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hausofmamadas · 2 years ago

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YOUUUUUU GUYYYYYSSSSSSSSSSS SHES BACK COSITAPRECIOUSA IS FUCKING BASAAAAAAACK AND WITH PAPICHULO CHEPE AND READER CHARACTER SO FUCKING BULLET PROOF AND SELF POSSESSED, ANDALE EN CHINGA!!! LETS GET INTO THIS SHIT

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a/n : - Yo Élise, where were you all this time? Were you dead?

cue to picture of that dry-ass taxidermy fox seasonal depression my dude

SKSKSKSKSKS SORRY DO YOU MEAN THIS ONE? BC IF SO I AM CRYIIIIINGSJSJS

✷ You had been reselling for him for a few years now, never once coming to a dollar short and definitely raking in the profit. Probably the best card you got in your deck, Santacruz, am I not?

uuuuhhhhhh okay, first off 👏🏽 CAN 👏🏽 WE JUST 👏🏽 with a sassy fucking Reader who knows just what tf she’s worth?????????? because you know how I always love a woman who could step on me wksksks

✷ Greed, envy, lust. It had crawled in your veins fast, venomous, pumping in your blood. Still, just enough to always buy your favorite, to-die-for, 90$ red lipstick every time it ran out, but never enough to get cocky, stupid, reckless.

Oh I love already how the lipstick is becoming like a conduit for like Reader’s criminal spirit??? Like there really is something to be said for putting on a red lip when you’re feel like your need to just fucking armor tf up, and like meeting with some of the most hot dangerous hot international hot drug lords like Chepe def seems like a situation where you’d want to be armored up ssksks

✷ You loved luxury, lived in it, smelled like it, but you always remembered how red your blood was, how easy it could be spilled.

OKAYSKSKSKSKAKSKSKSKJSJS BUT THE USE OF RED THROUGHOUT LIEK I AM REAAAAAALLLY ALREADY LIIIIIVING FOR THE THEME OF THE WHOLE RED LIPSTICK LIKE OKAY, YES WE CAN HAVE A GOOD TIME, ENJOY THE MONEY WE’VE MADE THAT WE’VE WORKED HARD FOR BUT LIKE LET’S NOT FORGET THAT THERES STILL A SOFT GOOEY CENTER HERE no not that kind, get your head out of the gutter …… i imagine that comes later at some point skskskskskkskskskskskkejejsj LIKE IM JUST AS EASILY ANOTHER FUCKIN DEAD INTERMEDIO OUT HERE LIKE SO SMFUCKIN SAVVY. UGH IM JUST, ITS ALREADY COMING TOGETHER

✷ You saw the way the government was knocking more and more doors down, came for the smaller ones before fishing for the big sharks, but all the others didn’t.

SKSKSKS so sorry but what’s that one line Walt has about this exact thing not me scrambling for Netflix to see if I can find the exact line and pretend I just knew it off the top of my head like some kinda savant where he’s like, “yeah, find some dumb underling you can flip till you make your way to the top,” yeah, I know that’s not the line, netflix was being fucky, sometimes we just gotta improvise sksksks but like ONCE AGAIN, the fact that this is something Reader’s even aware of is like just a testament to her savviness and even calculating nature, like I fully believe they are one of the top at this level of the biz bc it’s so clear theyre thinking in like 30 different directions, 10 chess moves ahead skskskssk like lo que quieran llamar, la chingoná está mostrando su pinshe geniooooooooooo

✷ Teeth filled with gold, snorting all types of white powders, guns-a-blazing, cuffed and judged by justice just as fast. There’s a quiet side to riches that those men never understood.

ooiohhhhhhsiajsjsjsjssjsjsjjssjjs okay, wowowowowoowwowoow so a number of fuckint things here sksksks first, the wording of everything here is actual magic. Like the “cuffed and judged by justice just as face” IS SO LYRICAL im fucking mad I didnt write it. Legitimately. Mad. But then. THEN. YOU HAD THE NERVE TO TURN AROUND AND SUCKER PUNCH ME WITH “There’s a quiet side to riches that those men never understood.” LIEK SHEEEEEEEIIIIIT DUDE LIKE THIS IS SOME REAL FUCKING CHARACTER WORK RIGHT FUCKING HERE, because it reminds me so much of like the conversation with Pablo and Miguel where again, not me shoving people out of the way to open Netflix to find the line Miguel says something about how if you don’t take control, the world breaks you. Like when I think of him, that’s what comes to mind, whereas with Reader, here, it’s set in opposition to that entirely, totally diff criminal mindset. GODDDDGODGODGOD I LOVE IT

✷ … or maybe it was just the start of the hardest fall of your life.

OH DF THE WAY THIS SNAPPED ME TF TO ATTENTION SO FAST skskskskskksskskjsjj I legitimately just squeaked like a small rodent

✷ Chepe knows all of this, the facade that goes in the character you play. The survival instinct, the street smart. You made it this far didn’t you?

that’s because Chepe k n o w s talent when he sees it and appreciates woman who can run him, lbr. Refer to IsaChepe vid for further evidence

✷ ‘’ Well, I’m more of a bachata dancer myself, but I can make salsa work. ‘’

NOOOOSKSKSKSKSKWBUTOKAY BC I ALSO PREFER BACHATA, BUT I COULD ACTUALLY FUCKING KISS YOU FOR THE FACT THAT YOU PUT IT IN A FIC SKSK LOKE IDK WHY JUST WHEN WE START TALKING LATIN DANCING I WANNA DANCE AND GET ON MY CHAIR AND TAKE MY SHIRT OFF AND WHIP IT AROUND LIKE IT’S MY FUCKING BACHELOR PARTY

✷ You had fucked him once. When his wife had been away, doing whatever she did when she went on those trips of hers. All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony.

SIISISISSIIIIIIWWWWWWWWKKKKKWKWKWKWKWKWKEOZOSOWOWIWIEHUWIW91833848282992:!:!39:&;9@‘naosjejwoow THE SOUND I JUST MAAAAAAAAAADE BC THE WAY I JUST DIDNT SEE BENT OVER THE BALCONY COMINgsjksjssjsjjse like you would think I’ve didn’t know about the birds and the bees sksksksksksksk the reaction I just sskskskss had but LIKE SKSKSKSS I JUST WASNT EXPECTING TO BE BLINDED BY SEXY SO SOON

✷ Maybe it had been more than once. Maybe you didn’t feel so bad because you knew she most likely did the same when she claimed she was going on shopping trips with friends.

PPPPPPPDFFFDDTTTTTT MAYBE?????? MAYBE IT HAD BEEN MORE THAN ONCE SKSKSKSKSKKS SORRY DO WE JUST NOT REEMEMBER PERHAPS BC WE WERE JUST TOO COCKSTRUCK TO EVEN KNOW WHAT DAY IT WAS KEKW OKAY BUT ALSO moment of silence so we can all appreciate the mob wife who refuses to sit at home while her husband is off plowing his sexy asf coworker and decides “actually? You know what??” Who says only your husband’s allowed to dick you down when your married??? Who fuckin says?”

✷ You could see it in his too, how he had always known. If he cared or not was still the missing piece.

DO I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE MAYBE SOME SKSKSKKSKSNS LONGING THEEEEEEEREE like despite the cool-as-a-cucumber exterior, underneath all that is actually maybe a sweet baby angel who likes Chepe for more than just that sweet, sweet, Big Daddy DILF D sksksks like i just feeeeeeeeeeeellllll like this is??????? Maybe????!??! Perhaps?????? Mayhaps????????? A bit telling?????????

✷ Still, his hand is steady, not a bead of sweat on his forehead, his usually heavy coat switched for a striped shirt. Colombiano born and raised. You did tell him stripes looked good on him once.

OOOOOSHSJSSMYGOOODDDDSTTOTOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPP BC IMJUSTSOMFSORRY BUT NO ONE WILL CONVINCE ME THAT CHEPE ISNT THE MOST SENTIMENTAL ASS MF WHEN HE LIKE REAL FORREAL HAS GOT IT BAD like I can 10000000% see Reader just mentioning in passing, not even super sexy or suggestive, just like leaving a meeting or a pick-up or something, and it just like filling him all warm and fuzzy inside and like he’s getting dressed to come pick Reader up here all like, “She did tell me that stripes looked good,” and picking out the one other striped shirt he owns from a pile of like all plaid flannels and plain Ts sksksksks like i just, it’s canon. It’s canon mans dresses for his nena

✷ The ride to civilization had been bumpy, long, and trying your best to understand your driver with the thickest Costeño accent you had ever heard.

ooohhhhhhhh okay, come through College sksksksksksksksskksksks incidentally, the Costeño accent treats the letter “s” like it doesn’t exist as much as the Nica side of my family does and that’s the only reason why I know wtf Costeño is

✷ ‘’ I trust those two with my life. I’ll pick you up at the hotel tomorow ? ‘’ All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony. ‘’ How else am I supposed to empty the mini-bar then? ‘’ Hands gripping your waist, pining you against the shower wall.

