#▌write that down ( apropos )

[transvampireboyfriend]

my favorite thing about living near my abuela is exchanging food with her (and not just her, but it's like, between households, because my abuelo is part of it too). and we're not always trying to, sometimes it's us buying stuff for each other and sometimes it's just that when you cook there's left overs and so we swap those. but without fail I never arrive without food and I never leave without food and viceversa, and I think it's the most loving gesture I've ever given or received.

[sunshineyuyu]

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho. 

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out. 

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual. 

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door. 

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan. 

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch. 

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits. 

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap! 

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked. 

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it. 

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it. 

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back. 

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.” 

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

[p0orbaby]

aitana raising a little bookworm/genius

i don’t usually write child!reader but this wasn’t a painful as i expected it to be

-

“I know what that word is,” you say, casually, like you’re pointing out a dog.

The man at the next table lowers his newspaper a little. He’s one of those middle-aged, corduroy-and-quirks types who wears tortoiseshell glasses and thinks silence is intellectual. You’ve just broken that silence by solving 3 Down on his crossword. The clue was “Unmoving, like calm water”, six letters. You said “placid.”

He blinks at you. Then at Aitana.

“Sorry,” she mutters, not really sorry. “She reads over people’s shoulders now. It’s a thing.”

You’re swinging your feet under the table. There’s hot chocolate in front of you—lukewarm now, because you don’t trust “hot things”—and your chin is sticky with foam.

“It was obvious,” you say, picking marshmallows out one by one. “Still water is placid. It’s like… flat. But not boring. Just thinking a lot.”

The man laughs nervously, folding the paper shut. “She’s quite bright, isn’t she?”

“She’s four,” Aitana says, like it’s both an explanation and a diagnosis.

“I’m four and a quarter,” you correct. “And I can do the calendar in my head. Watch—today’s Wednesday. So my birthday’s gonna be on a Sunday next time. That’s annoying ‘cause no school cupcakes.”

Aitana gives the man a look that says, this is my life now, and turns back to you. “Eat your toast.”

You pick up the triangle of sourdough with extreme suspicion, as though it might betray you. “You forgot the jam.”

“No, I said no jam.”

You blink. “Then you forgot on purpose.”

Aitana pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t forget on purpose.”

“Yes you can,” you argue. “That’s how secrets work.”

She snorts into her coffee.

You’re weird with numbers. Not in a “Rain Man” way—just quiet about it. You count everything. Steps, street lamps, birds on a wire. You remember licence plates without meaning to. You once asked the doctor why the ceiling tiles were laid out in a Fibonacci pattern, then cried because they said “what’s that?”

And your reading. Jesus. You were reading the IKEA catalogue at two and trying to phonetically pronounce “Malm.” Now you read everything. Exit signs. Soap labels. The legal disclaimer on toothpaste.

“You said bad words are only bad if you use them to hurt someone,” you say now, apropos of nothing. “But then you said the f-word at the blender yesterday. So… did the blender deserve it?”

Aitana looks up at the ceiling like salvation might live there.

You keep going. “Also I know what ‘orgasm’ means.”

She chokes.

“Where did you hear that?”

“TV.”

“What were you watching?”

“MasterChef.”

There’s a long, tight pause.

Aitana closes her eyes. “Context?”

“He said the sauce gave him one.”

“Oh my God.”

You sip your lukewarm chocolate and say, with great finality: “That’s not very sanitary.”

[melancholicstation]

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ALL THE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN IT —HUSBAND!JACK SCHLOSSBERG COMFORT HEADCANONS 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

jack schlossberg fan fiction is for the lovers

WIFE!READER returns and is the orion carloto archetype, who balances modelling and writing, and i imagine her making tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce on tiktok.

taglist: @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl

no matter the stressor husband!jack literally treats it as a top-priority emergency

immediately goes to start a bath for you in your gorgeous copper bathtub (cause of course you have a copper bathtub ... duh) with some suzzane kaufman bath salt's that he picked up down in greenwich after a meeting with vogue's magazine department.

