s not proud of the extra two seconds it takes him to collect his jaw off the ground before he can step in to pry Peña’s hands off the woman. He knows the word for soulmate in Spanish. Connie had learned it and was starting to use it as a cute pet name. “I’m putting her in the fucking car and you’re going calm the fuck down!” He orders his partner, pointing one finger firmly in Javi’s direction as he shoves the suspect in the direction of his car.

Javi doesn’t want to let her go, but he doesn’t have much of a choice when Steve pushes him off again. Swiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a breath as he paces on the sidewalk.

In the time it takes Steve to wrestle the woman into the backseat of his car in her handcuffs and lock her in, Javi is prowling the sidewalk like a caged panther. “Your fucking soulmate?” Steve asks, the second he’s up on the pavement with his partner again. “That’s why you’ve lost your goddamn mind?”

“Don’t you even fucking lecture me.” Javi grabs Steve’s jacket and shakes him slightly. “You would tear Colombia apart if something happened to Connie.”

“Of course I would!” There is no doubt about that and Steve doesn’t even try to deny it for a moment. “But if you had told me who the fuck were we looking for we would have been out here straight a-fucking-way!”

Javi pauses, clarity breaking through his anger. He had never told Steve what you were - are - to him. That’s his fault. He lets go of him and frowns. “She needs to talk.” He tells him. “She was here, I know it.” He doesn’t know how he knows it, but it was the exactly type of place you would have set up an interview.

Steve searches his face, looking for signs of anything besides the obvious fear and concern, and when he comes up short he nods. “Okay.” He agrees, still standing between his partner and the car. “But after we interrogate her you’re telling me everything, got it? Otherwise I’m not gonna be any good to you on this search.”

“You won’t like it.” Javi promises, looking back at woman in the car. “I’m calling Carillo.”

“Let’s get the band back together.” Steve agrees. This just became about a hell of a lot more than a missing journalist.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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[spooky-pomegranate]

Pablo's Ghost (Part 4)

Colonel Carrillo x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: After ten months apart, Carrillo shows you how badly he’s missed you. (Part 1) (Part 2)(Part 3)

—————————————————————

There’s something to be said about expectations. While it’s true they often unceremoniously faded away when life can no longer compete with the vivid nature of dreams, expectations are born from observations. They’re created after listening, watching, and experiencing the world and people around us. They’re a dream of what could be based on what has been.

And your expectations of Carrillo were no different. They were created from your memories, from the years you had spent watching him, listening to him, and yearning for him. You didn’t mean to craft them, but they existed within you just the same.

During your time in Colombia, you’d seen Carrillo use his strength to be rough. His powerful arms pushed, grappled, and tossed his enemies around like they were nothing more than rag-dolls. His large hands clawed, punched, and dug aggressively into the flesh of those who dared to cross him. And his deft fingers jabbed, scratched, and squeezed around the throats of sicarios who tried in their wicked ways to tear his country apart.

But as you lay there beneath him, feeling his weight press down upon you every expectation you had of Carrillo was challenged. Where you had expected him to be rough he was soft. Where you had expected him to be fast he was slow and where you had expected him to be mean he was gentle.

The same arms that threw men to the ground carefully held you against him. The same hands that left bruising marks on his enemies, traced delicate patterns across your ribs. And the same fingers that squeezed the triggers of violent weapons, caressed you with a touch so loving it took your breath away.

When you had crawled onto your bed and spread your legs open for him you had meant it as a challenge. You’d hope he’d snap like a wild animal deprived of food and devour you whole. But he hadn’t. He’d told you he wanted to give you more than that. He told you that you deserved more than that. And it was then you knew that Carrillo wasn’t going to fuck you. He was going to break every expectation you had of him and he was going to make love to you. He was going to leave you satiated in ways you had never imagined.

It had started when propped up on your elbows and spread wide open, you had begged him.

“Horacio, I have never loved anyone the way that I love you. I want you. All of you. So please Carrillo… please, I can’t wait any longer. I want to lose myself in you.”

And then he smiled and answered you with a honeyed question.

“Then how could I ever deny you, mi amor?”

It was then he had moved slowly toward the foot of your bed, reaching for the hem of his polo and carefully lifting it over his head. His broad chest was exposed to you for the very first time and you couldn’t help but trail your eyes over his muscles, his beautiful skin, his patch of tufted dark hair that trailed deliciously from his lower stomach into his trousers.

And then you saw them—the healed marks, the remnants of Pablo’s fury, the bullet wounds. There were half a dozen of them, each small, round, and pinkish. The scars were a reminder of how hard Carrillo must have fought to get back here… to come home to you. They made your heartache and you whispered his name.

“Carrillo.”

At the sound of your voice, he moved.

Underneath you, the bed dipped as he sunk one knee onto the mattress and then the other. His hands tenderly reached for your ankles, his calloused palms touching you with a reverence reserved for the most delicate and holy of creatures. Then his lips followed, giving each joint a fleeting and dulcet kiss.

You wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked revering you, but your words caught in your throat. You were entirely too enraptured with the view before you. He was a vision you never expected. He was something so much sweeter.

Carrillo continued his adoration, touching and kissing every inch of you: your legs, your knees, your thighs, your stomach, your ribs. Nothing was left untouched, nothing was left unworshipped. And every time he reached a new place you managed to find a way to breathlessly thank him for his affection. Your hands stroked his arms, you brushed back his soft hair, and you trailed lingering lines across the taut muscles of his abdomen. All the while you offered him bawdy praises that’d dripped from your mouth like sugary syrup.

“You feel so good.” “You look incredible.” “You’re so strong.” You had said.

And that’s how you found yourself here with Carrillo’s body hovering over you and all of your expectations of him completely and utterly shattered. But it was perfect and you couldn’t get enough.

He brought his lips up to the shell of your ear.

“Let me see all of you,” he whispered and you willingly obeyed.

Wordlessly, with one arm you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Your breasts spilled out before him and Carrillo groaned. The vibrations of his moan reached straight to your core, and like adding fuel to a raging bonfire, your desire for him burned hotter.

Carrillo’s lips left the shell of your ear and he kissed down the side of your jaw, to your neck, and then lower until his mouth found your breasts. His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple before he sucked it gently into his mouth.

Still propped up on your elbows you couldn’t help but arch into his touch. You whined as Carrillo slid his hands behind your back to pull you closer. He continued to lick, suck, and kiss you until his mouth moved from to your other breast and again you cried out as he lavished it with the same rapt attention. It was all so much and at the same time not nearly enough.

“Please…” you whimpered.

You reached down and thread your hand through Carrillo’s hair, tugging at him until, with a loud and wet pop, he finally let go of your peaked nipple.

“Si, mi amor?” He asked innocently.

Carrillo's gaze met yours and you nearly melted in a puddle. The combination of love and lust he held behind his chestnut eyes was too perfect. But still, you wanted to see something more. You wanted to see him come undone.

“I want to taste you, Horacio,” you said before pushing forward and kissing him, your tongue swirling inside his mouth.

Carrillo pulled back, before resting his forehead against yours. He took a deep breath.

“Do you mean-” he started.

“Yes.” You didn’t let him finish.

Carrillo buried his head into the crook of your neck.

“Aye dios, dame fuerzas,” he mumbled into your skin before quickly pinning you to his chest and rolling you both over. You yelped in surprise at the abrupt way Carrillo moved you both with such ease. It made him laugh and it made you smile.

Your legs were straddling his still clothed thighs and your hands rested on his bare chest. You could feel his heart beat rapidly underneath your sprawling palms as you pushed yourself upright. His chest rose and fell more rapidly than it had before. You could tell that he liked this, you on top of him, his head resting against your pillow that smelled like your perfume. You wonder if he wanted this from the moment he entered your apartment. You wonder if he’d fantasized about this while you were apart.

Carrillo slid his hands down your back to your hips and his grip tightened ever so slightly as you leaned forward to give him another gentle kiss. At the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you unconsciously rocked your hips forward. And then you felt it… Carrillo’s desire for you, rock hard and still trapped underneath the fabric of his khakis.

“Mhmmm,” he groaned.

The bonfire inside you became an inferno. You rocked your hips again. Carrillo’s groan became a growl.

“Cariño,” he said looking up at you, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them, “are you trying to tease me?”

Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you slide your hands down his chest and over his scars until they brushed the waistband of his pants.

“No. I just…” Your voice faded into silence as your fingers played with the button on his khakis.

“Are you nervous, mi vida?” Carrillo asked his own voice husky and low. You sighed before answering.

“No. I just want you so badly. I’ve wanted this for so long. I… I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe you came back to me.”

You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss over a scar just below his right shoulder. Your lips lingered around the mark before moving to another scar on his chest. His skin, tan and smooth, tasted salty against your lips. Carrillo closed his eyes and stayed silent, letting your lips trace over every healed wound. When you’d kissed the last scar by his waist he reached for your cheek, gently cupping your face in his hands.

“You asked me to fight and I promised you that I would cariño.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. “You have to know by now that I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

“Horacio.” You whispered his name with the same holy reverence he had touched you with and it made his heart skip. He wondered what he’d done to deserve something as sweet and beautiful as you.

You slide further down Carrillo’s legs and as you did your eyes immediately fell to the place where you had ground against him. A wet spot remained, darkening the light fabric. With anyone else you might have been embarrassed but with Carrillo it only made you more aroused.

You made short work of the button and zipper on his khakis before Carrillo lifted his hips and you pushed his pants and boxers off his frame. And then the world stopped. Your breath caught in your throat. Now sprung forth from his underwear, Carrillo again subverted your expectations. He was slightly bigger and so much thicker than you ever could have imagined. The tip of his cock was reddening and a single bead of pre-cum leaked down the side.

You reached out tentatively and took hold of him in your hand. As you ran your thumb over his tip you tried to imagine him inside of you. You immediately felt a thudding pulse in between your thighs.

“God, you’re so big,” you whined as you began to stroke him slowly up and down, your fingers brushing over his bulging veins. Carrillo groaned and his hips shifted forward seeking more of your touch.

“I know cariño. I know. You don’t have to- hughhhh,” Carrillo’s voice cut out as your lips wrapped around his cock and you pushed him deep into your mouth. His head fell back against your pillow as you bobbed up and down, taking him as far as you could without choking. You hummed around him, enjoying his slightly salty and musky taste.

“You look so pretty like this,” Horacio hissed, after propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch you better. And god was he ever enraptured with the view. Your lips were stretching, your cheeks hollowing, your saliva dripping everywhere… god you were making him feel so good.

You pushed your head way down to his base and Carrillo dug his hands into your hair… fuckkk maybe you were making him feel too good.

“Querida…” he said, practically begging. “Easy, mi amor. I don’t want to be done with you so soon.”

Your heart fluttered as you pulled away and looked up. He was panting, his body strung tight with tension. He reached for your hands and as you interlocked your fingers with his he pulled you back towards his lips.

There was more fire behind his kiss this time. It still wasn’t bruising when he slot his mouth over yours and chased after your tongue but it was more intense. It was more possessive. It was more demanding. And it was unquestionably more exhilarating too. Knowing you had this kind of power over the strongest man in Columbia made the inferno growing in your chest spread.

You felt like you were burning. He felt like he was burning. You didn’t know how much longer you both could tease each other like this. You were going to explode. But Carrillo must have sensed your patient was running thin because he moved quickly, rolling you over again so your back was on the mattress and he was pressed on top of you.

You smiled so big that he couldn’t help but smile back at you.

“I like when you do that,” you said, squeezing his hands that were still interlocked with yours, “I like it when you toss around me like I'm nothing.”