I de…………………………..

me: trying to mind my own business, being all literary and shit, thinking about canon-consistency and character themes and costeño accents

you: BODY SLAMMING THROUGH MY GODDAMN WALL FUCKING INCREDIBLE-HULK-STYLE WITH THESE SEXY LITTLE SENTENCE SNACKS AND THEN JUST GETTING UP AND WALKING AWAY LIKE YOU DIDN’T JUST FUCKING DECORATE MY ROOM WITH PLASTER AND DRYWALL

✷ Jetlag is busting your ass, and your concealer is working hard to keep it unnoticed.

oh I really just skksskskskks fucking snorted so loud at this line, my cats both looked concerned skskksskk

✷ Chepe is dressed up for the occasion as always. Chains, gold rings, a nice striped long-sleeved shirt. Maybe you’ll take all of it off tonight. He’s driving this time, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh. You’re not sure if you like how familiar the move feels. Domestic. Wrong and right at the same time.

YOU CANNOT CONTINUE TO ASSAULT ME WHILE I’M OVER HERE JUST MINDING MY OWN FUCKING BUSINESS TRYING TO JUST READ AND COMMENT ON THE TOP NOTCH QUALITY OF THE FIC WITH THISDFASDFA;LSJDF;ALSKJDF;ALKJSD AGASSDLKFJS FUCKING THINGS LIKE “ONE HAND ON THE WHEEL, THE OTHER ON YOUR THIGH” OKAY?????OKAY????????? AND THEN FOLLOW IT UP WITH WRONG AND RIGHT AT THE SAME TIIIIIIIIIIIME?????????? YOU JUST ALSDKJFALKSDJFSKJFSK CAN’T

✷ He maneuvers his between two bright red-looking expensive ones. His toothpick rolls on his lips, leaning back against his seat, one hand on the wheel, as he changes gears. He couldn’t care less if he scratched one. Pocket change.

Sorry but this bit is just fucking writing gold, again there’s always a moment when I come across shit that I love so much, I get mad that I didn’t write it and likeweeeeee fucking pocket change. Jesus your mind, like idk why but I really do love this bit so much.

✷ You always appreciated how he could understand those moments, never feeling like he had to fill it with words.

NOOSOSKSKKSKS BC I ALREADY REFERENCED THIS IN ANOTHER REBLOG SKSKSKSKSKS but this reminds me, once again, so much of that line in Pulp Fiction about comfortable silences trips while running to give it a Goog again, even though I just looked it up like a week ago, but again, pretending like I just had it at the ready so you think I’m like sooooooooiiiii cultured and sooiiiiiii cool sksks “why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable? That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.”

✷ He leans toward you and you don’t understand why you feel nervous all of sudden. Anxious. Homesick.

OH WHATTTTTTTT SKSKSKDK THE FUCK IS IT ABOUT THIS particularly the addition of “homesick” at the end????????? Idk why but it just compounds the sense of like nervousness like it really just imbues the whole thing with such a degree of like “I need to flee, get me the fuck out of here” and idk it just– something about this really fucks sksksksks

✷ You don’t believe easily, and you know what happens to the other women who naively listen and nod. You have seen it happen time and time again.

ON?CE AGAIN WE STAN TF OUT OF A SAVVY READER. “You don’t believe easily,” like???????? There’s something about this that is so discerning it’s almost like ??????? Dangerous in a way??????? Like it’s lethally cunning that way this is phrased but you can also tell there’s an element of like, idk even like …. Longing??? Like Reader wishes they could believe, wishes they could be one of those other women who naively listen and nod but there’s too much wisdom under the facade, it’s impossible GODDDDDDDD JUST ASKDFJSKDFJAL THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS TRULY SOME A+, PUT-ME-IN-AN-EARLY-GRAVE MATERIAL HERE

✷ ‘’ I like you a lot, Chepe.‘’ Weirdly enough, in one of the most dangerous countries in the world, in an unknown garage, in a village you have forgotten the name of already, next to him, you feel safe. You don’t feel like you should tiptoe around his feelings, yours for that matter … ‘’ A lot. ‘’ you scoff, you realize.

I think it’s so fucking fascinating that during this moment of vulnerability being honest with Chepe about where she’s at, how that vulnerability and honesty are liek tied up with/equated to control and agency in a way?????? Like there is SO much of Reader’s identity tied into the facade that she has to maintain in her professional life but the facade still isn’t her identity if that makes sense???? God I really am just fucking obsessed with ehr skskksksksksks like this really does seem like one of the few women Chepe would genuinely fucking leave his wife for imoksksjssksksk along with for Isabella ofc kekw BUT THEN ALSOASLDKKSSKKS THE WAY SHE’S LIKE JUST NOW REALIZING HOW BAD SHE HAS IT FOR HIM LIKE AS IF IT’S NEVER REALLY OCCURRED TO HER LIKE SKKSKSKS “OH FUCK, CREO QUE ME GUSTA MUCHISIMO ESE PENDEJO TAL VEZ” LIK GORL SKKSKSSKKSKSKSKS

✷ Y yo a ti, his silence means.

NO BUT FUCKSIGNSKSJDFKS ALSO ALSO ALSO EVERYONE SHUT UP because the entire time I’ve been reading this and marveling at the use of 3rd person omniscient in a way that’s like super poetic. I feel like a lot of times 3rd POV omnisc can sound super clinical, like it’s so easy to fall into a strictly telling-not-showing but the way you have been throwing in these little poetic flourishes like GDODDDDDD THIS REALLY JUST IS SOME FULL FUCKING PROSE MI GENTE

✷ ‘’ Talk to me. Tell me.‘’ The truth, he means, how you really feel about this, ‘’I’ve got all night.‘’

AGAINSAKDFSKDFJS WITH THE POETIC 3RD POV OMNS LIKE THESE LITTLE INTERPRETATIONS OF WHAT EACH OTHER IS SAYING IS REALLY SENDING ME BC LIEK THE WAY IT REALLY ILLUSTRATES THE SENSE OF INTIMACY BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM LIEK I REALLY BELIEVE IT

✷ ‘’ I want it. ‘’ you begin, toes wiggling inside your heel, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, ‘’ When you say you want to introduce me as yours. ‘’

Skskskskskkskskskks the way I fullllllllyyyy fucking snorted so loud at the toes wiggling to keep your knee from bouncing because SWEET FUCKING CHRIST I FELT IT IN MYOWN BODY SKSKKSKSSK LIKE THAT DETAIL, I HAVE BEEN THERE, I HAVE DONE THAT, SKSKKS TRYIGN TO CONTAIN THE NERVOUS ENERGY BUT LIKE YOU CAN’T TOTALLY KEEP IT IN, LIKE FOR EVERY ACTION THERE’S AN EQUAL AND OPPOSITE REACTION, LIKE THE ENERGY HAS TO GO SOMEWHERE SKSKS GOD IT’S JUST TOO FUCKING REAL

✷ It takes all his being not to surge forward to take your face between his hands. Then let me, let me.

ONCE A-FUCKING-GAIN THESE LITTLE INTERNAL MONOLOGUE GLIMPSES OF LIKE WHAT HE’S THINKING. LIEKE HE’S NOT SAYING IT OUT LOUD BUT SHE AND THOSE OF US UNHINGED HUSSIES READING CAN FUCKING FEEEEEEEEELLL HIM SAYING THIS WITH HIS BODY SWEET FUCK DUDE. JUST FUCK.

✷ ‘’ I wouldn’t mind if you did. ‘’ you admit, ‘’ I’d let you. ‘’ You don’t feel weak for telling him like you thought you would. Chepe brings your palm to his mouth, kissing the skin softly.

Oh this is such an interesting turrrrrrrrnnnn here and god, why do I love the “you don’t feel weak for telling him like you thought you would” LIKE WHAT IS IT????? WHY???? I liek cannot articulate what it is about that admission that’s causing me to squeeze my face but like godddddd I am experiencing some FUCKING FEEEEEELINGS ABOUT IT. Like it’s just a really interesting admission especially after earlier Reader thinking about she’s not naive, she’s not sitting at home waiting for Chepe to call and sweep her off her feet but there is a vulnerability and then power in that vulnerability of actually admitting that even if she knows it’s unrealistic, she still would like for it to be a thing and like OHHHHHH!!!!! OH I JUST FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!! THE FUCKING SELF-AWARENESS, LIKE IT’S BEYOND SAVVY. IT’S TOTALLY SELF-AWARE HOLY FUCK THAT’S WHAT IT IS OH I AM LAUGHING SKSKKSKS AT THE WAY I RAMBLED MY WAY THROUGH TO FIGURING THAT OUTSKKSKSS LIKE IN REAL-TIME. WHATEVER I’M NOT DELETING IT

✷ Breathe, smile, shake hands, repeat. Chepe’s hand reaches blindly for you behind him, and you grab it, just like he expects you to do.