husband!jack is a freak for baths and it's rubbed off on you ... seriously like that man takes baths multiple times a week, on top of daily showers

if he had to be out on a day you were particularly anxious for whatever reason he would come home with a laundry bag of new tasteful yet cute stuffed animals from loewe and never tell you the prices cause he knows you'd crash out

is great at being a body pillow and has no shame just laying in silence together for hours

would try to make you feel better by getting the overpriced (not in your opinion) criterion subscription just so you could watch vintage halloween movies without running a risk of getting hacked on some third-party sketchy website

would 100% let you live in his clothes while he was out of the house so you could feel comforted even if he wasn't physically near

would absolutely try to distract you with light comedy, despite his cockiness he is indeed a funny guy so it helps slightly

husband!jack would be such a proponent of a healthy mind is a healthy body so he'd make you go do jump rope with him (cause why does jump roping have to be so humiliating) or even worse takes you out to paddle board, like imagine your knee-deep in that melancholic state where you only read plath novels and listen to unreleased lana and your boyfriend drags you out to go paddle boarding???? like cmon now

you do feel better afterwards but you would never tell him that

if you guys owned any pets together he would without a doubt tell you he's going to be out for a couple of hours and come back with one of those portrait paintings of house-pets to cheer you up (editors note: vang olsen mimi does the most delightful pet paintings if your in greenwich!)

he would absolutely NOT be above trying to self-medicate your problems (within reason) by smoking w*ed with you or sharing a cigar being the chicest couple ever!

would 100% smother you in delightfully soft cashmere blankets in the pattern of gorgeous tapestries

would earnestly read poems (robert frost, emily dickinson, and shakespeare) to you to get you to sleep on the especially hard days

is a devout optimist and routinely talks you out of your doom scrolling

always holds space for whatever emotions you are feeling but always wants to provide solutions to your problems

and when he encounters a problem he can't so easily fix he invests time into getting your mind off it and plans steps you can take to lessen the hold whatever your stressing about has on you

writes mini impromptu love letters/pep talks on the empty spaces in your agenda notebook (wife!reader would totally own more than 1 of these louise carmen organisers in an apropos shade of autumn scarlet )

encourages you to do self-care rituals with your staple skincare products by letting you do the exact same steps on him

while husband!jack cooks for you both you read him your favourite chapters of "democracy" by joan didion in the kitchen every night and it remains a pillar in your routine despite the tumult

during your hard times jack is serving peak husbandry doing the washing, cooking and cleaning

when he's on his lunch break at the office you get text messages like this:

always makes sure that you take your medication (if you take any) at the exact times its supposed to be at and has little alarms on his phone

husband!jack would increase his acts of service to 1000% like that man would be taking your row boots into the cobbler for a new sole

would bring home flowers without a special occasion, just cause

would without a doubt bring out those STELLAR accents just to see you smile

disclaimer: this is all obviously fiction and i do not know this man nor how he calms anyone down, this is all for some fun distraction in these trying times.

to anyone struggling with the results and its ramifications (same here) i would really encourage you to read this beautiful (free) essay from alanabanaxox on patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/i-miss-dancing-115580140?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_fan&utm_content=web_share

[rockyteriyaki]

“I can’t see,” Max complains. Daniel props his phone up on the weird, blocky hotel lamp. “Daniel. I cannot—how will I be able to see you, like this.”

He turns the phone sideways, to landscape mode, and Max’s face lights up. In the little corner square, the white bedspread stretches behind Daniel, all the way to the headboard.

“Oh, there,” Max says, pleased. “Now I can.”

“Front row seat, baby,” Daniel says. There’s a tacky stripe in his arm hair from where someone had spilled beer on him, jolting out of their seat at a touchdown. A tiny American flag is planted in his backpack, colonizing his Bills hoodie and bottle of lube. Daniel feels invigorated. Max’s face scrunches.

“It would of course be better if I was there,” he says, stubborn.

Daniel gives an exaggerated scan around the room. “I dunno. The cuck chair in here’s nothing to write home about. You’re better off on the jet, I reckon.”

Max’s mouth falls open. He starts to say something, but Josh knocks on the door before he can get it out. “Whoops,” Daniel says, rolling off the bed. “That’ll be him.”

When he’s back in frame, he’s being pulled down onto the sheets by Josh’s massive arms, not quite violent but not quite gentle either. Just steady, unrelenting. How Josh always is.

“Daniel,” Max says, as soon as he can see him again. “Daniel. I won. In Brazil, just now. From the back. I won.”

“Hi Max,” Josh says. His voice is bright, only barely singed with the rasp of winning a home game. He’s amicable even as he spreads Daniel’s knees, up and over. Daniel likes him a lot.

“Hello,” Max says, absently. “Daniel. Did you hear?”

“Fuck,” Daniel says. He’s settled on Josh’s lap and he can feel his dick tenting his sweatpants. Josh grins sheepishly.

“Since you texted,” he tells Daniel, apropos of nothing. “I was hoping you would. I was sitting in the locker room, just thinkin’—“ he trails off, glancing at Max on the phone and then back up at Daniel. He grabs Daniel’s hips. “Thank you. Thank you, DR, fuck.”