Carrillo's eyes turned dark. He realized maybe he didn’t need to hold himself back as much with you. Maybe you wanted things to be a bit rougher, a little bit more aggressive. He could do that. He could be that man for you. He let go of your hands.

And then Carrillo reached in between your thighs and in one quick and powerful move ripped away your underwear, pulling it off your body and tossing it to the floor. You yelped again and his smile inadvertently turned wicked. He liked coaxing these noises out of you. These little whimpers and whines… they were better than anything he had dreamt about over the past ten months.

He slid his hand down your ribs, over your stomach, and then to your thighs. But before he could sink his fingers into your wet cunt, you pulled at his wrist, yanking his hand away.

“I don’t want to wait anymore. Please…” You begged as you pushed your hips toward him, rubbing up against his hard cock.

“Mierda,” he hissed before grabbing your hands again and pinning them above your head on the mattress. Carrillo kept you there with one hand while his other hand grabbed his cock. He lined himself up with you.

“Are you sure, mi vida? Tell me you’re ready.” Carrillo asked, his voice practically a growl as he slowly stroked himself.

“I’m ready,” your voice was ragged and desperate, “I love you.”

He pushed into you and you whined again, loudly. You really hoped Steve and Javier weren’t home right now, because you knew this was just going to be just the beginning of the noises Carrillo was going to draw from you tonight. You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your fingers into his hands, searching for something to ground you to bring you back to earth. The pain and pleasure coursing through your body made your head spin. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Carrillo didn’t know if he could move. He didn’t know if he could breathe. You felt so good wrapped around him that his mind was going totally blank. For a long moment, you both froze. You stayed motionless and joined together with his throbbing cock halfway inside you.

But eventually, Carrillo moved again, finding the strength to set a steady and slow pace. It was intoxicating and you knew he felt it too. Carrillo struggled to stay silent above you. He groaned and mumbled a slew of incoherent Spanish phrases in your ear. There was something about how pretty you looked, how tight you felt, how sweet you sounded.

And with every thrust, every roll of his hips, every single growl he gave you, it pushed you closer to the edge. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

“Horacio I’m going to…”

“Come for me, mi amor.”

Then with a particularly vicious snap of his hips, you felt the knot uncoil as the world went white and fuzzy around you. You called his name again and again as your back arched off the mattress and he finally let go of your hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands found purchase on your back.

“Me estás volviendo loco,” he said as he pulled you upright.

You both were kneeling together on the mattress as he continued to thrust up into you. The new angle sent you hurtling toward another orgasm. He was deeper now, inside you completely to the hilt.

“You’re so good for me, cariño… so good,” he breathed into your ear as one of his hands slid up your back and into your hair. You rested your forehead into the crook of his neck, trying desperately to hold on. But when he spoke next, you couldn’t control yourself. His words were too sweet.

“Te amo más que a nada. Mi corazón es tuyo… tuyo.”

That was it. You let go. You dropped off of a cliff and slipped out of your body as you fell. Carrillo felt your orgasm take claim of you. The pulsing waves of your orgasm were sluggish and each undulation took its time washing over you in long drawn-out swells.

Your body went weak. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, squeezing him, pulling him further inside you. Carrillo couldn’t control himself. He groaned low and deep and with one final thrust, he joined you. The knot you had felt in your stomach had tightened around his cock and you pulled every drop of his warm cum deep inside you. With heavy limbs, you clung to one another.

Carrillo gently laid you both down on the bed. You curled into his massive frame, resting your chin on his shoulder and your leg draped over his hip. He drew small and delicate circles over the skin of your ribs and your side. You both stared into each other’s eyes as you tried to catch your breath. Carrillo smiled at you enjoying the feeling of finally having you, holding you, being with you… but eventually, his smile faded and so did yours.

“I’m sorry cariño…” he whispered breaking the tender silence. His voice was so soft that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.

“What?” You whispered back in surprise at the sudden shift in his mood. “Why are you sorry?”

“I should have come back to you sooner.” He said buring his head against your neck. Your heart ached. You thread your hand into his hair before kissing the side of his face.

“Why… why didn’t you? Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

Carrillo sighed before pulling back from you to look into your eyes.

“I wanted to be as strong as I was before.” He paused. You could see from the way his jaw was clenching and unclenching that he was trying to consider his next words carefully.

“I wish I could just run away from here with you and leave this all behind but…” his voice faded into the night. His heartbeat felt uneasy in his chest.

How could he be so stupid? Now that he had you he didn’t want to leave you, but surely you would leave him. Surely you wouldn’t want to go through this hell with him again. And he shouldn't ask you to. You’d been through enough pain already. You should just leave him tonight and never look back. That would be best for you.

“You can’t,” you said dropping your hand from his hair.

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry cariño. I know you deserve more, but I can’t let him win. Someone has to stop him.”

You sat up and Carrillo’s heart stopped. Was this it? Was this the moment you told him you couldn’t watch him fight Pablo again? Was this the last happy moment he would have in this god-forsaken country? Was this the last happy moment of his life?

Fuck. He should have said this to you right away. He should have told you the moment he walked in your door that he was still going to go after Pablo despite it all. Despite the odds stacked against him. Despite the fact that he’d nearly been put in the ground twice already. Despite the fact that he loved you.

Carrillo couldn’t look at you. Tears filled his eyes. The room felt cold as silence took hold.

But then your soft hand reached out and cupped his cheek.

“I know who you are Horacio.” He met your eyes and you smiled. “I knew if you came back to me you would still be the man you always were. A fighter. A leader. A warrior…” you paused, breathing deeply.

“You’ve always been what Colombia needs Horacio. It’s always been you.”

Carrillo felt like he’d surfaced from the depths of icy cold water. Oxygen flooded back into his lungs, burning him with a bitter sting. He sat up alongside you.

“I won’t let you do this alone.” You continued, your voice as sweet as honey. “I’ll stand next to you through it all. I love you. Te amo.”

Carrillo pushed forward and kissed you again. You were the most perfect thing he’d ever known. You were his beautiful and perfect cariño. His voice waivered as he whispered against your lips.

“Te amo. I love you.”

—————————————————————

[popiellart]

Tell us ur DUNC thoughts pal! <3

what can I even say about DUNC other than i fucking love it!!! i've been a shameless dick rider for denis villeneuve ever since Sicario, and I went to the cinema to see DUNC and DUNC 2 which. one thing about me is i hate cinemas. i didn't even go to the cinema for scorsese or yorgo lanthimos or top gun 2 so you know it's serious

the visuals are straight up incredible, the casting is peak, the material is handled with a lot of what feels like genuine love and passion, the lady going ham on the arabic yodeling on the OST is a queen, and in general wrt dune fans watching DUNC, I imagine that's how people who like Tolkien felt when Peter Jackson's LOTR came out

i can't wait for the conflict between the matriarchal eugenicists with milking machines and the patriarchal eugenicists with breeding tanks

which is what the books are really about. oh, and i guess the galactic jihad also happens, so that's fun

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Blackmail – (10) Conditions || [Alejandro Gillick x reader x Matt Graver]

Once you cleaned Alejandro’s wounds, you gave him some sedative in hopes he would finally get a few hours of sleep. After what he had been through he needed to rest but so far he hasn’t shown any interest in doing anything other than figuring out what his next move should be. In a way he was right, he really needed a plan because he didn’t have the luxury of being spontaneous in this situation, but he should have focused on healing first.

But before he could fall asleep, someone banged their fist against the hotel room’s door. And this sound was soon followed by a way too familiar voice saying, “Come on, open the door!”

“I’ll talk to him,” you told Alejandro as you pushed him back on the bed.

Somewhere deep down you had expected Matt to figure out you were hiding something from him. He could act like an idiot sometimes but sadly he was everything but one. You could only hope he would be understanding enough to discuss this quickly then leave. After all, they all believed he was dead, why would he insist to kill him anyway?  

You barely opened the door when he said, “He’s alive and inside, isn’t he?”

“Matt, please, don’t do this,” you told him, keeping your voice down as you stepped out to the hallway to talk to him alone. Once you closed the door, you took a look around to make sure you were alone. “Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?”

For a moment he watched you in silence then he began to laugh. “You should know it doesn’t matter. I got clear orders. And let’s not forget that he knew perfectly well what he was getting himself into by going rogue,” Matt added angrily before pointing at the door.

“But you helped the girl in the end.”

“That was different.” When you stuffed your hands in your back pockets and leaned your back against the door, making it clear you wouldn’t let him in, he let out a long sigh and gave up the fight for now. “How could he survive that shot?”

“He got lucky. Look, I don’t really care about what whoever did this fucked up, all that matters to me is that he’s alive,” you pointed out.

“Is this the doctor or the girlfriend talking?”

“What does that supposed to mean?”

Matt shook his head and held up his hands. “Nothing.” He fell silent and began pacing back and forth in front of you. Now that you took a closer look at him you realized that he was nervous. The last time you’d seen him like this was back when you were waiting in the control room to hear from Alejandro. “So was it all a lie?” he asked eventually, snapping you out of your thoughts. “The story about you planning to quit?”

“No, it was true.”

“Alright,” he began slowly once he stopped pacing and stood right in front of you. “I’ll keep this to myself so the CIA will believe he’s dead but I have a few conditions.”

Conditions. Of course. He would never do something like this out of the goodness of his heart. What were you even expecting? But that didn’t matter now. “Which are?”

After a short pause, Matt folded his arms over his chest. “You’re coming back to the team.”

“I can’t leave yet! I have to make sure the wound heals properly without infection and–”

“I mean, you’re coming back when he’s better,” he corrected himself with a roll of his eyes. “But you can’t stay with him for long, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Next, you can’t keep in touch with him.”

“I won’t say it will be easy, but fine. It’s probably better this way if I keep working with you anyway,” you admitted. “What else?”

Matt kept a dramatic pause while he gave you a serious look. “You do what I say, no questions asked. No defying me, no sass, no sarcasm, no more bullshit.”

“Okay. That’s it?”

“Just one more thing. Don’t even think about using drugs again. I’ll keep an eye on you because the last thing I need on my team is a fucking junkie.”

“Alright, I’ll do whatever you want if it means he can leave.”

“Good girl,” he noted with a barely visible smile. “I need to talk to him before I go.”

You nodded without hesitation. Now that you discussed his terms at least you could be sure he wouldn’t hurt him in any way. Alejandro was free to go and that was more than enough for you in this situation. “I’d rather him not talk because of the wound so he’s going to use a notepad.”

“Sure. I’ll be quick, I promise.” But before when you were just about to open the door, he said, “Y/N, wait. Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“What happened between us.”

“I did.”

“Was he mad?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” you replied with a shrug. “He seemed like he forgave me but who knows.”

“Do you think he’ll punch me in the face?”

“I gave him some sedative not long ago because I want him to get some rest so I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

And then Matt’s questions suddenly made sense. “Are you afraid of him?”

“Well, if I found out that my friend fucked my girlfriend when she was high on cocaine I’d be pretty mad,” he explained with a dry laugh and he massaged the back of his neck.

“He’s not like you or me.” As you let out a long sigh, you reached out to put a hand on his arm. “He can keep his emotions under control.”

“Thanks, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The two of you entered the room but when Alejandro noticed the other man behind you, he quickly sat up in bed and gave you a questioning look. “He wants to talk to you. But it’s okay, we made a deal and he won’t tell anyone about you being alive,” you quickly explained, even flashing a supportive smile at him.

“What deal?”

Shaking your head, you picked up the notepad from the nightstand and handed it to him. “I’ll tell you everything later. I’ll leave you guys alone.”