OHASHDFAKSJDFKJDFKSJDFKAJ NOOOOSTOTOOTOTOPPPPPPP BUT THE WAY THIS JUST SPEAKS TO THE ROUTINE, HIM ABSENTLY REACHING FOR HER HAND LIKE I CAN SEEEEEEEEEEEEE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING LIKE I’VE ACTUALLY FILMED IT MYSELF. AND AGAIN WITH THE THREADING OF JUST LIEK TRUST AND INTIMACY BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM, LIKE THIS SUCH A SWEET LITTLE INTIMATE …. WHAT’S THE WORD … NOT GESTURE, BC A GESTURE IS MORE CONSCIOUS….. EXCHANGE??????? I DONTEVENFUCKINGKNOW AKSKSKSKS WHAT I DO KNOW IS I LOVE IT

✷ Blood is pumping in your ears, so loud that it is almost overtaking the music around you. This is exactly where you want to be, precisely what you planned. Inhale with the nose, and exhale through the mouth. It doesn’t come as fast as you would’ve liked, but slowly, air fills up your lungs. It is a weird feeling, really, how after only a few breaths you can feel your body tingle, calm and lightheaded. Revigorated. All part of the facade.

SKSKSKKSKSKSSKSK not me just full copy/pasting this entire ass paragraphs ksdkfskkskskss but I can’t not because like once again, I’m in love with Reader in a way I am rarely in love with a Reader character and like her voice is so distinct it really could be an OC that’s how concrete and well-thought-through she is. But like first off, the pure prose of “blood is pumping in your ears, so loud that it is almost overtaking the music around you,” like okay, literature. I see you sksksksks but then the way Reader almost has to like psych herself up after sort of getting real with Chepe in the parking lot and the car, like I can literally FEEEEEEEEELLLLL the active process of the armor going up as it happens in real time. Like GODDDDDDDDD THERE’S SUCH A SENSE OF COMPARTMENTALIZATION THAT I AM TRULY MARVELING AT, IT’S SUCH A THREAD THROUGH THE WHOLE THING. Like psychologically, shit you not, one of the most interesting Reader characters of all time

✷ Chepe is beaming, all laughs and handshakes, like a true socialite, a fish in water.

OH BUT THE WAY YOU FLIPPED THAT FUCKING IDIOM “A FISH IN WATER” yet another instance of like just a thing being so good, it brings me to despair because I didn’t write it and now I never can

✷ Staying civilized in this jungle is harder than you would have thought.

JUST SUMMORE FUCKING PROSE SKKSKSKS I SWEAR TO CHRIST YOU ARE REALLY ON ONE IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKIGNSKF THING although ngl, given that Reader es que tan chingona al máximo, si alguien puede hacerlo, ella lo puede. Sin duda.

✷ It happens merely minutes after Chepe excuses himself to fill up your drink, the shift in the room … Here they are. The lions.

THE DREADKASKKSKKS THE WAY I CLUTCHED MY CHEST. HERE THEY ARE. THE LIONS. Like my silly fucking mind literally just picturing 3 anthropomorphic lions slowly descending on Reader skskksksks but like they still look like Pacho, Gilberto, and Miguel, like if they were drawn as lion king characters tbh, Pacho would look act and look like Scar just without the scar skskksksksskskk skskskkssk but all Disney tontería aside, this really just changed the entire tone, like put me on edge so much because like that’s exactly how you’d feel in that position if you weren’t regularly riding the hobby horse with one of their lifelong business partners skskskksks so like the fact that Reader is just like skskskksskscompletely compounds the dread.

✷ You see Pacho first, in the corner of your eye. You can tell it is him, from his silk shirt to his waxed brown shoes, from Chepe’s stories, there is no doubt in your mind.

SKSKSKSKSKSSKSK in any fic, Pacho really needs no introduction does he skkks that’s the elite tier that he resides in, in the fandom

✷ Pacho’s smile mirrors your own, like an old friend, a deadly trap. You like him already, you decide, not so different from you, you can tell. Cunning. Smart.

THAT CONTRAST BETWEEN LIKE AN OLD FRIEND AND DEADLY TRAP BUT LIKE THE WAY THOSE TWO SEEMINGLY CONTRADICTORY THINGS CAN TOTALLY BE TRUE AND I CAN ABSOLUTELY SEE IT SO CRYSTAL CLEAR IN MY MIND’S EYE– I AM TRULY JUST SKSKKSKS GAGGGED RIGHT NOW. I NEED TEN THOUSAND MORE WORDS OF THESE TWO INTERACTING PLS.

✷ You don’t know what burns more, his warm fingers pressing gently into your skin or how Pacho’s eyes catch him doing it.

SKSKSJSDFLKSJDFLKSJDKLFJ;AKJSD;LFKJA;LSKJDF;ALKSJDF;ALKJSDF;LAKJSD;FLKJ IMJUSTSOSORRY BUT WE ALL KNOW THE CORRECT ANSWER IS PACHO’S EYES, CATCHING HIM DOING IT, SLAPS HARDER, BURNS MORE KSKSKSKS LIKE I AM CLUTCHING MY FACE, PEEKING THROUGH MY FINGERS SKKS LIKE I’M WATCHING A HORROR MOVIE

✷ You don’t miss how Pacho’s eyes flicker back for a second on Chepe as he leaves. Pacho clears his throat, looking at you over his whiskey, ‘’ So, ‘’ he starts, ‘’ Favorite partner, favorite reina. ‘’

Not two minutes in and Pacho already READING THESE TWO LITTLE PAJARITOS ENAMORADOS SKSKSKKS like it really feels so much sksksksk like an old fashioned duel almost, like such a challenge and reader is lowkey losing already

✷ ‘’ You take care of him good? ‘’ You get it then, why his handshake is so strong, why his eyes are sharp and serious, menacing. Brotherhood.

‘’ I do. ‘’ you stand your ground, hand unmoving, arm strong and chin up, ‘’ As he does to me. ‘’

oh wow ….. wowowowowowowoow I am really just :lebron tear: at brotherhood. Bc like that’s really what it isisiiisiisisisiiskskkskssksksk OH AND I’M FLIPPING MY DESK OVER BC PACHO REALLY IS JUST LOOKING OUT FOR HIS HOMIEST OF HOMIES, LIEK THAT’S HIS CHEPE AND HIS CHEPE MUST BE PROTECTED. Okay but then also???????? I think it’s so fucking brilliant and interesting the way Pacho phrases the question, “you take care of him good?” as like a, “how are you treating my homie,” which however intimidating, is also not the paternalistic way he could’ve phrased it?? Like tf am I even trying to say skskksk I don’t even know… like I feel like if Pacho had phrased it as, “so is he taking care of you,” it would be the more cliche route, sort of like implying that Reader’s some kind of gold digger or taking advantage of Chepe in some way. But it’s NOT phrased that way - it’s very much, “how are you treating him,” and like?????????? god this really is the most rambling of rambles imsorryforeverything there’s just like more implied agency afforded to Reader in just the way the question is phrased and idk why I just feel like that’s actually what Pacho would say?????? I’m sure that’s complete fuckign gibberish but to put it plainly. Yes. JUST YES.

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MANAAAA, you best be continuing this shit or I will full revolt bc like…

Meeting Chepe in New York and him bring you back to Cali for a party/meeting the rest of the gang 👀

Red lipstick

Chepe Santacruz x female!reader (infidelity/cheating, mention of Y/N, mention of drug use, the usual for the show), 3679 words

a/n : - Yo Élise, where were you all this time? Were you dead?

- *cue to picture of that dry-ass taxidermy fox* seasonal depression my dude

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

You can see it as a business meeting, an opportunity for you to go bigger.

That is what Chepe had said to you one day as you met him for your usual drop. Offering you a trip to Colombia, to meet the big ones from overseas, those that completed his inner circle. You had been reselling for him for a few years now, never once coming to a dollar short and definitely ranking in the profit. Probably the best card you got in your deck, Santacruz, am I not?