Daniel preens and Max chokes.

“I won,” Max says, steadfast, but the hitch in his voice is one that Daniel could recognize blindfolded and in ten different time zones. Daniel plants a hand on Josh’s chest and he goes down easy, staring and panting like Daniel has a Super Bowl ring on each finger.

“I know,” Daniel says, indulgently. He rocks his dick against Josh’s bulge, a pantomime cowboy, and he and Max let out twin groans. “So did he.”

[johanna-swann]

Not enough (for me) to write a whole fic about it, but a cute thought I had:

Tommy wanting to reach out after the funeral, but not wanting to make things more complicated for Buck. He has enough on his plate already. Tommy remembering he took some food home from the reception and he still has Buck's tupperware - the perfect excuse to drop by in person and check in without it becoming awkward (it is supposed to be just a short visit).

Tommy going over there and only Eddie and Christopher are there because Buck ran out to do some shopping. They chat a little bit and (despite Tommy's foolproof plan) it gets a bit awkward. He didn't really talk to Eddie much at the funeral and the man did ghost him for half a year. Buck arrives soon after though and Christopher and Eddie leave to visit Pepa.

They talk a little about this and that. Tommy helps put the groceries away because even though it's a different kitchen, he remembers Buck's system. They get around to talking a bit about Bobby and going back to work after the lab incident, if only superficially (it is supposed to be just a short visit). Buck offers Tommy something to drink and because there's still coffee in the coffe maker anyway (Tommy wouldn't want to cause Buck any inconvenience and it is supposed to be just a short visit, but the coffee is already there) and Buck hands him a cup just how he likes it.

Tommy leans back against the kitchen island. Buck sits on the counter opposite him. The evening sun is shining warmly through the window. It is supposed to be just a short visit, but they go from talking about going back to work to talking about weird calls they had recently to talking about Chimney going on paternity leave soon to talking about Tommy's accountant cousin who's about to become a dad as well. They don't even think about getting more comfortable and sitting down at the table or on the couch, it is supposed to be just a short visit, but the hours pass and the sun goes down and they're still talking and Buck is telling Tommy about a bionics based aviation exhibit he heard about when Eddie and Christopher come back. Chris goes straight to his room to get ready for bed, but Eddie comes to join them in the kitchen.

"You're back already?", Buck asks surprised and Eddie reminds him they were gone for hours, why are Buck and Tommy still standing in the kitchen the same way he left them? (It was supposed to be just a short visit.) "Time flies I suppose", Tommy says: "Apropos flying - what were you saying about hummingbirds?" And Buck goes back to talking about the exhibit and how he has been thinking Tommy would like it too. "It sounds fun", Tommy agrees and looks at Buck: "You haven't seen it yet?" Buck answers no, he only read the description online and things have been so hectic lately - would've felt weird to take an afternoon to go to the museum instead.

"Well", Tommy says and smiles a little: "You've got me intrigued now." Buck grins triumphantly: "See, I knew you would say that." Tommy hums and continues: "Maybe I should check it out." He watches Buck's face carefully for a moment. "Maybe this weekend, I'm off shift", he says then pauses again. Buck tilts his head, carefully holding back a smile as if he knows what Tommy will say next. Maybe he does, it is tradition after all. "What are you doing Saturday?"

For a second Tommy swears the sun comes back up the way Buck smiles at him. It was supposed to be only a short visit to bring back some tupperware, but Tommy leaves with a date and the feeling that maybe things will work out this time.

[A few extra lines because maybe I am a bit petty after all:

"You think this is a good idea?", Eddie asks Buck after Tommy leaves: "He dumped you, you were really hurt and didn't get over it for months."

"Well, you and I had a really bad fight only last week and we're still friends. Should I reconsider that decision as well? Besides, we already almost got back together a couple of weeks after you moved to Texas. Things got a little delayed due to- well. Everything. But this was already sort of happening. Neither of us really "got over" the break up in the first place and we're only going to the museum, not a Vegas chapel. So maybe you should try being happy for me for once instead of constantly doubting my ability make sensible, adult choices. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to research the flight pattern of geese."]