Matt didn’t miss the look you gave him on the way out of the room. It was a clear message: you would explain the details later, right now he should say what he wanted to say as fast as he could because Alejandro needed to rest. It was understandable, especially after seeing his friend with his own eyes. A part of him was relieved, even happy to see that he had survived that shot, but another still couldn’t forget about what he did to him the day before. Hopefully it wouldn’t come up in the conversation.

Once he took a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “You look like shit,” he noted with a nervous laugh. “But I heard you’ll live.” Alejandro nodded. “The girl is safe. I put her in witness protection.”

“Thanks,” the sicario wrote on the notepad.

“The CIA believes you’re dead so you’ll have to disappear, at least for a while.”

“I know. What will happen to Y/N?”

“Nothing,” Matt replied with a shrug. “She’s coming back to the team. But you can’t keep in touch with her.”

“Just keep her safe for me.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile at this. “I will. I promise. But I’d better leave now and let you get some rest or else Y/N will kill me. Good luck.”

This was for the best. Alejandro was alive and the CIA wasn’t looking for him so he could start a new life somewhere far from this place. And you would be safe too as a member of his team. Although he had a feeling when Alejandro asked him to keep you safe for him, this wasn’t exactly what he meant. Because now whenever he looked at you, all he could think about was the time you spent together and how he wished it would happen again.  

note: expect a time jump and reader x matt stuff in the next chapter! (alejandro was supposed to return in chapter 12 but idk maybe i’ll write an extra matt x reader chapter before that...)

taglist: @lainternettuale​​ @lennonlane​​ @anbanananna​​ @moonchild-stuff​​ @journeyrose​

[iamcalmdammit]

Public service announcement! (No, I'm not dead, don't worry.)

Updates will be slow in the next... well, probably in the next two weeks. We have a huge project at work and we've been preparing for the worst case scenario in the past week or so (that says a lot, doesn't it?), and I also have several other smaller projects beside this big one, so this is why I (kinda) disappeared recently.

Anyway, I have the dialogues of the upcoming part of the Sicario imagine written, all I have to do is finishing it. I began to work on the Carlton Drake imagine as well. And I'm already thinking about what the next part of the Eddie Brock imagine should be about exactly.

So I'm working on them, but I can't make any promises regarding when I'll post them.

Until then here's a little sneak peek into what me and my co-workers will look like once December arrives and we can catch our breath:

[writtenimagines]

*gif belongs to WrittenImagines

Imagine being one of Matt’s favorites.

You were one of his few favorites he kept on rotation.

Forsing, Gillick, and a few Marshalls from Texas were also on that list but you were an exception.

You weren’t military, police, or federal. In fact, it was the NSA who found you. Apparently hacking into satellites to see live video of Earth from the International Space Station was frowned upon. So in order to not go to prison, they offered you a job.

Which was how Cynthia Foards found you and put you on Matt’s radar.

As much as he didn’t like higher ups picking his own team, you quickly let him know that you weren’t there by choice.

“Just tell me what you want me to do so we can all go home quicker. I want to be here as much as you want me here.”

He was sold from that moment.

Since then he has negotiated, several times, to get you to work for the CIA as you were much more valuable to him that spying on people’s laptops half a world away. Granted you were still forced to fly back to NSA headquarters for a few weeks at a time but Matt was a persuasive and patient man.

Eventually the National Security Agency couldn’t keep you as you finished your prison sentence of job there. Matt quickly scooped you up and convinced you to work with the CIA. Him of course getting first access to you if he had an especially special task.

“Matt, they’re heading east. Three armed vehicles and an SUV in the middle.”

Matt broke away from his past thoughts to see you typing away on your laptop, black screens on the wall ahead of you both coming to life with maps, weather forecasts, and other variable pieces of information you thought Matt may need.

“Beautiful,” Matt murmured. “What else can you tell me, baby girl?”

“Besides the fact that it’s really cliché to have a bad guy riding in the back of a black Cadillac?” You replied smoothly, still focused on your screens.

“Yes, please.”

That made you turn around in your chair with a deadpanned expression. “The jefe likes to wear Brioni suits.”

Matt crossed his arms and gave you a questioning look. “And how do you know that?”

“I read the files when no one’s looking.”

Matt laughed. “That’s my girl.”

[konga999]

Imagine this... in doorway... to your bedroom 🤤 https://pin.it/mnnijy7cpkma6z

[terrorsbeauty]

i’ve just watched Sicario: Day of the Soldado and i’m ( obviously ) in love with it, so if you want to, you can send requests for Sicario!

[weak-hero]

First look at Benicio del Toro as Alejandro Gillick in Sicario 2: Soldado.

[lilspacewolfie]

Okay okay okaaayy, I know I don’t post a lot of my rants and ravings, but GOD this idea. won’t. leave my. head.

I see a lot of head-canons that Wolf knows ASL and/or sign language in general.

It got me thinking, what if he has that knowledge because one of his kids was deaf? Maybe the reason he picked up ASL so easily and quickly is because he already knew SSL and other universal sign languages.

Given that I see head-canons for Jacket either being mute or using ASL because he’s more comfortable speaking that way, it makes sense that Wolf would already know how to communicate if a member of the team was mute or deaf.

And THAT also lead me down the path of remembering this scene from Sicario 2. Originally, it was going to be a speaking scene, but Benicio and the other actor discussed and decided it would have much more impact (and give Alejandro’s character much more depth) if it was communicated with ASL.

(There is more to this scene it which I recommend watching on YT for the full, emotional effect, but I wasn’t sure how much it would allow me to post.)

Continuing on!

Alejandro’s wife and daughter were killed before the first movie, and it was only during this scene that we learned she was deaf. Which, taking into account the implications and hints dropped in the first movie about how his family were murdered, it’s even more horrifying to imagine. So this scene is the first time in however many years that he’s had to use ASL.

And I personally feel like it’s also very fitting for Wolf. I feel like he would use was instead of is since he left that peaceful life behind, but there are some skills he hangs onto (not just being a wiz with tech). So I feel as if Jacket showing up on the team and being mute actually lets Wolf feel a bit of relief since it’s a skill he’s probably not really told anyone about. He probably enjoys how it lets him reminisce a bit…

But yeah…that’s my rant about Wolfie 🥰

[the-hinky-panda]

Hello! Your writing is the most amazing art I have seen in my entire life ❤️👏

I just want from you to tell me about several Narcos characters that you hate the most and why (what they have done etc)...

First of all, thank you so much for your sweet, kind words! I am not worthy of such beautiful praise!

And as for characters that I hate...hm. I guess I have to create two lists: characters I hate but love to write because they're so despicable it makes them fun and characters that just make my skin crawl because they just hit me wrong on a gut level. And this is going to get long so I'm putting it under the cut.

So some characters that I love to write but realize they're just horrible, terrible people: ladies and gents, may I present this asshole:

CIA Station Chief Bill Stechner. If you've read Mariposa or Pura Vida, you know how I feel about him. He's complex, high intelligent, but self-centered and will sacrifice everyone around him to protect himself. He puts Javier through hell in Season 3 but he's also being brutally honest. He tells Javier about the crookedness of politics but he's talking about it from experience. "I'm know how to play the game because I'm currently playing the game and winning" kind of mindset. He's a grade A asshole but when a writer needs a character to drop a truth bomb and not care about the damage, Bill Stechner is your asshole.

Another character that I hate but am looking forward to write (I have an outline for a story with him) is Asshole #2: Captain Gustavo Calderon. Crooked cop, paper king of Cali. He was a great antagonist for our heroes during the take down of the Rodriguez brothers. But for all his bluster and undermining...he's scared. Terrified. And because his a weak man, he caves to the pressure of the Rodriguez brothers. I hate him for his weakness but it does make for a fun character to write!

And here's a bonus character that I have not written yet but would love to (and have a very rough ficlet idea for them):

Gilberto Rodriguez. I love to hate this man. Married to three women at the same time...and made them get along with each other. Ran his business on the majority of charisma and charm. I would love to write a scene between him and Mariposa. I like to think that Mariposa holds just as much charm and charisma as Gilberto which is why people trust and talk openly around her. I can only imagine what the conversation would be between two extremely likable, charming people who happen to be on opposite sides of the war.

Now, characters that I just hate because they hit me the wrong way:

Escobar's sicarios. I hated them. The useless and senseless violence that they unleashed was just awful. When Escobar gives the order for them to start killing cops in Medellin, it just made me sick to my stomach. I also hated Gacha. I hated how he treated Helena, how he turned her over to those monsters, how he was raising his son to be like him. I was very happy to see him get, what I thought, he deserved. Colonel Pinzon rounds out my hate list. There were a lot of characters who were wary of the Americans that were there to help aid in Escobar's capture but many of them stayed pretty respectful. But Pinzon was just outright petty and difficult and I really don't like people like that.

So wonderful anon...I'm pretty sure you didn't intend for me to write so much about this question so I apologize for that! But here you go, Hinky's Narco Hate List. :-)

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 4

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Mentions of Helena's assault and recovery, snooping, assumptions, jumping to conclusions, nausea/sickness, fatphobia, misogyny, a touch of internalized fatphobia as well, fist fight, canon typical violence, likely inaccurate portrayal of outdated technology. Summary: A whirlwind accidental revelation for Javier comes at the price of more fighting, while you struggle to digest the truth of the situation and how your own jumping to conclusions affects how you have treated people. Notes: These two dramatic idiots have my heart in a very real way. Happy reading!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

Helena had tucked herself into bed by the time he came home again, and you were just about finished up with cleaning the living room. Just a few leftovers to put away, and you’ve had some more to eat as well as plenty of water and some aspirin. At this rate you’re pretty much sober again and still have all of your thoughts sunk down the soulmate rabbit hole. Trying to figure out how the universe could possibly pair the two of you has you in enough of a distracted state that you don’t hear the door open as you’re milling around in the kitchen with the radio on.

Throughout driving the girls back to the brothel, they had talked about you. Almost excessively and while he had tried to ignore their comments, he had found himself thinking about that unguarded, affectionate smile that you had given them. Not directed at him, but his stomach twists as he imagines what it would look like if you did. Wondering if he could maybe ease the tension that has been hovering around the apartment and if you are just tipsy enough to find him charming, rather than the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

He hears the music from the hallway, tilting his head when he closes the door and it doesn't turn down. Depositing his keys on the hook and shucking his jacket before he walks into the kitchen to find you shaking your hips very provocatively. Enticing him to move closer, his cock interested in the rhythm you are moving to the music.

Colombian radio hits are vastly superior to American ones in your opinion. Much more danceable and much catchier. Dancing is the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine of cleanup go down, so you step around the kitchen the way Inez had taught you back in your early days as a resident of Bogotá.

He could speak, he could press against you and dance with you. Or he can watch until you notice him. You are tense around him, you don't like him and to be honest – he doesn't know what the fuck he thinks about you. He would be interested in fucking you, if you didn't hiss and spit at him. Thinking again about how soft you were when he had pressed you against the wall and searched you before you pushed him away. He had been pissed, but not pissed enough that he didn't remember how you felt.

Dancing around and singing along, it isn’t until you turn completely to go make sure you got everything out of the living room that you see him. “Oh!” You stop dead, nearly falling over in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

"Don't stop because of me, beautiful." He shoots you a charming grin and steps closer to you. "You have some good moves."

Shuffling slightly on the spot, you find yourself torn between utter annoyance that the girls obviously spilled the beans on the car ride home and gratitude that you don’t have to keep this secret from him. “Well…” You shrug and reach to turn down the radio. “Now you know.”

His brows furrow for a split second before he just thinks that you are talking about your moves. "I do." He smirks slightly and licks his lips. "I'm going to thinking about them tonight."