You never were looking to make it big in this type of business. Selling just enough to be sure to stay afloat, pay your mortgage, feed the people you love, and buy those pieces of jewelry, that a year ago would have been for you a rent’s worth, just because you liked how they shined when you passed the counter display. Greed, envy, lust. It had crawled in your veins fast, venomous, pumping in your blood. Still, just enough to always buy your favorite, to-die-for, 90$ red lipstick every time it ran out, but never enough to get cocky, stupid, reckless.

You loved luxury, lived in it, smelled like it, but you always remembered how red your blood was, how easy it could be spilled. You saw the way the government was knocking more and more doors down, came for the smaller ones before fishing for the big sharks, but all the others didn’t. It’s a war, sweetheart, Chepe had called it, a war on drugs. Teeth filled with gold, snorting all types of white powders, guns-a-blazing, cuffed and judged by justice just as fast. There’s a quiet side to riches that those men never understood. It was what had separated you from the others who had climbed the ranks with you over the years, you had realized. Maybe that’s why you are here today, setting foot down a jet on Colombian soil, or maybe it was just the start of the hardest fall of your life.

As you looked at your shoes, already full of dust, you wondered if there was a time you had ever seen so much dirt on a landing strip before. You don’t have much time to think about it or to worry about the wind pushing your hair or the dirt in your mouth, that Chepe is already in front of you, arms wide open,

‘’ Bienvenido en la capital mundial de la salsa, sweetheart. ‘’

Your smile is bright, pulling at your cheeks, lips painted red, welcoming. A deadly trap. Chepe knows all of this, the facade that goes in the character you play. The survival instinct, the street smart. You made it this far didn’t you?

‘’ Well, I’m more of a bachata dancer myself, but I can make salsa work. ‘’

You had fucked him once. When his wife had been away, doing whatever she did when she went on those trips of hers. All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony. Maybe it had been more than once. Maybe you didn’t feel so bad because you knew she most likely did the same when she claimed she was going on shopping trips with friends. You could always tell with those women for some reason, you could see it in their eyes, it wasn’t hard to miss. You could see it in his too, how he had always known. If he cared or not was still the missing piece.

You take his extended hand to jump off the last step. The heat is heavy, weirdly humid, and dry at the same time. Still, his hand is steady, not a bead of sweat on his forehead, his usually heavy coat switched for a striped shirt. Colombiano born and raised. You did tell him stripes looked good on him once.

This is it, you thought, no turning back, the top of the ladder. The top of the food chain. You just have to shake hands and smile.

The ride to civilization had been bumpy, long, and trying your best to understand your driver with the thickest Costeño accent you had ever heard. A fair price to pay for landing on an illegal dirt patch in the middle of a Colombian jungle.

Chepe had left you with his driver and a bodyguard back at the landing field, slipping you in the passenger seat, making sure your hair didn’t get stuck in the door as he closed it,

‘’ I trust those two with my life. I’ll pick you up at the hotel tommorow ? ‘’

All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony.

‘’ How else am I supposed to empty the mini-bar then? ‘’

Hands gripping your waist, pining you against the shower wall.

It's later that day after he's been gone for hours and your lipstick has been reapplied, that he calls your room phone. You press your lips together, spreading the color evenly, as it rings some more. You take your finger up to your mouth, swiping the excess stain with your nail. Done. Your heels click on the marble floors on your way out of the bathroom,

‘’ Miss me already? ‘’

It's a party, he had said, near the water, you’ll love it.

He scoffs, as you disconnected the call. The more 6 o’clock gets near, the more all of your being screams at you to leave, clawing at your mind to run, not to look back. You know you should, that he would let you call it off and go back home. But the more you want it, the more you itch to open the safe where your passport is locked, and the more you realize you can’t.

You won’t.

The ride over there is less bumping than when you first got here. Jetlag is busting your ass, and your concealer is working hard to keep it unnoticed. Chepe is dressed up for the occasion as always. Chains, gold rings, a nice striped long-sleeved shirt. Maybe you’ll take all of it off tonight.

He’s driving this time, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh. You’re not sure if you like how familiar the move feels. Domestic. Wrong and right at the same time.

‘’ If this is about my wife, ‘’ he had said, with his arms around you, his chin in your hair, ‘’ I’ll leave her. ‘’

You had mentioned stopping everything when he had dropped by earlier. If I actually do this and meet them, I don’t think I can keep fucking you if I want to be taken seriously. Panic clawing at your chest, the reality of your work, the constant threats. There was no way for this to end well for you. For him.

‘’ Ask me and I’ll do it. I’ll call her right now. ‘’

He smelled like cigar and cologne, his palms sneaking under your shirt, warm on your stomach, soft, grounding,

‘’ This is not about her, ‘’ you had explained, head falling on his shoulder as he nuzzled into your neck, ‘’ This is about me, Chepe. About my work. Credibility. ‘’

His other hand pulled at your skirt, feeling the lace underneath. He molds you to him, unbelievably closer now. You felt him shiver against you, felt his breath behind your ear, the goosebump on your arms,

‘’ Tell me, ‘’ he had started with a groan, bringing the material over your waist, his other hand gently wrapping around your throat,

‘’ Tell me whoever dares, and I’ll make sure myself they never speak again. ‘’

You don’t doubt his words for a second.

The automatic light illuminates the garage as soon as Chepe drives the car in. You’ve never seen a garage this big. Cars lined up left to right, every one of them shinier than the other. What a waste of space.

He maneuvers his between two bright red-looking expensive ones. His toothpick rolls on his lips, leaning back against his seat, one hand on the wheel, as he changes gears. He couldn’t care less if he scratched one. Pocket change.

‘’ I probably should have stayed in my room and gotten another 8 hours of sleep. ‘’

He laughs, hearty, loud, deep, as if you’ve just told him the funniest joke of the night. His thumb rubs your thigh,

‘’ Are you going to stand me up? At your own party? ‘’

His attempt at lightening up the mood. In a way, it does, pushing your insecurities and anxieties to the side for a second. He can tell you hesitate, putting off the moment you step out of the car and have to do the grown-up illegal things you have gotten yourself into. You’re not that tired, caffeinated for two, and ready to throw punches if needed. Not that you would have to, with Chepe hot on your heels wherever you go, but it feels like it could calm you down, give you back some control maybe,

‘’ Oh, you’d do just fine I am sure. ‘’ you try to smile back.

You stay silent for a while, more like seconds really, but it feels relaxing and comforting. His hand is still warm on your skin. You always appreciated how he could understand those moments, never feeling like he had to fill it with words.

His thumb presses slightly on the inside of your thigh, bringing your attention back to him. It is darker now in the car, the automatic light having shut off seconds ago,

‘’ I wish I could introduce you as mine. ‘’

You can make out his side profile, the way his fingers drum on the wheel. You sigh,

‘’ José- ‘’

‘’ Ya, por favor, ‘’ he pleads, annoyed, ‘’ You always do this. ‘’

His hand comes up to scratch his stubble, moving down to where his neck meets his shoulder. He massages the skin, before his arm drops, defeated. Chepe moves in his seat, knees turning slightly to your side of the car. He leans toward you and you don’t understand why you feel nervous all of sudden. Anxious.

Homesick.

‘’ I know you think I’m not genuine. That I’m only saying this to make you happy. ‘’

For the first time in months, you don’t know what to say. He is right. Absolutely and utterly right. You don’t believe him when he says it. When he promises you travels, family parties, a career, a ring. You don’t believe easily, and you know what happens to the other women who naively listen and nod. You have seen it happen time and time again.

You sigh, falling back into your seat, trying to disappear inside the leather behind your back,

‘’ I like you a lot, Chepe. ‘’

You sigh, you don’t know where you are going with this. You can’t seem to be thinking ahead, about what you should say or not. Weirdly enough, in one of the most dangerous countries in the world, in an unknown garage, in a village you have forgotten the name of already, next to him, you feel safe. You don’t feel like you should tiptoe around his feelings, yours for that matter.

Your head rolls to the side to meet his gaze, your fingertips raising to touch his face. His brown eyes are on you, pupils blown from the darkness. Sharp nails follow his cheekbone softly, moving up to his freshly cut hair, pushing the loose grey strands back into place. His hand is on your wrist now, going up and down as he caresses the skin,

‘’ A lot. ‘’ you scoff, you realize.