[writeblrfantasy]

i'm sorry but it's true and someone needs to say it. the best books you will ever write will not come from the idea that you sit down, plan out meticulously, consciously working hard on every detail before you ever start writing and slowly working through the problems that arise.

the best books you'll ever write will come from an idea that hits you like a sucker punch in the chest in the middle of the afternoon on a regular monday, after which you will barrel through a draft in an utter fugue state, making everything up as you go and dropping the best lines/prose you've ever read in your life, apropos of absolutely nothing, until a few weeks/months later you pop your head up and look back at what you've created and declare that you are michaelangelo, actually. and then you'll wonder how you did it and not have an answer when someone else asks. you were possessed by god and he is no longer in the building

[spurious-result]

So honestly, Walt's visit to Jesse in Gliding Over All is lowkey one of the most devastating scenes in the entire series.

Because the thing is - the tragic irony of it all - is that for once in his entire goddamned fucking life, Walt came to try and make things right. He's just learned that his cancer is back; he's getting out of the meth trade for good. He hasn't seen Jesse in months.

So where does he go?

He leaves the money on the porch, out of sight, because it's the reason he came but also it isn't, really. Waits to be invited in.

And then the two of them just... standing there. Walt reminisces a little about the RV, apropos of nothing. Remember when? Like the "we should catch up" coffee with an ex-lover - the attempt at closure that never feels quite right. The lingering, awkward silence.

Watching Walt clock the wariness in Jesse's eyes, and understand what it means... the way he won't sit down, or turn his back. Won't let Walt close the distance between them.

I'm not coming back.

I know.

We had money, says Jesse. Why'd we keep it? Why did we have to have the world's shittiest RV?

Inertia, says Walt - like it's a question. Sad little smile, before he turns to go. Because it's not about the RV; none of it ever was, really, and the money doesn't fix it. What else is there to say?

We were happy then, weren't we?

None of this is an actual apology. Not what Jesse deserves - not even close - but it’s the closest thing Walt is still capable of by this point.

And then, AND THEN -

I love that we don't realize until it's over that Jesse thought Walt had come to kill him, which of course re-contextualizes the entire scene and turns it into an absolute gut punch.

Both the writing and acting here are, just... *chef's kiss* It's understated, and subtle, and so fucking sad. 10/10, no notes.

[beyoncesfiancee]

what's on your secret internal moodboard for your wake/g1d/pyrrha trifecta, esp with the first two (since pyrrha gets a lot of love as it is)? what are the biggest wellsprings you're drawing from/aiming for with everyone's favorite scourgin' mary and inverted brutus?

i could smack a big kissy on your face for such an apropos question !

wake

is everything to me. obviously. what matters to me with her is contextualizing her canonical violence and wrath (like achilles' wrath... HELLO... she's a mortal woman whose wrath dares to reach the heights of the gods and which ultimately destroys her...) in light of her role as the leader of a revolution. she's literally not purposelessly angry or purposelessly violent. I already blew up someone else's inbox about this today lol but imo the books portray BOE as a whole in kind of a clueless way from the liberal exterior viewpoint, that doesn't really get into what a revolutionary movement would themselves value and hold as their norms & ethics. and in regard to that, how and why they use violence, and how and why violence is so much a part of wake's language.

I'm reading the zapatista reader atm and have been for the last few months, not that i really see wake as a subcomandante marcos figure because she's not as much of a speaker/demagogue, more so that much like the indigenous resistance in chiapas the sheer cultural, linguistic, and political polyphony of any BOE organization must mean that wake is a brilliant, compelling figure that people want to follow. she's not a violent brute (one way she's often depicted in fandom too...) she's a POLITICAL LEADER who has united MULTIPLE WINGS THAT OPERATE COMPLETELY SEPARATELY to accomplish HUGE OPERATIONS THAT SEVERELY STRUCK AT THE ROOTS OF THE DEEPLY ENTRENCHED EMPIRE. like... she's 100% a compelling speaker and leader and someone you trust and want to follow into suicide missions, because you know she'll bring you success. and she had and did! you can't be stupid with how you use violence and achieve that level of success!

and the one thing you need to add to wake to make canon click with her humanity is literally just that—her internal truth and her humanity. the reason why she's doing what she's doing. because the cruelty of the empire broke her heart and she has enough life and fire overflowing in her to want to keep that from happening to anyone else. the rest all falls into place once you start writing her like that