If you roll your eyes any more heavily they might fall out of your head, and you practically groan as you try to side step him to go back out to the living room again. "Sure, Javier. Enjoy that," you drawl.

He huffs slightly, jaw tense. "Frigid." He murmurs under his breath, shuffling slightly and wondering why the fuck he cares about your rejection so fucking much. He's been rejected before. Almost as much as he's been lucky, but for some reason, he doesn't like you walking away from him.

Stopping short just steps away from him, you whirl around soundly and narrow your eyes at him. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

Javi shrugs slightly, his own eyes cutting as he glances back over at you. "If the shoe fits, sweetheart, wear it." He snorts. "No wonder the CIA fuck was appealing."

"So the fact that I'm not falling down at your feet now means I must not have any passion whatsoever?" You hiss, aware that Helena is sleeping and putting in the effort not to wake her up like she's a child listening to her parents fight. "Is that it?"

"No." He frowns at that question and rolls his eyes. "I don't give a shit where you fall down. Jesus, I was just trying to fucking be nice and flirt a little." He walks over to the counter and snatches up a glass. "Won't fucking do that again."

"You didn't feel compelled to flirt with me before, so you certainly don't have to now that you know." There is a deep and unhappy tension to the way you shake your head, snatching up the scattered napkins and one glass left behind and turning back to the kitchen. Knowing that you're soulmates doesn't change the fact that he's presumptuous and knowingly sent Helena into danger.

"Know fucking what?" He opens the whiskey bottle and pours out a healthy measure. "That you fucked all of them? I figured. Listen, I don't give a shit if you like to eat pussy. And I actually don't get off on watching lesbian sex."

"You'd be a hell of a hypocrite if you cared that we've fucked the same women." The reminder grates in your voice. That you've done nothing different than he has and the only reason he might pretend to care or judge you is because you're a woman.

"Jesus Christ, what is your fucking problem?" Javi slams the glass back down on the table with a loud thunk, whiskey sloshing over his hand.

It's a damn good thing the glass in your hand hits the sink before he makes you jump, otherwise it probably would have smashed on the counter. "I just don't see why it fucking matters!" You sling back at him, rounding on your toes to seethe in his direction. "What does it matter who we've fucked or what fucking God or the universe or fate decided? You didn't like me before any of this and you don't have to pretend to like me now."

He is complete and utterly confused, but he doesn't like the fucking venom you throw at him. Unable to resist huffing. "You're the one who fucking acted like a cunt the first time I met you."

"The first time I met you was at the embassy, asshole. And I nearly tripped over my own jaw thinking how good you looked compared to every other douchebag in the place." Far too blinded by annoyance and hurt to censor yourself anymore, you throw the crumpled napkins in your hand across the counters and all but kick the cabinets. "If I had known what a selfish bastard my soulmate would turn out to be, sending a vulnerable woman into the lion's den for information? I might have thought twice!"

It's like the fucking world crashes down around him. Punching the air out of him and making him nearly choke. Soulmate. His mind spins and blanks before it spins again. Javier has never cared about his soulmate, not after discovering that someone could and would lie about that precious status to trick him into a relationship, a marriage that was not wanted. He had narrowly escaped that fate and had never looked back. Only to be kicked in the fucking balls by learning that this judgmental bitch is claiming to be his. "What?"

The look on his face tells you everything you need to know, and you instantly deflate with one key realization. "They didn't tell you."

"Tell me fucking what?" He growls, nearly shaking with denial and shock.

"Javier..." Fuck, fuck, fuck. You are definitely the bitch in this scenario. You can't deny that now. "They've...we've both...they saw our marks months ago. All three of them. We got giggly and stupid drinking whiskey all afternoon and they let it slip to me. I – very wrongfully, apparently – assumed they'd told you in the car when you were driving them home."

He had come home early to pack. He was leaving for Medellín again. Needing to meet up with Carillo and make sure that the information that had been learned that night was put to good use. Only to run into tipsy, happy women and make the mistake of trying to soften up one's rough edges with him. You blame him for what happened to Helena. You made that obvious. You claim to be his soulmate and you hate him. His jaw clenches and he turns around to walk out of the kitchen, needing to get away from you, from here.

"Frigid." You toss at his retreating back, wishing you had something else in your hands to throw out of sheer anger.

Some fucking soulmates you two are.

******

Javier slips out of the apartment less than an hour later. His bag is packed, his room straightened, but he makes sure that there are no sounds coming from the living room. He frowns as he concentrates on the road, knowing Murphy will be pissed that he beats him to Medellín instead of leaving with him in the morning like he had planned, but Javi won't sleep. Not tonight.

"What has your panties in a bunch?" Steve asks around the butt of a cigarette the next morning, when Javi is sitting in the middle of the hotel room with files and notes already spread out on the table around him when Murphy walks into the room. "Couldn't wait for me and share the drive?"

His eyes burn, feeling gritty and heavy. Still, he cuts them narrowly, flicking cigarette ash into the tray and reaching for his sixth coffee cup. Almost jittery as he lifts it to his lips. "Had fucking work to do."

"Easy there, Cujo." Putting up both hands in a gesture of peace, Steve flops his suitcase down on the far bed to complete the motion. "Don't bite me for teasing."

“Fuck yourself.” Javi hisses, still in the foulest mood from realizing that you completely blame him for Helena. It’s one thing to blame himself, but he had begged her not to go, only to have her insist that she could. Then he had warned her not to ask questions, to play the part of the brainless beauty, there only to satisfy their sexual urges. But you blame him as if he were the one that had abused her. It makes him want to throw up.

"What the hell happened to you, man?" Steve Sits down beside him and frowns. "This is about four times pissier than I've seen you before." And he can't let Peña go out there and do any kind of work with his temper like this. It'll blow everything up. So he has to diffuse the tension now if he can.

“Don’t fucking worry about it.” Javi drains the rest of the coffee and sighs, putting the cup down and rubbing his eyes.

"I know I'm just a hick," he raises his eyebrows and glances at his partner over his aviators, daring Peña to argue. "But it doesn't take an Ivy League degree to tell you've got shit on your mind."

Javi snorts, mildly impressed when the man’s tenacity. When Murphy doesn’t look away, he sighs and closes his eyes, reaching up and rubbing the sore spot on the back of his neck. “It’s—” he pauses and remembers the way you had looked at him like he was no better than a fucking sicario. “Found out who my soulmate is.”

"Yeesh." The sound Murphy makes is something like a wince and a low whistle mixed together. "Not exactly an ideal discovery, I take it?"

“Every man doesn’t want a ball busting bitch who hates his guts?” Javi snorts, shaking his head.

The other man huffs a laugh, shaking his head at the irony of Javier Peña's soulmate being one of the only women in the world who didn't swoon when he looked at them. "That bad, huh?"

“Don’t want to talk about it.” He clenches his jaw and shakes his head as he crushes out another cigarette. He’s going to be here for at least three days, so the best thing for him is that you will be out of his apartment when he gets back. He can forget that you had ever met him and pretend like he’s not a little crushed that his soulmate isn’t the balm on his soul like he had secretly wished for.

"Yes, you do." Steve asserts with confidence.

“No, I don’t.” He argues, picking up another cigarette and flicking his lighter open.

"If you didn't want to talk about it, you wouldn't even have given me a morsel," Murphy argues, though he keeps his tone light and inconsequential. "Who is she?"

“No one you know.” He sighs and closes his eyes after he blows out the smoke. “She blames me for what happened last week.”

"Shit." Murphy lets out a breath and shakes his head, knowing that that must be cutting Javi deep. "She knows the whole story and still...?"

“Guess fucking so.” He sighs. “So just— yeah. I want to work and fucking forget about her and her stuck up opinion.”

"I'd wager she doesn't know everything, otherwise she wouldn't." When Javier glares at him, Steve puts up his hands in surrender again. "I'm shutting up about it now. That's just my two cents, alright?"

“Can we work now?” Javi asks testily, motioning to the files.

"Fine. Yes. We can work now." Murphy acquiesces. Though he has nothing but endless that he may never have the answers to. Especially if Peña's soulmate really is as prickly as the man says.

“Good.” He had come to Colombia to catch Pablo Escobar, not to fucking worry about a soulmate.

******

The morning is excruciating, but not because of a hangover. Not because you don't sleep enough, or because you slept weird and gave yourself a mystery pain. It's because you had stress dreams the entire night of terrible things happening to Javier with nothing but anger and hateful words in the air between you. In one of them he had even refused to let you see him in the hospital as he lay dying because he hated you so much.

And the worst part about every single dream was that you deserved it.

So waking up in the morning is excruciating, but you decide to do something about it. A shower, clean clothes, even a decent outfit from the clothes that you had packed to bring over to his place. The effort you put in to make yourself not just look presentable but actually to look nice might be misplaced and based in guilt, but when you go down the hall to knock on Javier's bedroom door, you at least know for sure that you're doing your best to be respectful of another human. Just because you don't get along doesn't mean he deserved to have your soulmate status spat at him in anger when he heard it for the first time.

The knock goes unanswered. A silent refusal to even acknowledge your existence and he doesn’t even move around inside.

The silence stretches far too long, and you try again, knocking a little louder. Again, nothing. Utter nothingness is your only answer. "Javier?" You try, wondering if something in your tone might help. You're not angry today. Or, at least, you're trying very hard to suppress that reflex.

Still there’s no sound coming from the bedroom. A door down the hall opens and closes, but the sound is barely audible from this portion of the apartment.

"Javier?" Louder this time, and you knock again. More certain. More assertive. But consciously keeping any thread of anger out of it at all. Wondering if maybe that sound was him leaving the apartment, but it didn't sound like the front door to you. It sounded like the hall closet, and you take a peek down the hall and find that yes – Helena's door is open. She must have been getting a clean towel to shower with.

"Javier?" You try once more, and with no response you decide to try the doorknob. When it gives unexpectedly, you push the door open a crack and call his name one more time. Still getting no response, you bite the bullet and step into his room.

His room is large, the bed would have dwarfed a smaller space, but it fits the large room. Massive, it’s covered in a neat dark blue duvet and has the pillows neatly propped against the wooden rattan center of the headboard. Nothing is out of place in the room, like it is neat out of habit or compulsion which is ironic because his desk is always a mess.

"Oh...kay...?" Looking around provides you with absolutely no clues whatsoever as to what may have happened, until you take another step inside and catch a glimpse of a piece of paper on his nightstand.

While he had packed, Javi had decided that you were nosey enough to come into his room and had decided to write you a note. Leaving it somewhere you would find it if you did decide to snoop.

"The hell...?" You murmur aloud, seeing your name written neatly on the top line

“Went to Medellín. It was the reason I came home early and ruined your fun. Won’t be back for a few days so I’m sure you’ll be gone by then. Lock the door when you leave and have a nice life.” Javi had added on to the bottom of the note. “There’s money for Helena in the kitchen drawer. Give it to her for me.”

Apologizing this morning isn't going to happen. It's too little too late, and in the form of a gesture he clearly has no interest in. Sighing out, you pick up the note without touching anything else in his room and close the door behind you, then go retrieve the mentioned cash from his kitchen drawer. You know which one he means, you'd seen him add and subtract from the amount in the drawer a few times over the course of your stay here.

There’s two thousand dollars in the drawer. He had thought about giving it to her in person, but she always had a hard time accepting money from him. She wouldn’t have taken this money because she would have seen it as a goodbye. He knows that things have changed, their intimacy shifted into a different skin and he doesn’t want her to think that it’s because of what happened. That she’s lacking in some way. There’s a little note under the rubber band of the cash. “You deserve more than I could ever give you. Your visa is approved sweetheart. I’m sorry the cost was so high. I wish things were different. Javier”

"Shit..." You must read that note three times over, feeling the concern and the care in it, and how different it is from the one he left you. How cold – frigid – his regard for you is. And wondering if you missed something somewhere along the line.