So do I, he wants to say, Y yo a ti, his silence means. You want to lean in, break the space between you, kiss him, end this conversation and force him to bring you inside. You meet his eyes again as your nails roam behind his ear. You know he would let you, but here, today, you don’t think this is what you want,

‘’ We are being honest here, right? ‘’ he whispers, like a secret being shared between you two. You nod softly,

‘’ Talk to me. Tell me. ‘’ The truth, he means, how you really feel about this, ‘’ I’ve got all night. ‘’

You know he means it. Chepe would stay in this car all night if you decided to, he can tell how different the moment has gotten. Twenty minutes ago you would have laughed to tears, reapplied your lipstick, and gotten out of the car. The facade that goes in the character you play. He is still not sure what changed, but it makes him want you to be honest with him, to be true to what you know. Goosebumps spreads across your arm, following the warmth of his palm,

‘’ I want it. ‘’ you begin, toes wiggling inside your heel, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, ‘’ When you say you want to introduce me as yours. ‘’

It takes all his being not to surge forward to take your face between his hands. Then let me, let me. Your breath comes out shaky when you exhale as if you had been holding it for the last minute,

‘’ I am being honest, ‘’ you reassured, he knows you are. You had had deep conversations with Chepe before, nights spent sitting on your balcony, smoking and talking about life and all the things in between. His past, yours. Colombia, New York. Your hand falls to his neck, gently stroking his stubble with your thumb. It’s rough and it’s keeping you grounded, in the car, with him,

‘’ I wouldn’t mind if you did. ‘’ you admit, ‘’ I’d let you. ‘’

You don’t feel weak for telling him like you thought you would. Chepe brings your palm to his mouth, kissing the skin softly. Saying anything else would ruin the moment, and you are thankful he stays silent again. You can hear the music inside, voices laughing and screaming behind the closed door, and you know it is time for you to go and join the crowd. Do what you came here to do in the first place.

You lean between the seats, the cup holder pushing painfully against your ribs, and your hand falls from his lips as you rest your head against his shoulder. His shirt is coarse on your cheek and his fingers soft when he intertwines them with yours. Your thumbnail traces shapes on the back of his hand while you speak again,

‘’ I don’t think I’ve ever been this anxious in my whole life. ‘’

‘’ I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you were up for it. ‘’

You hmm, and he can feel the sound vibrate through his shoulder,

‘’ It’s what you do back home, but here. Your Spanish is great, you’ll fit right in, mija. ‘’ he reassures,‘’ I’ll take care of you. ‘’

He emphasizes the words by gently squeezing your joint hands. You know he will, he always does. You know lots of things about him and that lying, to you at least, is not something he would do. We are being honest here, right? You reluctantly let him go, motioning to him to go ahead, body pulling away, your hand sliding back to your thigh. As he gets out of the car, the lights illuminate the garage again. Bright, blinding. Your eyes follow him around the hood of the car until he reaches your door, pulling it open,

‘’ Let’s do some work now, hm? ‘’

He presents his hand to you, his heart skipping a beat when you accept it, pressing yours against his while your swing your legs to the side to get out.

One step after the other, your heels click on the cement as you walk towards the door that leads inside the house. Breathe, smile, shake hands, repeat. Chepe’s hand reaches blindly for you behind him, and you grab it, just like he expects you to do. Blood is pumping in your ears, so loud that it is almost overtaking the music around you. This is exactly where you want to be, precisely what you planned. Inhale with the nose, and exhale through the mouth. It doesn’t come as fast as you would’ve liked, but slowly, air fills up your lungs. It is a weird feeling, really, how after only a few breaths you can feel your body tingle, calm and lightheaded. Revigorated. All part of the facade.

Your smile doesn’t falter when you meet the first few people, low associates, executants. It is bright, all white teeth and red lipstick. They make no comment, no sarcastic remarks about Chepe’s hand on your back, you let him lower it, let it curve around your waist. His eyes burning and threatening enough that no one dares to look for too long.

Your cheeks hurt, jaw a bit sore from speaking Spanish for the past hour, but the wine feels good and bitter down your throat, helping make those meetings bearable. Chepe is beaming, all laughs and handshakes, like a true socialite, a fish in water. You enjoy watching him more than you do partake in this whole thing. It is different for him here, and you can tell. You thought you would have been the last one arriving at the house, and as much as Chepe shuts down any remarks about the time you spent in the garage and as much as you pretend not to understand what they imply, you know words have already spread in the villa. Staying civilized in this jungle is harder than you would have thought.

It happens merely minutes after Chepe excuses himself to fill up your drink, the shift in the room. How everyone stands taller, pushes their shoulders back, sobering up. Whoever supplier Chepe left you with does not have eyes for you anymore. Here they are. The lions.

You see Pacho first, in the corner of your eye. You can tell it is him, from his silk shirt to his waxed brown shoes, from Chepe’s stories, there is no doubt in your mind. You have to bite first, you think, use this fake confidence to your advantage, and make this meeting yours. Your new wannabe-gangster friend had already abandoned you the second they entered the room. You have no choice but to stand your ground and stay tall too.

You force a smile on your cheeks as you turn to him, charming and warm. Pain and Chepe’s absence be damned. Pacho’s smile mirrors your own, like an old friend, a deadly trap. You like him already, you decide, not so different from you, you can tell. Cunning. Smart.

Your glass of wine is quickly put back in your hands, splashing around in the cup, as your man pushes at the guests around you to meet Pacho’s embrace with a laugh. They exchange quickly in Spanish, how are you doing, how’s the weather over there ? You let them catch up, soaking in how easily the moment flows, perfectly happy to stand on the sideline.

Chepe half turns to you, still going on to Pacho about this plane story of his that you have been waiting for the punchline for a while now. His hand finds your waist, absently bringing you closer to the two of them.

‘’ Hermano, ‘’ he begins, ‘’ Let me introduce you. ‘’

You don’t know what burns more, his warm fingers pressing gently into your skin or how Pacho’s eyes catch him doing it. You had agreed to this, but still, stares and looking eyes make you feel uncomfortable. He leads, you remind yourself, he knows, let him.

‘’ This is Y/N, ‘’ Chepe smiles, chest puffed out, proud, ‘’ My favorite partner in crime. ‘’

Pacho’s eyes are back on you, not on Chepe, not on his hand on your back. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The air feels lighter, your fingers regain color around your glass. You let yourself fall back slightly into Chepe’s embrace, putting some of your weight on him. You share some stories about Pacho’s favorite clubs in New York, how you have to change entry port from now on after the last DEA bust, and how the margins are still going up even though.

‘’ You want another? ‘’ Chepe leans towards you, softly speaking the words in your ear, nodding to your empty cup,

‘’ I’d love that. ‘’ you say back, turning, nose almost catching his, ‘’ Maybe white this time, please? ‘’

‘’ Por supuesto, reina. ‘’

You don’t miss how Pacho’s eyes flicker back for a second on Chepe as he leaves. Pacho clears his throat, looking at you over his whiskey,

‘’ So, ‘’ he starts, ‘’ Favorite partner, favorite reina. ‘’

You nod, sending a smile his way, playful, trying to keep it civilized,

‘’ I’m his favorite lie detector too. I’m never wrong.‘’

Pacho laughs, thank god. He holds out his hand to you, and you put yours in his, giving it a nice shake,

‘’ You take care of him good? ‘’

His hand is firm in yours, he makes no move to withdraw, standing there, a step closer now. You get it then, why his handshake is so strong, why his eyes are sharp and serious, menacing. Brotherhood.

‘’ I do. ‘’ you stand your ground, hand unmoving, arm strong and chin up, ‘’ As he does to me. ‘’

He lets go of your hand as he turns to discard his drink, switching it for two champagne glasses that he swiftly takes from a nearby waiter,

‘’ Good. Good.‘’

You watch him look around, almost bored, unimpressed by all the festivities. Pacho takes a sip first, nodding in approval before holding up the second flute toward you for you to grab,

‘’ You know what I think, Y/N? ‘’

He smiles at you, knowing, sincere. He toasts the rim of his glass against yours, making a stream of bubbles burst from the bottom,

‘’ I think you and I will do great things around here. ‘’

#screamblog #really the only complaint I have #my one single grievance against this is that lieeeeek … there’s not more?#And it would be great if there was more sooooooooo #lowkey jk like do what your heart desires ofc #go where the muse takes you #….. but also :biknife: you should keep this shit rolling #but no it’s actually whatever you decide like live your life #…….. but :biknife: just know I will be watching and waiting okaybye #narcos #narcos mexico #chepe santacruz #chepe x reader #Chepe Santacruz x Reader #chepe santacruz x f!Reader #pacho herrera

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lucindarobinsonvevo · 2 years ago

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it’s my blog and i pick the topic so im going to talk some more about why i think a baller neighbours storyline could have been elle and david fighting over a completely oblivious leo’s attention.