I also see her as a figure of classical greek tragedy—she's the ultimate example of being destroyed by hubris (trusting a lyctor!!), and compared to the other two points of the triangle she's the most fragile and mortal, yet also the most explosive and larger-than-life. her life is a brief yet enormous blaze compared to g1deon's eternal stonelike misery and pyrrha's lone, flickering star. and because she pursued life so hungrily and overreached in striving with the gods for greatness (there we go with achilles again), she was always doomed to death. the domain of her lifelong hated enemy. wow someone should write some dactylic hexameter greek epic poem-style about her confrontation with her own mortality in the river and how her religious beliefs are thereby challenged and her rage is fanned enough to turn her into a revenant ^_^ ahem ahem

also i think because her main squeeze has a cock people are always making them fuck PIV style and i think that's boring tbh. i mean yes it's fun and sexy and we all love a good dicking down (well many of us) but i like having her and pyrrha fuck queer style because i think it's more reflective of her character to break boundaries, fuck with traditions, be a cunt who devours and circludes, violate the norms of cav-necro penetrative erotics, and aggressively top in pursuit of her own pleasure (in addition to which... well see the last paragraph of my pyrrha answer)

i also didn't even get into the virgin mary thing but in my BOE griddlehark fic i have kind of a marian ancestor worship cult around wake (props to @katakaluptastrophy for providing the thinking behind BOE's animist ancestor worship religion) and in my dactylic hexameter thing i have a big list of epithets by clarissa pinkola estés for the virgin mary/the madonna/the wild mother: obsidian blade... the undoer of knots... she who carries the soul across fenced frontiers... the shirt of arrows... the black madonna...

also listen to this impeccable wake playlist which I'm pretty sure is by @dve if i'm am not mistaken

g1deon

is ofc the dark horse in both the books and the resultant fandom. i've already written at length about what a disservice i feel both the books and fandom have done his character (try clicking 10 random wake/pyrrha fics and NOT finding a scornful comparison of how shitty a lover g1d is or what a douche he is generally as a tactic to differentiate him from pyrrha).

so for me what's important to him, and what defines his character, is the sacrifices he makes for john both pre- and post-rez. he's hector, he's the archangel michael, he's the archetype of warrior manhood !but! in an utterly self-abnegating way. this is one facet of the way john's necromancy takes everything positive (in the +-charged sense, not in the yay happy sense) and turns it inward, perverted, and starved.

unlike a man raised in a patriarchal warrior culture, g1deon has no pride or identity in his kills and the sacrifices he makes to accomplish them, and he has no brotherhood. the two people he truly loved were both women, and he killed them both for the sake of john's goals. and he used to have a brother, even, he and john used to be brothers, but john removed himself from that role w/ g1deon for the pursuit of power.

so any way i choose to depict g1deon will be as 1) someone with dignity and selfhood in a way that the fandom only rarely seems to think he deserves, and 2) someone with a heart who has loved and lost in the name of devotion. not that he's a soft man or that he hasn't done atrocious things in john's name. but it's just to counterbalance his book&fandom portrayal in a way i feel is more fair and interiorizing.

anyway stream swim good that's basically everything I wanted to say about him... i didn't write as much about him in this answer but we really don't get much of him in the books, SMH. I don't like to go too off-piste from canon but I want to take what's there and honor the humanity hidden within it. (I have to guess that we'll have more g1deon in alecto, right? it just wouldn't be fair otherwise, right? ... RIGHT?? T_T)

pyrrha

and you didn't say especially pyrrha but i think that my secret internal moodboard for pyrrha is important as well!!! in my 5 planned pyrrwakeon fics (3 currently pubbed), none are from pyrrha's POV, and that has a twofold purpose. 1) there are already a ton of fics from her POV, as you say, as well as a whole canon novel focused on her, and i want to explore the two under-served points of the love triangle, and 2) i actually really like her as an enigma.

e.g., something people neglect with her a bit i think is her suicidality. how else can you characterize someone who falls in love with landmines? the woman swallowed bleach for god's sake. jury's still out on whether she killed herself or g1deon killed her for their ascension (i have it as her killing herself in my g1dfic but i've been thinking and now i'm not so sure i want to go for that) but if there's one thing we know about pyrrha it's that she fucking loves doing shit that's very dangerous and a horrible idea, partially to feel alive, partially to feel dead and thereby free.

so therefore my theory on her caring for nona, and less so cam & pal, is an uncharacteristic break toward life and hope in the long long slide through samsara as a means of escaping soul death that has been her 9000-year undead existence thus far. but i find the depiction of this facet of her character to be far more compelling from the outside, such as, from wake's POV, or g1deon's.

ALSO SHE WOULD NOT WANT TO BE A MOM OR DAD AND DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A PARENT SORREEEEEEEEE (her "why did you bring along the baby" is about her pity for a helpless creature suffering yet more needless death, not that it's specifically hers and wake's, and her care for gideon nav & nona are on a soft human level despite herself because no one else will and not demonstrative of a secret desire for parenthood STOP MAKING WOMEN CHARACTERS WANT TO BE PARENTS *panting & swallowing bile*)

anywayyyy very very very soon forthcoming to explore this final third of the triangle is my ultimate wake/pyrrha lying liars genderfic in which she, through the proxy of getting fucked by wake, wrestles with her grief over losing both her own body and losing g1deon as her lover/partner/friend. and you can bet wake just looooves being used as a proxy for someone else to work through their issues ^_^

...

in conclusion, wake/pyrrha/g1deon is a land of contrasts. let wake have political values, let g1deon be a fucking human being, and stop making pyrrha always top. thank u.