Helena calls your name, stepping out of the bathroom again. “Are you okay?”

"I—um—" Stumbling over the answer, you have a feeling you look as lost as you feel when you cross the room to offer Helena the wad of cash and her note. "Javier had to go back to Medellín," you tell her, nearly choking on the words. "He left you a note."

Her look of confusion is cleared up when she sees the cash. Making her sigh as she reaches for it with an almost sad expression. She knows what it is and almost wants to refuse it. He knows now, although you don't look remotely happy. She reads the note, eyes wide and she starts to cry. "It— it was approved!" She chokes out. "I am leaving!"

“It looks that way.” Your head bobs slightly in a nod and you do your best to keep all of the emotions of the morning out of your voice and smile. “Do you know where you want to live when you get there?”

"I have family in Chicago." She murmurs softly, looking down at the note. "It—" She closes her eyes and swallows. "I can't believe that it happened. I told him that going to the party would show my willingness to get them information." It had been at a high price, but it was worth it since she could take her son and leave this place.

You freeze on the spot, eyes widening slightly and you try to remember how to swallow. How to breathe. “You…volunteered?”

She looks back up at you in confusion, tilting her head as she watches your expression. "Of course." She shakes her head. "Javier did not want us to go to Medellín to the party, but none of us could pass it up." She pauses. "You think he – that it is his fault?" She shakes her head again, understanding now why you might not like him. That would be a heavy sin to forgive. "No, I was – I fucked up. It is my fault that Gacha got suspicious. He is insane." She shivers slightly and closes her eyes, trying to block out the memories. "I thought I was going to die, to – then there was yelling and gunshots. The man who was – he was dead and Javi was there. Carrying me out of that room after he covered me up and telling me that it would alright." You had never pushed her to tell you what happened, but she would not let you think that Javier was anything but a hero in her eyes for saving her that night.

"But—" Your mind is spinning and you're trying your best to keep up with the thoughts swirling and trying to be heard over each other. Shouting over each other. Screaming at you to be heard and screaming about how utterly wrong you were. "But he told you what to do—?" You insist, still trying to wrap your head around it.

She wonders how you could know that. If Javier had confided in you about what had happened. You know that he had been more upset than he would show you, maybe he had been rambling and you had misheard him. "After I told him I would not stay home, he told me that he would do his best to protect us." She sighs softly, a part of her wishing she had listened to him. "Even before I got on the plane, he had asked me to reconsider. To think of my son." She smiles sadly. "I was thinking of him. That is the problem."

"So I've..." You swallow, hard, and feel your eyes widen all over again as water starts to push at the back of them. It's shame, this deep, sickening feeling in your gut. Shame and guilt. And you fucking deserve every second of it. "I've had it completely wrong?"

"Javi blames himself too." She admits. "He feels bad that he could not protect me." She hadn't been completely out of it some of the times that he had sat with her, confessed his guilt while thinking she couldn't hear him. "Your soulmate is a lot more emotional than he pretends to be." She smiles. "He has had to harden himself in order to do what must be done. How else can you survive a battle against monsters?"

"Shit..." Your stomach roils, flipping angrily and making you so sick you almost hunch over. "You're...you're right, honey. Of course you are. I just...excuse me." Putting all of the puzzle pieces together in your mind – or at least starting to – has you sprinting for the bathroom to empty your stomach.

She frowns after you, hearing you retch and following you into the bathroom. She can't do anything more than rub your back, but she owes you that after the care and comfort she has been given. "It's okay." She soothes you softly, wondering if there have been harsh words between you. If that was why there seemed to be such a heavy feeling to the apartment.

"I'm fine." A bold-faced lie, but the idea of being pitied or even taken care of after you accused your own fucking soulmate of hurting her just makes you even sicker. "Just hungover," you double down, as if you could make the lie into truth by sheer force of will.

"We drank a lot of whiskey." She hums, pursing her lips. "I will make you some coffee." Sensing you need a moment alone; she quickly disappears to start the coffee pot that is in Javi's kitchen.

It doesn't matter that you both know full well that the alcohol didn't do this to you. It doesn't matter that you did this to yourself in absolutely every way. As you lean over the toilet with your knees planted on the bathroom tile, all you can think about is the crestfallen, half-broken expression on Javier's face last night when you revealed that you were his soulmate in the middle of a spitting-mad argument.

Your soulmate is a lot more emotional than he pretends to be. Helena's voice rings in your ears. He has had to harden himself in order to do what must be done.

There is a folded piece of paper on the counter and Helena opens it, reading the note and sighing softly. Apparently things were not the best between the two of you, based on the terse tone. She wonders if she should call Javi, tell him that you are his soulmate. It might help.

The phone is nearby, and she knows he wouldn't mind a long-distance call, but she isn't sure where in Medellín he is. Her best guess would be the hotel where everyone was staying last weekend, but it would only be a guess.

Dialing the hotel, she asks for his room, pleasantly surprised when she is connected. Waiting to hear him pick up, the phone just rings and rings and rings. Making her sigh as she hangs the phone back on the hook and turns to see you walk into the kitchen.

"Sorry about that," you murmur, walking straight to the cupboard to get a glass for water. All the life has drained from your face and your eyes are downcast, making you look very sick all of a sudden.

"The coffee is brewing." She reaches out and strokes your arm. "We will have you feeling better in no time."

"I'm fine." Even repeating it sounds hollow, but you get a glass of water from the tap and lean back against the counter to slowly sip it with your eyes closed. What the fuck were you thinking? Chewing him a new asshole without all the facts? All but flat out accusing him of throwing her life and safety away? You're a fucking investigative journalist. You know better than to not get all the facts.

"You will be." She promises, opening the fridge and pulling out some of the food that had been left from yesterday. "We will make sure of it."

"You don't have to do that," you protest, the weakness in your voice obvious. "Take care of me, I mean."

The look that she shoots you is reproachful, as if you were a naughty child. "And you did not have to take care of me." She reminds you. "We are friends, friends take care of each other."

What you mean is that you don’t feel deserving of her care, but saying that out loud will only open a conversation as to why and you would rather avoid that if you can. “Tell me about your family,” you prompt instead. “The ones in Chicago.”

"Cousins." You obviously want to change the subject and she is willing to do that. "My mother's sister married an American and moved to Chicago when we were children."

“So you’ll have a whole extended family to be with. To raise your son with.” It is nothing less than everything she deserves, to have family and a home and secure happiness waiting for her on the other end of this hellish tunnel. “That’s wonderful.”

"Hopefully so." Getting out of Colombia will be good for her, although she hates that she will have to leave her friends, you and Javi, behind when she leaves.

“I’ll have to come out and see you sometime. Once I’m home again,” you murmur as if you’re reading her thoughts. “Chicago is just a few hours on a plane from where I live.”

"That would be good." She smiles softly, although she doesn't really expect it. No one really would want to socialize with a former prostitute that you used to sleep with. "That would be nice."

“Chicago is cold.” You wonder if she has any idea. If she has talked to her aunt or her cousins much. “But the food is great and there is a lot to do. You’ll be busy before you know it.”

"My cousin said she could help me get a job." She doesn't want to keep sleeping with people for money, doesn't know if she could anymore. She wants a better life for her son and is determined to give it to him. "It is good that I have been able to work on my English with you and Javi."

“We can switch to English whenever you want.” She won’t be here much longer. You understand that, but you want to do whatever you can to help. “Is there a family business or something like that? That you’ll be able to work in?”

"They have a restaurant." She smiles. "Our food is pretty popular in Chicago apparently."

“That’s wonderful.” No one deserves for things to finally take an upturn more than Helena does. She’s very literally been through hell and all you can hope now is that she gets to leave it all behind her. “It will be a fresh start. You deserve it, honey.”

The coffee maker beeps and she turns towards the pot. "There we go." She smiles. "I will miss fresh coffee beans though." She jokes. "But not that much."

“I promise you can get good coffee in Chicago,” you assure her, appreciating that she can have a sense of humor about absolutely anything at all.

"Yeah." She hums and gives you a reassuring look. "It's more important that my son is proud of me." She admits. "More important than coffee that he has me."

“It’s going to be a good change.” For so many reasons. For almost every reason, you hope. And the thought that comes to you next almost chokes you with its irony. “Maybe your soulmate is waiting for you up there? Who knows.”

"Only if he's as good as yours is." She turns back to the cabinet to grab two coffee mugs, not seeing how your face falls.

“I fucked it up.” You murmur, letting the words out into the morning air. Releasing the feeling of failure from your stomach before it can make you sick again.

"Javier is under a lot of stress." She dismisses your claim and turns back to hand you a cup of the coffee. "He probably felt ambushed when he was told." She can admit that they didn't handle this the right way, but there was no going back now. She's sure that whatever little spat you had was completely Javi not taking the news well. "I am going to get dressed." She leans in and kisses your cheek. "Don't be jealous of the girls in Medellín too much. He will be back and fucking you soon enough."

Even though you highly doubted his return would bring anything more than icy stares and cutting words at most, you don’t say so as Helena sashays out of the room with a bounce in her step that you haven’t seen in weeks. Her good news has finally arrived. She’s going to to get out — of this lifestyle and this place — and she deserves to be happy about it.

But you? You have fucked it up. And you’re not sure what to do about it now.

******

Three days later, Javi opens the door to his apartment. Listening for a moment and he's oddly deflated when he doesn't hear anything. There is a stillness that can only be attributed to abandonment hanging in the air. Everything is neat as a pin, even the ashtray on the coffee table has been cleaned out, the old afghan throw on the back of the sofa straight. You had obviously made sure to leave his apartment better than you had found it and he's a little annoyed at himself, wondering if you had felt anything but relief when you realized he was gone. Sighing to himself, he drops his bag and kicks the door shut. The trip had been successful, but his stomach still churns when he recalls the look on your face, the loathing in your eyes when you spit at him. Fuck. You're gone like he had thought you would be, but for some reason, he's unhappy about that too.

You had left like he asked you to. Gone back to your apartment. Broken up with Alex in person without asking him about any ulterior motives because honestly you didn’t want to know. And then you’d sat with Inez in your living room and cried your eyes out as you explained everything that had happened. Every angry word and hateful look. Every slammed door. By the end of it you’d given yourself a migraine with the tears and been grateful to simply go to bed, and for the very first time you were sorry to be in your own bed rather than in Javier’s apartment.

Staring at the phone, Javi's pissed at himself. He memorized that fucking number. Your pager number. He's picked up the phone six different times to page you but each time he had slammed the phone down and picked up a cigarette to take a drag from it. Reminding himself that you had nothing to say to him, you would probably prefer that he not even exist, but he had taken a closer look at your marks every fucking time he was undressed and hates how he wonders how they look on your body.

You had decided to avoid the embassy like the plague, and kept that resolve for an entire week before you finally had to go in to collect some quotes and verify information for your latest article. The small spotlight on Helena that she had consented to used only her alias to avoid anyone identifying her from the interview once she arrived in the States, and your editor had even promised to pay her more than originally agreed upon in a good will gesture that certainly wouldn't hurt as she got on her feet in Chicago very soon. Your own fears of running into Alex or Javier had to be put aside so you could do your job, especially when doing your job meant helping your friend.

"Fuck." Javi picks up his coffee cup for the third time, forgetting again that it was empty and glaring at the bottom of the mug.

"It won't refill itself." Steve teases, making him cut his eyes over at the other man.