On elle’s part, she has very rigid ideas of what her family should look like and through no effort of his own, Leo fits very neatly into her ‘ideal older brother’ category. Yes, as like ‘Rob but better’ but also in his own unique ways. Leo is genuinely a very caring person, he’s also very charming/suave, affable, and yeah, he has the same kind of worldview that Elle has re: putting yourself first -- And they both aspire to be better people....Even though they don’t always succeed. They’re both business minded (even though Elle didn’t choose to pursue that as her career, it’s seemingly implied she’s either some kind of savant or that Paul is just that good of a teacher. Either way she enjoys being a business person and she enjoys being busy), so they have a lot to talk about together (with Andrew and Amy, who both also run their own businesses), like a bit of a drink, have expensive taste and overall they just are people who would really click I think. Leo is also a consistent and positive source of male attention, which Elle craves, so that’s probably a bonus.

David, meanwhile, has more of a genetic connection with Leo than one of genuine friendship. At least to me. They don’t seem to have a lot in common, David seems to find Leo kind of annoying/frustrating and I don’t think that they understand eachother. Mutually. Not to say that they don’t love eachother they do, but they don’t click on that same level. My mind jumps to right after Britney died and David just couldn’t find a way to get through to Leo at all while Nicolette could. A lot of it is kind of based on vibes more than anything else, but the way Paul and Leo leave David out of their plans because he’s ‘not like them’ I feel is a good textual indicator of this too.

But why would they fight? Well, there’s only one Leo and he has four siblings who are demanding his attention lol. For Elle, she’s completely used to viewing her siblings as an enemy when it comes to attention and affection, I mean that was her whole childhood. David is the complete opposite, he has never had to fight anyone for his family’s attention, but especially not for Leo’s so when he suddenly has to share Leo with other siblings (especially ones he doesn’t know) he’s kind of taken by surprise and it directly impacts his seeming view that his family should be available to him when he wants them to be. So he’s like. Well now I need to get that back. I don’t think that their fighting would be seriously malicious on either side, more like snide remarks, or trying to double book Leo and convince him to keep their appointment, trying to one up eachother in terms of who knows Leo more and who knows him better that kind of thing. Very normal sibling infighting, like the grown up version of the classic ‘new baby makes older sibling jealous’ story.

But I would LOVE for it to come to a head after a couple of months of this childish behaviour with David exploding on Elle (idk, maybe after Leo is injured or he finally picks up on the fact that two people are monopolizing his attention, whatever something changes the circumstances) that she messed it up with her brothers, and she doesn’t get to steal his and for Elle to be completely stunned into silence by this before saying something like “they were our brothers. Leo is my brother too.” idk. something like that. ansjajkjfdksj pet storyline idea i love you <3

#neighbourspost

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faorism · 3 years ago

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needing the au to drop wherein i can commit to writing a historical au,, because since i first watched the db cooper job my mind went straight to OT3! OT3! OT3! (unlike with the van gogh job, since i aint playing with that fucking lieutenant)

one day maybe one dayyyyy i will sit down and i will write the ot3 into that episode's story. so, it'll be the backgrounds for the characters in the flashback (so, stephanie ritter, steve reynolds, and reggie wilkins), but with the necessary personality adjustments (parker, eliot, and hardison respectively). basically, vintage ot3 with some hot as hell aesthetics and secrets and avoiding as much as possible producing copraganda.

so. my thoughts. what i see happening. and this got super long so im throwing this under a cut. and for ease i will call them by their modern day canon names except when making a point.

first, general thoughts about the characters.

and so: steve to eliot. nothing much here on the surface. eliot still volunteers, too much an indoctrinated white man to have been forcibly drafted. so its still one man gone to war. one man come back. eliot would had been noticed early in training for his ability to pick shit up, and they teased at maybe sending him to a special unit. maybe they do, or maybe they don't because they just need to funnel fuckers to the jungle. the vietnam invasion was a terrorist imperialist venture and there's no romanticizing from me about anything done being at all valorous or special or brother-in-arms'y. and eliot commits war crimes under the american stars and stripes instead of just to keep moreau's champaign running. but also maybe moreau is eliot's superior. he certainly would have been rewarded for this ruthlessness. (eliot of course strove to impress moreau because there aint an eliot spencer who wasn't that man's dog at some point, i!!!! dont make the rules). eliot's friend died and eliot's gone off to carry out his wishes and moreau lets him because he Knows eliot is gonna come back. whether its to come back to the same squad, or follow him into deeper spy shit for the military, or to fuck off and go private. then eliot meets parker.

now. stephanie to parker. beth plays normal so well im mad at her, but there's something edgy and strategic about stephanie that i think parker can grab onto. i feel that maybe she was kind of a thief still, but there's more realism to this world so archie wasnt a super secret spy with lasers to practice with, but just a guy with sticky fingers whos a little bored and wants a protege. parker is good really good at what she does, and not having to deal with lasers makes me easy. but she's into scams that are less grifts and more Catch Me If You Can slight of hands. she's always looking for easy money (she was into lifting cars at one point! literally she follows where the crime is). she's doing something in an airport and someone tries to recruit her as a flight attendant because she's got the Look. and yall, flight attendants? that shit was like being a model and an astronaut and a time traveler back then. and according to a teacher i had, who once worked as in the f.a. union, those ladies back in the day were rad and queer and free spirited and runnnnning shit. i think, yes, it's a Job which i think we might resist placing parker into. but! of the jobs, at the time, i really see her rocking it during the time period. (also come on, the opportunities to swindle distracted people of their shit would be endless. they would just think they dropped their stuff in the airport! not that it was stolen.)

finally, reggie to alec. i think hardison will be the hardest to translate. even tho i admittedly listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, i dont know much about fbi life and also definitely don't know about it historically. part of me desperately wants to put him somewhere else even if it does have to stay within the fbi. i might cheat and make him like a Q(uartermaster) to 007/00s like in james bond, and he's like UGH this is horrible god i hate working for the fbi but they will give me funding so...... anyway, here's this totally cool [radio term]. that said, if hardison is stuck in the fbi, why he ends up there is that he is a fucking savant when it comes to research and the man can put together a presentation like no one else. that white man gets all the credit for profiling but it was hardison who goddamn was the google of the microfilm days. reggie felt super square but that might be because he had to deal with mcsweeties db cooper shit day in and day out for years. hardison is more himself. and definitely still a nerd. alec would be into dime fantasy novels and comics and ham radios and oh god he also would be into star trek like the original star trek as it came out and he would be into the zines yes! yessss. omg. also he plays a mean arcade cabinet. but he's mostly well adjusted but lonely. his colleagues dont appreciate him because fbi esp during that time were fucking wilding out and racist as hell aaaaaand im sorry im srry im trying so hard to have fbi hardison make sense but also! acab. ANYWAY.

second, the relationship

i think it would be fun to play with what it means to have parker/eliot start off first and bring in hardison afterwards. (if white collar is your thing, it would be like this canon divergent ot3 fic wherein peter burke is the last to join in.) i feel they would be Super Intense esp since they are carrying this big ass secret. kind of broken and dysfunctional and there's the passion and the commitment, but i think there's also a tenderness that's super hard for them to achieve? and i think there's a way that hardison plays such an important part in who they are and how they are. like, sure i think parker/eliot would have joy but they won't have levity. they would have compassion but they won't have gentleness.

eliot meets hardison after being recruited by nate. i think they get close because while nate and eliot have an interesting and compelling mentorship/friendship, nate is still eliots superior; sometimes its nice to complain about your boss, as hardison will say to eliot to try to make friends. i think hardison and eliot would become legit friends and not just work buddies because they are just not cut out of the same cloth as the rest of their colleagues. they grab beers after work. after hard days, hardison cajoles eliot into going to the arcade. they are friends. real real truly deep best friends, in a way hardison didn't think he could have with a fed and eliot didnt think he would have after his friend died. but also? they are like "buds" who are buds who are desperately tryna to cross any lines because there's a.... tension? an UST between them they dont know what to do with.

parker meets eliot by way of a "lets have my friend for dinner, he's a blast." and immediately immediately hardison is like... wow this woman is beautiful but like, really attracted to her personality. and parker things hardison is kinda dorky but cute dorkie? anyway, they have a puppy love situation growing. and it keeps growing until bam. eliot and parker are like. are we into alec???? fuck we are aren't we.

i think stephanie and steve would never tell reggie (even if somehow they were to be a thing). but parker and eliot? hell yeah they tell hardison. eventually. after a while. sooner than maybe they should. the tension if they should say something is one of the things that build up as UST between them for so long; parker and eliot know they are carrying this huge thing. two huge things. eliot being db cooper and also their massive crush on him.

if i could control myself to stick to a pwp, it would be another christmas. maybe the christmas nine (more?) years down the road. the damn snow grounded hardison's flight back to his nana's, and parker and eliot hear this and invite him over. the egg nog gets flowing and parker eventually is like,, fuck this. and comes onto hardison. and hardison would be like wow wow what but... idk, free love and swinging were In The Thoughts And Minds Of The People. he still checks in with eliot who is like. her body, man; i aint gonna tell her what to do. and for a sec hardison is like, man is this a cuck situation? i guess i can be for it but also...... aint mad if i aint alone. and eliot is so grateful and idk. i just want them all to be happy and having fun and no one to be left out. and yeah i am kinda brushing over a lot of the racial politics which, in a more developed fic rather than a pwp, would definitely need to be brought in; but idk that needs to just be in the bedrock of whatever plot is going into this.

it takes a lot of maneuvering of their lives but they make it work and eventually hardison is a keeper of eliot's secret too.