[oppropro]

Chapter 2 of my fanfic

I am so happy to receive the positive feedback on my story inspired by @jttw-monkeybusiness. I had a hard time writing this chapter as it is from the perspective of different pilgrims. I want their thoughts to be believable and true to their nature, while also being true to @celestialkiri 's vision of these characters in her AU. I got a bit overly ambitious with this chapter and had to cut it short; the rest of the story will continue in a 3rd chapter. This has a better narrative flow.

So without further ado; I present chapter 2 of Monkey Business based on the creations of @jttw-monkeybusiness all credit goes to her.

********

CHAPTER 2- Here's your sign

            Sun Wukong, King of Mount Huaguo, Great Sage equal to heaven, was losing his patience. His master, the monk Tripitaka once again avoided near death thanks to the valiant efforts of his disciple, Sun Wukong. The very same disciple he chose to ignore when he warned the monk of the dangers of the demon hoard that had laid a trap to kill and eat the monk. A trap so obvious even Pigsy should have seen coming. That is, if Pigsy could ever think with his brain and not his stomach.

            And what thanks does Wukong get for saving his master and his pig-headed brother? Another lecture on how violence does not solve every problem. Well, violence certainly solved that problem. Besides, if his master had simply listened to him in the first place, they could have easily avoided the demon’s trap and Wukong wouldn’t have to resort to violence.

            “Hardships we face on our pilgrimage are simply a test of faith, and it is through our faith that we will ultimately persevere.” Monk Tripitaka spoke in a slow and deliberate manner.

            “Well then start showing more faith in me!” Wukong replied.

            “This journey is not just about you.”

            “And yet it is I, once again, coming to everyone’s rescue.”

            “I appreciate that you were able to rescue us, but that does not change the fact that you do not get to dictate the path we must follow, or default to wanton violence as a solution to every obstacle.”

            “Those demons were going to eat you and the pig alive! They weren’t even coy about it! If everyone just listened to me, it wouldn’t have even been an obstacle.”

            “We cannot avoid every danger, or burden, or obstacle we face on our journey.” Tripitaka’s tone conveyed a clear message: this conversation was over. “Even if such a challenge were to fall from the heavens and land directly on us. We will face whatever lies before us head on and accept the fate that has been ordained by Buddha.”

            “Well then, Master, you can find somebody else to save your ass because I am tired of being the only one around here who-” Wukong’s sentence was cut short as, apropos of the monk’s declaration, the heavens had opened up and a strange blonde woman fell upon the angry monkey’s back.

********

            Sandy, Pigsy, and Bai Long stood at the side of a clearing and watched their brother and their master argue back and forth. They had seen this exact same scenario played out before; it was safe for them to assume that it wasn’t going to be the last. The novelty of these fights had worn off and now they simply wished they would get to the point where Wukong would learn his lesson about self-control, humility, and acceptance so they could move on with their journey. For all the talk about other people slowing him down, Wukong sure liked to waste time arguing moot points.

            However, a girl falling from the heavens and landing on their elder brother’s back was new. They and the monk stood agog staring at the unforeseen spectacle before them: the woman had hair the colour of summer sun, and her clothes were foreign. The sack that she carried on her back had fallen off, that too was made of some strange and heavenly material not found on earth.

            Her face had landed in the dirt, her legs tangled amongst the limbs of Sun Wukong, and she moaned as she cradled her temples in her arms, nursing whatever wound she incurred from her less than graceful decent from heaven.

            Tripitaka was the first to break free from his spell. Still unable to process what had just happened, he rushed to the side of the stranger in an attempt to help her sit up an regain her composure. Pigsy followed his master’s lead and the two of them were able to prop the woman up and assess her for any injuries: some bumps and scratches, all superficial. That didn’t rule out the risk of any serious, or even deadly, head wounds.

            “Little sister, are you hurt?” the monk asked. “Do you understand me? Can you open your eyes?”

            The woman replied with a whimper, as she slowly blinked her eyes several times trying to purge her tears. Pigsy watched her blue eyes dilate and constrict in an attempt to regain focus. They had never seen a foreigner before. He knew that humans in other countries looked different, and that they were bound to meet foreigners on their journey to India, but the difference in eye colour was striking. This wasn’t something to dwell on, however; the woman needed help.