Murphy had been vastly amused by the fact that Javi's mood hadn't improved, even suggesting that he go see one of the girls, but he couldn't even do that. There is this fucking nagging sense of guilt that curdles in his stomach when he even thinks about Vanessa or Freckles. He had stopped by to see Helena and to give her the paperwork he had gotten from Colleen, but nothing else had happened and he had practically fled when she brought up your name. He couldn't even fuck away his stress now that he knows who his soulmate is and that pisses him off even more. Flipping Murphy a middle finger, he shoves back from his desk to walk to the break room coffee pot.

The hallways of the embassy are typically busy, and the breakroom on this floor is far enough away that he has time to stew on his way there. Stewing so much that he apparently stops looking where he's going, leading him to walk smack into a woman's shoulder as she began to round the corner, sending hot coffee and paperwork scattering in multiple directions with the sound of a surprised yelp.

"Fuck, I'm—" His eyes meet yours and the apology dies on his lips. Shocked to literally run into you in the halls of the embassy. Frowning slightly as he glances down to make sure that he didn't spill the drink on you. "Shit." He hisses, bending down to start gathering up your now stained paperwork."

"I'm sorry." The words spring instantly from your lips on seeing him, regardless of the fact that you're certain he doesn't want to hear a word you have to say. Even if he only accepts an apology for this moment of clumsiness, you would still consider it a small win amongst all of the chaos surrounding knowing each other.

"My fault." He grunts, not looking up although he could easily look up your skirt. He swallows harshly and jumbles the papers together even though they are all out of order now and stands as he tries to straighten them even more.

"No." You shake your head, taking the papers from his hands after you tug your blouse back into place, and try not to think too hard about the small touch of your hands when you do. "I'm entirely at fault out of the two of us."

Javi shifts to pick up his cup and glances down at it's now empty vessel. "Yeah, well, we'll agree to disagree again." He rocks his jaw to the side and quickly glances up at you before he's looking down the hall. "Better go get more coffee. Sorry again." Needing to get away from you before he can do something stupid.

Knowing you deserve to be brushed off doesn't necessarily make it hurt less, and the wobble of your chin as he hurries away without so much as a spared glance in your direction makes you wish you had never set foot in this godforsaken embassy today.

"Shit, shit, shit." Javi bypasses the break room, the idea of coffee nearly nauseating. Instead he pushes into the men's bathroom, his stomach twisting from the brief run in with you and he feels like he's drowning.

"Careful there, Peña." A tall man in a poorly cut suit shifts to the side to narrowly avoid being knocked over as he dries his hands at the sink. "Might get the grease from your hair on me and I don't think the DEA pays well enough for dry cleaning bills based on what you and Murphy wear on a daily basis."

Fuck, as if his day couldn't get any worse. The ringing in his ears fades from the pure annoyance but he would be damned if he would thank this CIA fuck for that. "What the fuck are you doing haunting the halls of the embassy?" He snorts. "Other than fucking annoying people."

"Some of us actually do our work." Alex replies haughtily. He turns away from Peña with a scoff to straighten his tie in the mirror. "And in an office bigger than a broom closet, to boot."

"Really?" Javi smirks, resisting the urge to slam that pretty face into the mirror and break his nose. It has nothing to do with the fact that you were fucking this prick. Not at all. "Didn't realize the CIA was headquartered in La Dispensaria."

Alex's eyebrow barely twitches at the mention of the club, but he turns to lean back against the sink bay and crosses his arms over his chest condescendingly. "What would you know about it?" He asks, tone pitched down into disapproval that runs very near to an accusation.

"Plenty." He's hit a nerve and he knows it. Javier glances towards the door as if he expected you to be standing there. "Pretty clever, climbing into bed with the journalist." He compliments, although there's nothing clever about it in his mind. He used you. "Making sure you could get in and out of the place without anyone looking too closely."

"Not the most pleasant assignment, but someone had to bite the bullet." He shakes his head at that and tosses the wadded up paper towel in his hands toward the trash bin. "No one picks a fat chick, but at least she wasn't a prude." He smirks at Peña, dusting himself off performatively once more before he pushes off from the sinks to head to the door. "Maybe I'll make another visit. Even whales suck cock."

On a normal day, Javier has restraint. He can trade insults and not jump. It's not a normal day and the conversation is about someone that is a lot closer to him than this fucking prick could ever imagine. Even if you don't like him, even if you hate him, you are his soulmate and he would never let that kind of insult ride. The fucker is halfway out the door when Javi hits him with his lowered shoulder, both of them careening into the hallway and crashing to the floor. "Fucker!" Javi hiss, rolling him over and punching him in that fucking smart ass, insulting mouth. He's furious and right now, he's going to take out all his frustration on this slimy dickhead.

They crash into the open hallway with such a suddenness and literally violent force that it sends a few typists scattering. A few nearby Milgroup jarheads take an interest, of course, as do some of the FBI suits, and the crowd that gathers in the hall outside the men’s bathroom soon looks far more like a high school brawl than anything else.

Sets of eyes are easily attracted to a group this big, though, and it takes only a matter of a minute before you become aware of it too. Doing your best to peek over shoulders and around heads, you curse under your breath when you finally get a look at who is fighting. “Let me through,” you insist, nudging your way between a pair of men in fatigues on one side and two chattering women in heels and suits on the other.

“Let me through!” You rumble the second time, and find that you make it to the front of the group that much easier with anger in your voice.

Your ex-boyfriend and your soulmate. On the floor. In a fistfight. “What the absolute fuck is going on?” You huff at them before you can stop yourself.

Javi hisses when Alex's fist crashes into his jaw, hitting him harder than he had expected the pussy to hit, but he's shaking it off and retaliating. Lunging at him again and jabbing him in the kidneys several times before he pulls back and punches him in the head again. "Piece of shit!" He hears people talking, thinks he even hears your voice, but he doesn't stop. Too busy venting all his frustration out into this fight.

“Stop!” Whatever has caused this fight, you are acutely aware of the fact that you’re probably more in the middle of it than anyone else present, and shove past the crowd fully to try to drag Javier off of Alex. Smaller and faster despite being broad in his own right, Javier is clearly on the literal top of this fight regardless of who started it. The fact that you want to punch Alex for your own reasons is something you fully put aside for now as you put yourself bodily between the two men. “Javi, stop!”

The men that are watching the fight on the edges of the crowd are enjoying themselves, some of them rooting for Javi, some of the rooting for Alex. They are also exercising caution. It's never safe to grab a man who is the middle of a fight. Too easy to end up taking a hit themselves. Javi feels someone grabbing at his shoulders and he whips around the hit the bastard. Only stopping himself in horror when he sees your eyes widen and you flinch away to protect yourself from the blow. Freezing when he realizing that he had almost hit you. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out before the loud and furious voice of the Ambassador rings out from behind the crowd. "What the fuck is going on here?"

The assembled crowd scatters, all of them wanting to keep their jobs fully in tact and not be implicated in whatever they were just witnessing. The only people who don’t flee are Alex — laid out on the floor and groaning pitifully about his face — and you and Javier, who stand side by side with equal confusion and concern in your eyes.

"Peña." Even though she is a solid five-foot one inch tall, Noonan doesn't suffer fools lightly. Her face filled with fury, she takes in the scene and almost immediately determines you are the cause of the issue. "Why is that every fucking problem I have in this place, you are at the center of it?" She snarls before she looks over at you. "Do you work here?" She demands.

“No ma’am,” you answer honestly. Though your work does take you in and out of the embassy often, you don’t actually work there. Right now you’re just standing there with fear in your eyes and a lump in your throat, wishing you could reach for Javier and knowing you would be deservedly rejected if you tried.

She looks back at Javier. “Are you both fucking her?” She demands, wanting to know why you didn’t scurry off like the rest of them.

“Neither of them is and what the hell does that matter?” You spit back at the ambassador, finally seeing for the first time what your friends meant when they told you over and over how alike you and Javier could be.

"If you aren't involved, then get the hell out of my Embassy." Noonan hisses, narrowing her eyes at the two men on the floor. "Agent Peña, Agent Harris, get your asses off the floor and into my office, now." She turns on her heel and marches back towards her office, giving them no chance to argue.

“I’ll wait outside,” you murmur to Javier, wondering if he even cares. But something in the hollow of your chest screams at you to wait. To talk to him.

"Go home." He doesn't look at you, afraid that he will punch Alex again if he looks at your pretty face. You don't deserve the comments that fucker made. "I'm going to get my ass chewed for a while."

Before you can even ask him if he’s sure, Javier stalks off after the ambassador and Alex pulls himself up onto his feet with nothing but a snarl aimed in your direction.

Wait for an hour, you bargain with yourself, worried that Javier might be about to lose his badge over something that vaguely concerns you. If he does, you know for certain he’ll never so much as speak to you again. And you wouldn’t blame him. Just an hour and then go home. There’s nothing you can do here that will help.

His jaw aches but his fist hurts like bitch as he listens to Noonan rake his ass over the coals. His eyes cut over to where the CIA agent is slumped in his chair, craddling his cheek and it gives him an enormous sense of satisfaction to see that his left eye is already swollen shut. "You're fucking suspended for the next three days." That makes him whip his head back towards the ambassador and he leans forward. "Ma'am, we are in the middle of an important sting." He stresses, not wanting to be taken off the case for even an hour. "We will get word any second now."

“And you can read Murphy’s report when it’s over.” She informs him tersely. “Go home, Peña. If I even get a whiff of you around here before Friday, it’ll be your ass.”

He clenches his jaw, knowing there is no point in arguing with her. He's already listened to her rail at him for nearly an hour and half. Neither man would tell her why they were fighting. He stands and shoots Alex a hot glare before he walks out of the ambassador's office. He needs a fucking drink.

******

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice echoes in the empty stairwell, just you and Chi-Chi sitting on the top step together with her head in your lap as you stroke her fur and tell her what happened at the embassy today. Inez is out with your landlady, driving her to the beauty parlor for her weekly appointment, so you can’t even go have a drink with your friend and try to figure out what step comes next. All you can do is pet Chi-Chi and hope against hope that something might get resolved soon. Though you doubt it.

******

"You look like shit." Javi rolls his eyes, leaning back against the half wall that the table is pressed against and blows out the cigarette smoke as Horatio pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down. "You should see the other guy." Javi huffs, smirking slightly before he frowns again in pain and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Got what he deserved?” Carillo asks, but he already knows the answer. Javier Peña doesn’t get into fist fights. Not usually. Which means this one had a reason.

"Yeah." He had to take a couple of aspirin, and he could probably use to some ice on his hand, but he's using the whiskey to dull the pain. "What are you doing here?"

“Waiting for a call.” Carillo tilts his head, studying the agent in front of him. “You didn’t forget. Did Murphy not tell you?”

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Javier shakes his head slightly, but it hurts. "Just got suspended for the next three days."

“Shit.” Both men shake their heads now, and Carillo leans back in his seat in dismay. “We timed the raid for tonight. Murphy’s just waiting to call it in when the time is right.”

Javi leans back and nods. There's no location set obviously. He closes his eyes and lifts his glass to his lips again. He's going to miss out on the fruits of his labor and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

“It’s a shame.” Carillo comments, shaking his head. “You’ve worked too hard in this. Just hope whatever ass-kicking you gave out was worth it.”

He shrugs slightly, not willing to talk about it with the man who has been with his soulmate since he was a child. "Don't regret it." Is all he's willing to say.

Horatio nods, merely making a sound of assent before the two men sink into silence and sip their drinks in relative peace. No one ever accused Horatio Carillo of being chatty, and his time spent with Agent Peña is always proof of that.