(apart from the historical aspect, another reason i probably won't actually write this is because i know myself. i would want to do worldbuilding. i would follow eliot and alec to their jobs, but i wouldnt want to write outright copaganda. the grit/realism i would be comfortable with would take a level of research i dont think i can commit to. but if someone wants to take this up or if you figure out a way around this issue, pls do i wont be mad)

#eliot spencer #parker leverage #alec hardison #leverage #thiefsome #okay i srsly am not this active but this week got me wanting to talk and talk about these three beauties #the db cooper job

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tigerlilynoh · 5 years ago

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Almost Got ‘em

Written for the 2019 @spnsummergen. Rating: G Featuring: Original characters, and a couple familiar faces Word Count: 3,143 Warnings: foul language Author's Notes: The prompt was “Early season - demons in hell plotting to take the Winchesters down.” I was immediately inspired by the Batman: The Animated Series episode “Almost Got ‘im.” Summary: Deep in the depths of Hell, a group of demons discuss the two latest pains in their collective ass: Sam and Dean Winchester. Rumor is that the brothers had found the Colt and even killed a demon. Of course, rumors are just big talk— yet a pair of demons patiently listen; their plan is already in action.

Two figures made their way through the halls of the third lowest dungeon in Hell. As they walked the jagged stone walls seemed to close in around them, but their petite, female forms prevented the blade-like rock from tearing at their temporary flesh. Even if they were injured it would be of no importance; they were demons and there was a meeting that they very much wanted to attend.

Both were wearing lean, blonde women who might’ve been mistaken for sisters, but that was the limit of their outward similarity. The slightly older of them wore a gauzy, white dress that, when combined with her delicate steps, gave her the air of a drifting spirit. Her partner was another story. The younger demon’s black combat boots thudded with every step, announcing her presence. Her attire was entirely leather—the cow sort, not human—dyed dark enough to hide spilled blood.

Neither of them said a word as they approached the auxiliary dungeon rumored to be containing an unusual sort of rendezvous. The pair didn’t have anything more to discuss for the moment. They both knew their immediate goals, responsibilities, and when push came to shove, which of them was in charge. They damn well better have known. Between the two of them, they’d spent over a decade putting their respective pieces in order and double-checking their work.

When they reached the unmarked door that they’d heard whispers about, the demon in the white dress pushed it open without hesitation. She stepped through the door with an unassuming demeanor. Her colleague followed her, studying the contents of the chamber with a wary eye.

Inside there were eight lesser demons standing or sitting around a storage room. Three racks had been laid out flat, then pushed together to create an improvised conference table. Five of the occupants were perched on crates of acid, steel nails, and other implements of pain. The remaining three leaned against the far wall, cautiously keeping some distance.

A brutish-looking man with pasty skin, a pronounced brow, and stringy black hair glared at the newcomers from the opposite side of the table. He stared with the intensity of someone who had taken charge—he certainly didn’t hold any noteworthy rank as evidenced by his badly calloused hands that hinted at many decades or centuries of wielding a whip, the shoddy ones meant for working souls.

In a low growl he asked the two women, “What do you want?”

“We heard that this is the place to be if you truly hate the Winchesters,” answered the elder one.

He stared at them for a moment before replying, “Get inside and shut the fucking door.”

The pair entered, closing the door behind them. From the way that everyone turned their attention to a stout demon sitting on a box labeled ‘spiders’ they assumed that it was his turn to speak. The two women settled themselves on a non-technically-iron maiden that was lying along one of the walls as if it were a bench.

The stout demon resumed addressing his audience. “So then I tore the cow apart—six chunks, big ones but still enough to spread around, and some smaller hunks. You don’t want to waste it by piling the whole cow in one corner of the room. You might as well not bother cutting the damn thing up—Anyway, I hung pieces of it throughout the house.” The sound of scuttling inside the box he was sitting on filled the room as he fumed for a moment in anger. “It’s a classic omen! It’s a horror! And the older of the brothers makes a joke about hamburgers!”

“So disrespectful,” muttered a female demon with hollow eyes and frayed white hair. Several demons nodded in agreement with her comment.

“That kind of work takes time,” complained the portly demon. “I’m not a high-caste demon. I can’t just wave my hand and make things move. Do you have any idea how long it takes to cut up a cow? And the first cleaver broke and I had to find a store—”

“Was it a vegetable cleaver?” asked the lean demon with a mangled left arm and long, frizzy brown hair sitting next to him. When he looked up at her face in confusion, she rested her hand on his thigh, then said in a soft voice, “Milmont, sweetie, two kinds of cleavers. Vegetable ones aren’t made for bone.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered a red-haired demon. He was dressed like Billy Idol but his rosy cheeks undercut the attempt at an edgy look. “Did you fight them or not?”

“I fought them!” Milmont replied indignantly. “I had a knife—”

“Paring or bread?”

“—and I swung at the older one’s neck.”

One of the demons standing in the shadows noted aloud, “Swung means a miss. You got your ass kicked.”

The stoat demon flustered a bit before reluctantly explaining, “He shot me in the chest with rock salt and hit me in the face with his gun—”

“You fell on your ass,” guessed the red-headed demon.

“The younger brother can perform an exorcism really fast,” Milmont said while shifting, jostling the box of spiders.

“You shouldn’t have gone after them,” said the brutish leader of the group. “You’re too weak.”

The stout demon glared as he hissed, “I have every right to go after the prey I choose. I’m allowed to prove myself!” He waved his hand at the rest of the room as he asked, “How many of you have been exorcised by them? If you’re here bitching about the Winchesters on your weekly one-hour break, yeah, I’m guessing they made you look like an idiot too.”

Several of the demons nodded in acknowledgement of the point or murmured agreement. The leader let out a small grumble as he reached into an open crate next to him. He pulled out an unlabeled bottle containing reddish-tawny liquid, then yanked the black cork from it with his teeth. After taking a swig, he handed it to Milmont.

“Corceo.” The stout demon toasted him before having a sip.

“You’re lucky that you were only exorcised,” the hollow-eyed woman told him while reaching out, wordlessly asking for a drink. Milmont passed it to her and she took a sip before continuing. “Rumor has it they possess the Colt.”

“Dajhila, they don’t have the Colt,” replied the demon with the bad arm. “I brawled with them ten days ago and they didn’t shoot me.”

“Maybe you aren’t worth the bullets?” jabbed the rosy-cheeked punk.

With her good hand, she picked a knife up off the ground and stabbed it into the wooden table in front of her, inviting him to fight.

Corceo, the leader, hit the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “Tisha, don’t carve Frey a new asshole. He has plenty already,” he joked, earning a chuckle from one of the demons watching from the wall. “The fact is that they had the gun. They killed Tom.”

“Tom was an idiot,” huffed Frey. “The only reason he wasn’t wading through viscera like the rest of us was because he was Azazel’s son.”

“Apparently he was attacking Sam, and Dean shot him,” Dajhila explained. “There were witnesses.”

Frey shrugged indifferently at Tom’s death. “Silver-spooned nepotist should’ve been the one to get his ass beat before he got shot.”

“I’m fine with the younger Winchester getting that bludgeoning,” interjected Tisha. She snarled, “You know that little shit is a psychic? I was so close to killing them. It took me three weeks to lure them to this abandoned insane asylum. I’d murdered twenty people in there—six hunters came before the brothers finally took the bait. That’s the shit I had to deal with in order to roll out the red carpet for those thick-brained, underwear-model-looking—“

“They aren’t that good looking,” said Milmont.

“They are,” countered Corceo. “Now let her finish or I’ll tear your fucking tongue out.”

Dajhila with the hollow eyes quietly said, “We should’ve kept the talking stick.”

Frey held up the pointy, splintered remains of a blood-stained wooden dowel that had evidently been used to stab someone. The woman shrugged, conceding that it had worked better in theory than in practice. The red-haired demon tossed it aside, grabbed the bottle of alcohol from where it had settled on the table, then gestured to their current storyteller.