            “Good, good, little sister, you’re going to be alright. Let us help you. Just keep breathing nice and slowly.” Pigsy spoke to the woman in a low, slow voice and began to exaggerate his breath in so that the stranger might mimic him.

            “HOW ABOUT THE TWO OF YOU QUIT FAWNING OVER THAT STUPID SKY WOMAN AND HELP YOUR BROTHER OUT!”

            Wukong’s voice hit the stranger like a slap to the face. She gasped as her eyes widened and she finally focused on her surroundings. Pigsy was familiar with the expression on the stranger’s face: shock, confusion, fear; a primal fight or flight reaction that all humans experience when face to face with a demon.

            The stranger’s breath became quick and shallow, Pigsy could sense her heart rate bounding. There may still have been hope that Tripitaka may calm her down, but as she looked down at his elder brother, the demon monkey trapped between her legs, flashing his fangs as he scowled at the woman, he knew what was about to happen.

            He let go of the stranger as she screamed and began kicking wildly at Wukong until they were finally untangled. As the terrified woman struggled on all fours to get up and make a mad dash into the forest, Wukong jumped up with an unwarranted sense of accomplishment. Congratulations you stupid monkey; you successfully scared a woman.

            Tripitaka went to mount Bai Long. “Sandy. Pigsy. Please, help me look for our new companion. Monkey, you stay here and watch over our camp.”

            Whatever pride Wukong felt fled his body as soon as his master spoke. “What? Why are you chasing after her? She means nothing to us.”

            “Where you not paying attention to what our master had said?” Pigsy spat.

            “Yes. Even if such a challenge were to fall from the heavens and land directly on us. Well, I just passed buddha’s test. I overcame that challenge and didn’t even resort to violence. I guess I have learned my lesson now and we can all continue on our way. Oh thank you great and wise buddha! You have made me a better monkey.”

            “You have learned nothing,” Tripitaka snapped. “Now we have to go find this woman lest a fate worse than crashing into you befalls her.”

            The monkey growled. His blood was beginning to boil.

            “Then I will bring this challenge back to you, master.”             Wukong took off in the same direction as the woman before the monk could object. beginning to boil. He raced through the canopy following the stranger’s trail. The path she left was easy enough to follow. Even if it wasn’t glaringly obvious, Wukong could smell her: her scent; her blood; her fear. He could hear her: her ragged breath; her racing heart; her pitiful cries for help. The great monkey king would catch up to this pathetic whelp in no time and return her to his master so he can figure out what he wants to do with her. But before he brought her to his master, Wukong had some questions of his own to ask the woman. At the very least, this stupid woman owed Sun Wukong an apology.

[detta-pica]

“I miss beating you at video games,” he tells Suguru, apropos of nothing. “And staying up all night watching horror films. You’re ridiculously cute when you get all worried about the protagonist, you know?” Suguru’s face is right in front of Satoru--Suguru’s perched on the table, facing him--but his features blur together a bit, making his expression hard to read. It’s so unfair that Satoru can’t even look his fill while Suguru lets him stay close. Satoru closes his eyes. At least Suguru’s cursed energy is easy to observe, a constantly rolling vortex of power. Slow, but far from dormant. “The whole point of watching horror is to be scared and worried.” Suguru sighs and leans a little closer, probably resting his elbows on his knees. “I miss spending time with you, too. I think we’ve already established as much.” “No, you don’t get it.” There’s something frantic and fluttery clawing up Satoru’s throat. His knee begins to bounce, and he rolls the mostly empty mug between his palms. “It’s. I miss being a second year, having Haibara and Nanami follow us like ducklings. I miss messing up on missions because we were too powerful to care. But that’s different. That’s--it’s just nostalgia. It’s whatever. With you, I…”

I can't believe I'm still posting WIPs from this fic. Hopefully things will calm down after Sunday. I'm already fantasising about writing on the train.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 46: Chisme

Merry Christmas, yah filthy animals! 😜 This has been long overdue, and while this year has been awful and landed me in the hospital for emergency surgery, it actually forced me to slow down and rest - which helped me finally finish this installment~! Hope you enjoy 😊

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 21,000+

Summary: You feel serene and content now that Javi knows what you've been going through. It's brought you both even closer. So as the gala looms close, and you each get wind about all the gossip regarding your not-so-secret relationship at work, will the opinions of others test you both?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, angst, wariness, anxiety, and fertility worries. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, light bondage and dirty talk. Allusions to jealousy, animosity, foreboding threats, and resentment. Some Jealous!Javi, Protective! Javi, Nervous!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

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Previous chapter - Chapter 45: Deserving - Part 2

Chapter 46: Chisme

After the surprising rollercoaster of emotion and passion that transpired following the barbecue, you and Javier are on cloud nine.