He knows that you have to at least think that the fight was over you. Still, he feels guilty about how fucking close he came to hitting you. Even if it would have been an accident, he knows you would never forgive him for that, even if you already hate him. Javi sighs.

He has no way of knowing that you’re currently venting your worries and frustrations to an overlarge guard dog. No way of knowing that you stayed at the embassy a full half hour later than you promised yourself you would and he only missed seeing you sitting outside on the steps by a bare five minutes.

The phone on the table between them rings and Javi eyes it jealously. Irritated that he won't be able to go along on the operation. He listens in when Carillo answers, although he can't quite hear what is being said but it's obvious that it's Steve on the other end. He can tell that it's hillbilly English rather than Spanish.

When Carillo hangs up, he’s already standing and slipping back into his jacket. “Time to go,” he tells Peña needlessly. “Don’t get your badge taken tonight,” he warns, leaning over the table. “Stay away from La Dispensaria, okay?”

"Yeah." He sighs and drowns the rest of his drink with a huff and cutting his eyes when he realizes that he got left with the bill for the other man's drink. The name doesn't register with him until he is motioning for another drink. "Fuck!"

There’s a line for the phone at the bar — three separate people who all apparently need to make the most important calls of their lives from this very place and refuse to move, making Javier furious when no one will let him in just to make a fast and vital phone call.

"Goddamnit." Javi hisses, he had already run out of the bar to see if he could catch Carillo but the fucker was already gone. "Hurry up." He growls, moving back to the bar and demanding to use their phone.

The girl behind the bar saunters up with the house phone in hand, smokey eyes and full lips on display. “Need to make a call, handsome?”

"Yes." He doesn't flirt but he reaches for the phone. "It's important."

“Fine.” He doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to play, which makes her frown, but she still sets the phone down on the bar. “Tip your bartender,” she singsongs, walking away.

The number that he has memorized is punched in hastily, listening to the message and he remembers that he doesn't know the fucking number to the bar. "Hey!" He shouts down the bar. "What’s the number here?"

The bartender slings the ten-digit number back at him carelessly, annoyed that her attempt at flirting didn't get anywhere. When the message asks for a call back number, Javi punches it in and adds #911 to the end of the message that will flash across the beeper’s face.

He sits and frets for a whole three minutes before the bar's phone rings, staring at it like it's offended him until the telephone starts to clatter to life. The first ring barely finishes before he is snatching it up and hissing your name down the line. Needing to make sure that it's you before he says anything else.

"Javier?"

You sound bewildered but he doesn't let you say anything else. "Get out of your apartment. Get out now!" He growls, his heart pounding when you start to protest.

"What is goi—"

"There is a raid team coming right now, get out!" He shouts.

"Shit!" You slam down the receiver, shove your beeper back in your pocket, and sprint to your front door. Purse, leather jacket, keys, and you're locking the door behind you only to come face to face with Chi-Chi on the stair landing. Your landlady went to see her son and grandkids tonight so she isn't home, and thank fuck you encouraged Inez to go on her date tonight after dropping off your sweet landlady, instead of staying home with your sorry ass. "Come on, sweet girl," you say to Chi-Chi, unwrapping her leash from the top of the stair rail and attaching it to her collar. "I'm gonna take you to meet a new friend."

The only place you can think to go is to Javier's apartment. He'll be at the raid, but at least it's far enough away from your building to be safe.

Javi presses his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. Needing to go to that fucking club but he knows he can't. He'll just have to call Steve. Picking up the phone again, he dials his partner's cell phone number and prays that he picks up the goddamn thing.

"Murphy." Steve has picked up his SAT phone blindly as he works to get himself ready for the impending raid. He's given the time and the location and now it's go time.

Javi sighs in relief and he says your name. "That reporter." He reminds him. "She lives in that fucking building. Don't let her get killed by a trigger happy fucker." He can't tell him right now that you are his soulmate. It'll distract the man. "I told her to get out. But keep an eye out for her."

"Copy that." Steve barks down the phone. He's not in the mood to ask questions or alter his plans, but he knows the person to look out for. "Stay away, Peña," he warns, a little less perfunctorily. "We've got this covered and I need you to not lose your badge."

The call ends abruptly and he stares at the phone for a second. "Goddamnit." He sighs, putting the receiver in the cradle and standing up, fishing in his pocket for some money. "Thanks." He tosses money down on the bar, enough for the tab and generous tip for letting him use the phone before he walks out. The only thing he can do now is go home and wait for a fucking phone call.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06

[misscampacyn]

Masterlist

The Witcher:

Imagine you and Geralt go on a hunt and Jaskier panics and you two have a talk

Imagine you and Geralt get in an argument before bed

Imagine hiding in a protected closet to prevent being killed but Jaskier making it harder than it should be.

Imagine being Geralt’s twin sister (also a witcher) and getting mad at your brother for yelling at Jaskier. Part 2

Imagine Geralt is worried after you get knocked out by a creature.

Imagine Geralt meets (you) Jaskier’s sister for the first time.

Imagine Geralt scares off lords that want to court you.

Imagine Geralt having feelings for (you) Jaskier’s pregnant sister. Part 2

Marvel:

Imagine you are drunk, and Steve is there to suffer your antics.

Imagine getting annoyed with Cable because he took your kill and telling your brother Wade that you and Cable have sex.

Imagine your on a run with Steve and Sam and you break your ankle. Bucky isn’t very happy with Steve.

Imagine you give Tony the silent treatment after he makes fun of Steve.

Imagine you get in angry with Steve about the way he talks to your brother ( Tony).

Imagine Stephen meets Tony’s sister.

Imagine Tony finds out he has a daughter.

Imagine Stephen Strange being angry that you and Tony keep calling him a wizard.

Imagine you are Steve’s best friend and when Bucky returns you give them space so that Bucky can get back on his feet, but this causes Steve to ask you why.

Imagine you and Stephen meet  in Kamar- Taj.

Imagine being Steve’s modern day daughter, but being closer to Tony.

Imagine Telling Tony that your parents think you are dating.

Imagine cuddling up to Stephen.

Imagine Steve and Tony’s daughter (you) fall asleep on the couch.

Imagine after an argument with Steve you leave to a bar and get drunk, he finds you and takes you home.

The Mandalorian:

Imagine the first time you meet the child after the Mandalorian clans arrange you and Din to get married.

Imagine Omera doesn’t know that you are engaged with Din.

Imagine you and Din take off your gloves for the child.

Imagine Din wanting you to talk to him.

Warrior

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Game of Thrones:

Imagine Oberyn discovers you are his niece that he thought was killed by the mountain.

Imagine Oberyn discovers you are his niece he believed was killed by the mountain. PT 2

Narcos:

Imagine you are a new DEA agent working with Javier Peña and Steve Murphy.

Movies: 

Sand Castle (Netflix)-

Imagine Syverson and you get drunk and you tell him you want a baby.

Sicario:

What Needs to be Done-

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 Playlist

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Blackmail – (8) Mistakes || [Alejandro Gillick x reader x Matt Graver]

After the team returned, Cynthia told Matt that you had left but she had absolutely no idea where you went and she didn’t even care. He wasn’t surprised to hear this so he decided to go back to the motel to quickly check if you were there or not. He owed this much to Alejandro and something told him he would probably want him to look after you now that he was gone. He also felt guilty for letting him go after the girl after all if he had stayed with the team he would still be around.

In the end, he found you in the motel although he was everything but happy to see you being high as fuck on your own. The two of you got into a fight, one thing followed another, and somehow you ended up in bed together.

“I’m an asshole,” Matt noted with a tired grunt as he sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his palm a few hours later.

With your head still buried in the pillow, you said, “No arguments here.” A few seconds passed until your brain suddenly began to process his words and you realized you had no idea what he was talking about. “Wait, why?” you asked as you looked at him.

He let out an almost desperate laugh before turning to you. After all this time he kind of expected you to know it without help. “Because of what happened this morning,” he told you eventually. But sleeping with you was only one part of the problem. The other was something he would probably never tell you: he liked it. Hell, he loved every second of it.

When you finally remembered what had happened between you, you bit on your lower lip and let out a thoughtful hum. “I know exactly what I’m like when I’m high so it’s not your fault.” It wasn’t a lie, you had more than enough experience with that to know you could be very persuasive when you wanted something.

“Yeah, but I was sober,” Matt pointed out before putting on his shirt. “I should have said no.”

“Well, it’s too late to change that. Stop worrying and let’s forget it even happened,” you told him with a small, supportive smile. Not like you had any chance of forgetting about cheating on Alejandro. Sure, he was now dead, but it still felt like you had betrayed him. And you did. And you truly hated yourself for it. “We don’t have much choice,” you added quietly.

Matt clearly didn’t hear you say that because he stood up and walked over to the window. “He was shot in the head. We saw the whole thing, it was… I have a feeling I’ll have nightmares about it.”

“At least it wasn’t you who killed him.” Silence fell between the two of you while you sat up and pulled your knees to your chest. “I’m glad I didn’t have to see it. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.”

“As I said, I’ll have nightmares,” he answered. When he turned around to look at you and noticed the confused expression on your face, he flashed a sad smile at you before saying, “I bet you thought things like this don’t affect me. But they do and I hate this. Actually, I had a nightmare now too, this is why I woke up in the first place.”

This was probably the first time you saw Matt be this vulnerable. He was clearly suffering just as much as you were and it made you feel really bad for him. Letting out a sigh, you climbed out of bed and went over to him to pull him into a hug. At first, his body froze from the surprise but then he wrapped his arms around you and visibly relaxed.

After a short while, he let you go and took a step back to build some safe distance. “I should go now. Try to get some sleep, okay?” With that he began to walk out of the room but stopped before his fingers could touch the doorknob. “You were right, we have to forget what happened.”

Not like it was that easy, at least not for Matt. While he felt guilty about betraying his friend like that, he still couldn’t stop thinking about you. A long time ago he had told you one day you would be begging him to fuck you and that’s exactly what happened earlier that day. Sure, you were very, very high, but he still liked it.

Long story short, he was a fucking asshole.

Matt had to take care of a few things before the team left so even though he was worried about leaving you alone for hours, he still returned to the hangar. Unlike the others, Steve immediately noticed that something was wrong and he also knew it most probably had something to do with you. Since they were surrounded by people most of the time, he kept his mouth shut for now, but the moment they could be alone for a while, he brought up the topic.

“How bad is it?” he asked as he sat on top of a table and rested his elbows on his thighs.

Letting out a sigh, Matt put his hands on the back of his neck. “Bad but I went through her things and took every drug she had bought. I’ll check on her before I leave to make sure things didn’t get worse.”

“You think she’ll be okay on her own? I can stick around for a few more days to keep an eye on her,” Steve offered.

“No, I think it was a one-time thing. She had learned her lesson around the time I recruited her.”

Steve shook his head and gave him a doubtful look. If Matt truly believed he had recruited her, then they remembered what happened very, very differently. “You mean when you blackmailed her into joining us?”

“I only gave her an opportunity to do something good,” Matt pointed out with a shrug.

For a moment he wondered if he should comment on it but in the end, he decided to just let it go. “Anyway, wanna go grab a drink before going home? After today I think I’ll need it.”

“Thanks but I’ll pass. I’ll quickly check on Y/N then try to get some sleep.”

Steve nodded, said goodbye, and left. He didn’t want to stick around for longer than expected because he was worried he would accidentally let Matt know that he knew he was lying–or at least hiding something important. A part of him wanted to know what it was while another told him to forget about it. Maybe it was for the best if he stayed out of whatever happened. If he had to know about it, Matt would tell him.

Not long after Matt left you began to lose your patience. Each passing minute became more and more unbearable, your brain was in overdrive and you knew only drugs could possibly help you in this situation. But Matt had thoroughly searched your motel room and took everything you had left with him to make sure you stayed clean.