Tisha waited a beat to see if anyone would interrupt her before continuing. “I swear on my life, that Sam kid really is a psychic. They knew it was a trap. I’m sitting there with a semi-automatic rifle—I’m not fucking around—and all of a sudden the sprinklers are raining holy water.” Her lips curled downward at the memory as she snarled, “Sam used a megaphone from the parking lot to exorcise me. I only got to see their faces as my cloud was getting dragged back down.”

“Jesus,” exhaled Frey. “A megaphone… and you had a rifle.”

“What weapon did you go after them with?” asked Tisha.

He thought for a moment before finally admitting, “A big rock.” Everyone stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter, so he added, “Sometimes simple is best. We’re stronger than them and there was a big rock right there that I could throw— It was a tactical decision.”

“With genius thinking like that, it’s no wonder we can’t catch a break against them,” said Corceo.

Dajhila commented, “The only good news is that the dad, John, he died two months ago.”

“John Winchester, hunter savante— That piece of shit finally dropped?” Milmont looked around, eyes wide with excitement. “What did ‘im in?”

“I do not know.” The hollow-eyed woman crossed her bony arms. “Margot, down in processing, says his file is classified, but it is there.”

Frey leaned forward with interest. “File— We got him? Fucker isn’t playing a harp?”

“In the pit as we speak,” she replied smuggly. “Rumor is that Alastair’s working him personally.”

“Alastair?” asked Corceo. “They’re breaking out the Grand Torturer himself for a Winchester?”

Tisha nodded slowly to herself as she put together a few pieces. “Well, he is classified.”

The two women silently observing from their place on the iron maiden exchanged a knowing glance. The one in leather subtly placed her hand on a bulge by her belt that was obscured by her jacket, but the woman in the white dress discreetly shook her head and gestured for her to wait. At the order, the younger demon gave a quick roll of her eyes before relaxing her posture. By the time they’d turned their attention back to the meeting, the conversation had switched back to discussing different methods of pursuing the still-living brothers.

“Dean is a hedonist,” commented Dajhila. “Take a meatsuit with a figure as an hourglass and lay yourself in his path.”

Tisha raised an eyebrow. “You really think he’s going to fall for something like that?”

“He’s young and proud.”

Tisha countered, “He’s a paranoid with low self-esteem—“

“Here we go,” muttered Milmont.

“—You all think they’re heroes out of a fucking Greek epic, but they’re just men—feeble, petty little things—“

“Little,” Frey scoffed. “Have you even seen them?”

Tisha slammed her fist on the table. “They are mortal children, too absorbed by their grief and self-pity—Yes, they are little, but that makes them paranoid, partially-psychic, sneaky cunts who use megaphones.” She paused a moment to look around the table at the others, then said, “And maybe they don’t have it now or maybe I wasn’t worth the bullets, but they know about the Colt. They know how to kill us— Kill, not exorcise.”

After a brief, pensive silence, Milmont asked, “When was the last time you heard of one of us getting killed? Cain going nuts and turning traitor? That was almost 150 years ago—Earth time.”

Corceo nodded. “Half the crew in my dungeon wasn’t even turned back then. The sniveling pups thought we were immortal until they heard the news: the fucking Winchesters killed Tom.”

There was a grumble of shared frustration at the indignity. Humans had managed to kill demons, for the first time in over a century—and the bastards hadn’t even had the decency to stick around long enough to be killed in return.

“We have to stop them,” said Milmont quietly.

Frey scoffed. “Have you been listening or are ya’ as dense as iron?”

“Oh, choke on a ball of blades,” Tisha hissed.

The red-haired demon waved his arms, sarcastically miming fear.

“Save it. The enemy is up there.” Corceo waited to see if anyone would interrupt, then continued. “I’m tired of all this theatrical, solo bullshit. We murder them in their sleep. If they salt the door, we use guns. If they ward the building, burn it down. Fucking drive an oil tanker truck into them—this is war. So how do we find them?”

Milmont replied, “Since their dad died, my denmate, Bahshin, spotted them a few times with another hunter: male, middle-aged, reddish-brown greying hair and beard, baseball cap, one of those grizzled sorts.”

Tisha nodded. “I know the one. His name is Bobby—don’t know the last name. I’ve run into him and his partner a few times. He sticks to the north central U.S. Rural looking, lots of plaid. He had an old truck.”

“Fucking hick hunters,” muttered Frey.

The woman in leather sitting along the wall wordlessly withdrew a small notebook and pen from her pocket, then wrote down, “Margot: soul processing department grunt,” and “Bahshin: den-dweller, has an Earth pass.”

Corceo eyed the two silent newcomers from his place at the table. “Taking notes? Dainty little things like you gonna go gunning for the big bad Winchesters?” He laughed. “Well get in fucking line. You come here, don’t say shit, and crib off our hard work— How close have you come to offing them? What makes you so cocky you’re gonna be the ones to kill the bastards?”

The woman with the notepad gestured to her partner, inviting her to address the challenge. The demon in white stood up and smiled, unconcerned by the hostile attitude of the others in the room.

“We haven’t tried to kill them,” she replied. “And we have a plan, the likes of which history has never seen.”

“Ready to shared with the class?” Frey asked. “What brilliant plan are you two peons gonna try?”

“We’re gonna give them what they really want.”

Corceo’s eyes passed over the two women. “A pair of eager-to-please blondes in suggestive clothes?”

The woman in the white dress corrected him. “The only one we’re eager to please is our lord, Lucifer.”

A few of the demons chuckled at the absurd statement. Lucifer was a fairytale, as much as God and angels were to the humans.

“I’ll bite.” Corceo’s mouth curled into an amused grin, punctuated by the occasional barbed fangs. “What are you gonna give them?”

“We’re gonna make them heroes.”

The demons around the table laughed outright at the reply.

“You’re going to make them heroes? Those hunter bastards know about the Colt. They killed Tom. They’ve been exorcising us.” He placed his hands on the table and stood up, ready to confront them. “The Winchesters aren’t scared of us—not the way they should be. We’re demons. That still means something. So I don’t know what crazy scheme you’re thinking up, but it isn’t happening. They don’t get to be heroes. They die.”

“They’ll die when we—” She gestured to her partner “—say they die.”

“Looks like we have something of a race on our hands.” Cerceo walked up to her and stood so that they were only a few inches apart. A head taller than her, he glared down at her before hissing, “You think you can beat me to them?”

Her eyes turned white, causing his jaw to drop. “Child you’re busy boasting and we’re on step fifteen.” Lilith waved her right hand, locking the door to the room. In a quick backhanding gesture, she threw Corceo against the far wall, then turned to look at her companion. “Ruby.”

Ruby stood up and smiled as she drew her knife from the holster on her belt. She systematically worked her way through the room, killing the others while her partner held them in place with telekinesis. Afterward, she placed the bodies on the table, then rested her palms on the topmost corpse. A few lines of Aramaic later, blue flame engulfed the bodies, destroying the evidence.

While watching the fire, Lilith asked, “Is Meg ready?”

“She’s still running recon on the other children. In terms of pressure points so far: four have lovers, eight of them are close to a parent, and we have a few like Sam where the sibling could be an incentive. As of yesterday, she was watching the stoner with imprinting telepathy to figure out his achilles’ heel.” Ruby wiped her bloody blade on the sleeve of her jacket to clean it while asking, “Did you take care of Crowley?”

“I encouraged several of his aides to let a few deals lapse. Numbers are down. He’s dying to get a big deal.” Lilith looked at her. “The second Dean Winchester’s soul comes across his desk, he’ll sign off on the contract just to get his name on something. The grubby-fingered broker didn’t check the fine print on John; why should the son be any different? I’ll hold Dean’s contract and the moment he bites it, he’ll get expedited delivery to Alastair’s dungeon. No official processing. No gossip—” She gestured to the smoldering remains of the demon who had accidentally outed Margot as a leak in the processing department. “—No mistakes this time.”

Ruby huffed an unamused laugh. “The two of us sure as hell won’t have time to clean up any messes once this show gets rolling. Round one we could afford to have things go a little sideways. Once we pop up on Sam’s radar, that’s it. We’re in, and I’m not coming back downstairs on a fucking milk run.”

“It will all turn out,” Lilith assured her. “Our lord wills his return. He cannot be denied.”

Ruby didn’t reply to the pious statement. Instead she studied the charred racks in front of them. “I know he’s your mentor and we couldn’t have done this without him, but Azazel can’t survive this. You know that, right?”

Lilith nodded. “When he finishes aligning his pawns, he’ll throw the fight. He knows how important it is that Sam’s anger be directed solely at me. That means clearing the field for the next generation of nemeses.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby placed her hand on her partner’s shoulder. “When I’m done with him, Sam will be foaming at the mouth to kill you.”

“I envy you,” Lilith sighed. “You’ll live to see our lord. It’s going to be beautiful.”

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