As if that was enough to stop you. Now that you knew who to look for it probably wouldn’t take long to get some more, you just had to be smart about it. So you went to the motel’s office to use their phone instead of your own in case they were still listening to your calls and contacted the dealer who promised to bring what you wanted in about half an hour. Talk about customer experience.

You had been right, and apparently the drugs could help with the misery that was suffocating you. You were miserable because of the pain you felt after losing Alejandro, the guilt because you slept with Matt shortly after his death, the fear caused by having no idea what would happen now, and the disgust you felt because you actually liked what happened between you and your boss.

Could this be the rock bottom? It had to be. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t imagine things getting any worse than this. You once again became that shitty person you’d been before Matt dragged you into this. You were an excellent doctor, strangely that didn’t really change because of drugs, but they surely destroyed your relationships. All of them. But maybe under these circumstances, this was for the best. Being alone could maybe help you figure out what to do now.

The drugs had barely kicked in when there was a sudden, loud knock on your door. At first, you wanted to ignore it but soon you heard Matt threatening to kick in the door to get inside. Rolling your eyes, you eventually stood up and let him in, mostly because the last thing you wanted was him making a scene. But before you could say anything, he grabbed your chin and you knew perfectly well what he was doing: he took a closer look at your eyes because he noticed your delated pupils.

“I leave you alone for three hours and this is what happens?” he asked furiously once the door closed behind you. “Where the fuck did you get this shit anyway? I went through your things to make sure you didn’t have any drugs left.”

You had no reason to lie anymore, after all, you had already quit your job. The two of you were nothing more but two adults having a fight. So you shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed with one leg pulled up. “I have my sources.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Matt ran a hand through his hair as he began to pace back and forth in the room. This was much worse than he had expected and Steve was right, they couldn’t just leave you alone now. “Alright, you know what? I don’t care that this mission is over, we’ll stick around and I’ll keep you under close surveillance for the next few days.”

“Seriously?” you asked after letting out an annoyed growl. “I’m an adult and if I wanna get high, I’ll fucking do it and you can’t stop me!”

“I can,” he replied casually then began to go through your things once again. Without hesitation, you jumped up and rushed over to stop him, but Matt simply pushed you away. “Do you think this is what he would want? Do you really think Alejandro wouldn’t try to make sure you stay clean?”

And with that comment, he crossed a line. Even though he quickly realized he had made a mistake, you slapped him before he could apologize. “Don’t you dare bring him up again!”

Long seconds passed in uncomfortable silence and it didn’t seem like either of you would speak up in the near future. While he clearly wanted to continue his search for drugs, Matt decided to wait a little and hope you would calm down just enough to agree to it. You on the other hand were waiting for him to finally leave your room without a fight.

Suddenly your phone began to ring and you rose your eyebrows when you looked at the called ID. It was a number you didn’t know, but apparently Matt assumed you did so he said, “Put it on speaker.”

“Are you kidding me?”

When he gave you a serious look, you let out a sigh and did as he said.

note: Oh, Matt, you moron... || By the way, thank you for the support guys!

taglist: @lainternettuale @lennonlane @anbanananna @moonchild-stuff

[iamcalmdammit]

Part 3: Black Widow

“Just make sure you inject it between his toes,” you told him before putting the set of syringes back on the table. “It’s easy to overlook that place during an autopsy.”

Alejandro slid his hands in the pockets of his black pants as he looked down at you. It just went on like this for long seconds, with the two of you keeping eye contact without saying a word. These looks had been more and more frequent lately but you still had no idea what they really meant–if they meant anything, that is.

After a while you tore your gaze away and pulled out your phone to take a look at the notifications. You quickly typed your reply to a message then you put it back in your pocket. Letting out a sigh you began to walk away but had to come to a halt after a few steps since you lost your balance for a second.

He was quickly by your side, putting an arm around your waist as he escorted you back to the table. “Are you okay?” he asked almost worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a nervous laugh. “Just a little tired and dizzy, that’s all.”

“Are you sleeping enough?”

“Oh, you’re worried about me?”

As he took a step away from you, Alejandro folded his arms over his chest with his eyes still set on you. “I just don’t want our doctor to be sick,” he stated a matter-of-factly.

“Well, that’s nice of you,” you told him with a small smile.

By then you’d been working with Matt for almost a year and as a result you met the assassin on several different occasions before. Every time he was around he began to function like some sort of a lightning rod between you and your boss, temporarily taking the role from Steve who was the one that usually got stuck in the middle.

Before you could say anything, though, Matt showed up and clapped his hands as he walked over to you. “What are you two up to?” he asked with a wide grin the moment he stopped.

Reaching back to pick up the set of syringes from the table, you said, “I gave Alejandro some black widow spider venom.”

“What for?”

“What do you think?” you asked with a roll of your eyes.

Matt took a syringe from you and took a closer look at it. “I thought their venom wasn’t deadly. Not always, that is.”

“If a spider bites a healthy adult, it’s usually not deadly,” you verified with a nod, “though it’s better if they seek medical help. But we’re not using a real spider, only its venom, so you can use as much of it as you like.”

“Do you have the antidote as well?” he asked as he gave you back the syringe.

“Sure. I took care of everything.”

His attention turned to his friend as he said, “And you know how to use it now?”

Alejandro nodded. “Yes, she told me what to do.”

“I thought you might want to try something new,” you suddenly spoke up after you put the set back on the table behind you and turned to look at the two men with your arms crossed over your chest. “It’s not a bullet in the head but it’s just as deadly. All you need to do is giving them more and more of it.”

“You have one fucked up mind, Y/N,” Matt noted with a devilish smile.

“I was getting bored,” you replied with a shrug.

In the past months you’d realized that Matt and Steve were right in the beginning. The more you learned about why they did what they did, the more comfortable you got with their methods. Every now and then you wondered if you were slowly turning into some kind of a monster, but you usually let go of that thought quite quickly.

“I can entertain you if you need company.”

“Thanks, I’m fine. You’d be the last person I’d go to.”

Matt moved closer to stand right in front of you, intentionally invading your personal space as he quietly said, “Oh, come on, based on our usual fights I think one day you’ll be begging me to fuck you.”

“You might be right.” At this Matt raised an eyebrow for a split second, clearly surprised to hear this answer from you. “I mean, I have this theory about how this situation between us will be solved one day.”

“I’m all ears.”

“We either have some extremely rough hate sex or one of us kills the other,” you explained, poking his chest with your finger. “There’s no in between.”

Suddenly he reached out to sweep a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning even closer as he began to speak. “Like I said, my room’s always open if you’re interested.”

“You know how women prefer using poison to murder someone, right?” you asked as you grabbed his wrist and slowly pushed away his hand with your fingernails digging deep into his skin. “I may or may not have more of this poison, so if I were you, I would watch my back.”

“Feisty,” Matt said with a laugh before he turned to the assassin who still stood on your right. “You heard the lady, Alejandro. Be careful because she might poison you too.”

The pair of you watched as he walked away in silence and the moment he got out of sight you cleared your throat and pulled out your phone to see if there were any new notifications. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed the way Alejandro was looking at you and it made you uneasy.

In the end he let out a long sigh and spoke up. “Why can’t you two at least try to get along?”

“I tried and failed. It’s much more fun to get on his nerves,” you replied with a shrug, trying hard to fight back a smile. “Also I’m pretty sure he’s only trying to annoy me by saying things like his room’s always open, so we’re kinda even.” He didn’t say anything so you cleared your throat and asked, “Hey, don’t you wanna come over for a drink? I’m bored and I have no plans for tonight.”

For long moments he thought about your invitation but in the end he said, “Well, I have nothing better to do.”

Neither of you spoke on the way to the motel you all stayed in but you didn’t mind it to be honest. Sometimes he looked over at you as if he was about to ask you something, but he never said a word, only returned his attention to the road.

Once in your room, you quickly moved over to a duffel bag you kept in a corner, taking out a bottle of red wine and a beer from it. “They’re not cold, but it’s still better than nothing,” you told him with an apologetic smile. “Which one would you like?”

“Neither. Just come here.” Without asking questions you put the bottles on a table and did as you were told. When you stopped in front of him, Alejandro quickly put his hands on your waist as he looked down at you. “You thought I didn’t know why you wanted me to come over?” he asked with a frown.

“I knew you would figure it out,” you admitted with a flirtatious smile.

Your heart was racing as you waited for his next move, after all you still weren’t sure how he felt about this situation. But then he leaned down to kiss you and you couldn’t help but smile at this. The scary, intimidating assassin turned out to be an amazing kisser who could make you weak in the knees with a single touch. When you pulled away for a few seconds you loosened his dark red tie and took it off, only to put it around your own neck instead.

“It looks good on you,” he noted, smiling down at you.

You’d known him for a while by now but you couldn’t recall ever seeing such a genuine smile on his face. But something was still bothering you and ever since this little thought appeared you just couldn’t push it away. You couldn’t even look him in the eye because of it so you focused on the window instead.  

Alejandro clearly noticed it and placed his palm on the side of your neck to get your attention, successfully snapping you out of your thoughts. “What is it?”

“I know it was my idea but… are you sure you want to do this?” you asked hesitantly, finally looking back up at him.

“What makes you think I don’t want it?”

You cleared your throat and reached for his left hand. “Your ring,” you then replied quietly.

“Just forget about it,” he said before he kissed you again. “Let’s get you out of your clothes.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Taglist: @crazed-fangirl @daddycable-pool @ihadalovelytime @wolfangelwings @r0ckiebubugs

[writtenimagines]

*gif belongs to WrittenImagines

Imagine being an arms dealer for Matt.

A man by the name of Andy Wheeldon invited you to dinner out of blue during a charity event you were attending one night.

Your first instinct was that he was trying to flirt with you with the intention of making you his intimate companion so to speak.

“Oh, no no no,” Wheeldon shook his head while smiling. “You are lovely but this is about business.”

The arms supplier explained his intentions quickly, as you were at a nonprofit occasion, and once again asked you, “So, dinner?”

The offer was tempting. Playing the line between legal and illegal had always been an interest of yours. Especially if you gained more business and power to change the world for the better.

“Dinner sounds perfect.” You grinned as you took a sip of your champagne.

You liked Wheeldon. He was straight to the point and honest.

“I already know what you’re doing because I’m doing it too. But I can’t be in two places at once. Which is why I’m offering a partnership with someone who can be quite demanding.”

“And the one not doing the job gets 15%.”

“Like I said, lovely.” Wheeldon smiled as he took a bite of his meal. “Be ready to start tomorrow.”

Matt liked you too quickly. Which was bad for him but he knew Wheeldon. The supplier wouldn’t have picked any random person.

But God dammit, did he have to pick someone so attractive?

“Do you always stare at newbies or am I just that gorgeous?” You teased partly out of nerves and and partly out of not knowing how else to get the conversation moving.

Matt smirked. He really liked you.

“Both,” He replied. “What are you doing after this?”

“Not you,” You said without missing a beat.

This got a loud laugh out from the man in front of you. “Maybe another time then.”

Months passed.

You and Wheeldon had worked up a pretty effective system, each of you taking every other job. Much to Matt’s displeasure sometimes.

“At least that’s over with. And next time, you’ll be there,” Matt murmured as he crawled on top of you in your hotel bed.

“Missed me that badly this time?” You whispered back.

Matt hummed an agreement as he slowly pulled the sheets away from you. “Very much, baby girl.”

You leaned your head back while Matt mouthed at your neck and removed your undergarments.

“Very, very much,” He growled, teeth gently biting you.