It felt like the last big wall that you'd kept up to guard your heart had fallen away, and Javi was still there, devoted and willing to love and protect you. And for him, it felt like a big obstacle had been conquered for you both. Not to mention that you understood the depth of his love for you, finally, while also making him feel the most fulfilled he's ever been. Yet still yearning hopefully for so much more still to come.

The next morning, while still cuddled in his arms, you'd told him about everything. Explained everything the doctors had told you so far, all the tests and check-ups, how you'd been off of the pill since before he'd come down to take the job. All your fears regarding your fertility issues being permanent – seemingly inherited from your mother, who'd had trouble conceiving. How that had played a role in the dissolution of your parents' marriage.

How you'd started to consciously fear that the same would happen between you and Javier.

His heart had ached at you telling him that.

Resolute, Javi had insisted, "Querida, that would never happen—"

"But, I just…I wasn't sure. We'd talked about it so loosely, but that was if it happened by accident. And—And at the time, I didn't think that I wouldn't be able to. That the choice wouldn't be mine. I spent so much of my life protecting myself from getting pregnant, I didn't ever think the possibility was nonexistent—"

Gently, he'd pressed, "Mi amor, you don't know that yet. You said nothing's been diagnosed yet."

Taking a breath, you'd gazed into his eyes, and asked, "What if, you want to start a family one day, and I…I can't get pregnant?"

"Honestly? I spent all day yesterday anxious, thinking you might've been, and I was," Javi paused, not wanting to say 'I was scared' since it wasn't accurate, but then he continued, "I was nervous. I don't think I'm cut out to be a parent. To be a father" was his admittance, and at your shocked expression, he confessed, "But then, seeing you hold the baby? Thinking of us being there for each other, doing it together, if it was happening? It didn't seem scary anymore."

Touched deeply by that, you'd hugged him tight, and Javier nuzzled you sweetly when you whispered, "Really?"

"Absolutely," he'd assured, dark brewed eyes softening as he caressed your cheek tenderly.

He'd gone on to tell you how it wasn't anything like the last time he'd had the prospect of fatherhood foisted upon him. How Lorraine telling him she was late had filled him with terror, and a paralyzing sense of doom. But that the thought of not doing right by her hadn't even crossed his mind. The obligation is what had kept him in the relationship that had always been rocky, with only the hope of being a good father – a good provider – keeping him from sinking into dread every day. And how all of that had caved in around him when she'd told him the day before the wedding that she'd gotten her period. That from the start, she hadn't been completely sure she was pregnant, but had thought it would be good for them – that it'd make them settle down, and commit completely.

It was the most Javier had ever spoken about that time. Sure, you'd known important details. That around the same time he'd been thinking of applying to the DEA, Lorraine had told him she was late. How to keep things from devolving into gossip and drama – to preserve her honor and not disappoint her parents, he'd told her they should get married. And the rush to plan something had included asking her father for his blessing, showing him the ring Lorraine had picked out and he'd purchased, and booking the chapel on the hot summer day for the nuptials to happen not even a month later.

But hearing how the feelings had been so different then than they'd been for him the day before? That unlike feeling resigned to his fate then, he'd felt something shift for him at the thought of you being pregnant? It made your heart feel full.

So, all the fear and shame melted away when Javier had told you with genuine feeling, "If we're meant to have a family, we will. Nothing is decided for us. As long as we love each other, and we want to make a life together, that's everything I could ever want. I want to build a life that matters with you, Celina. I want to make you happy. I love you."

As you wait outside the shop, reminiscing about the heart-to-heart, you think about how you'd told Javi, "I love you so much, Javier. I want the same thing," and are distracted in your fawning thoughts, so you don't notice Zoraida rush over from the nearest mall entry until she's tapping you on the shoulder.

Startled, you whirl around and huff at yourself before warmly greeting her with a kiss on the cheek and hug.

"Someone's jumpy," she wisecracks, smiling as she gives you a knowing once over. "Did you get a tan?"

"I did," you answer simply and lope over to the front display window of the shop. "Rafa is meeting us here, right?"

"Yep! He's on his way from Buchanan," she retorts and checks her watch. "Tayra said she's coming from Guaynabo, so hopefully she'll get here soon."

"And the plan is for the engagement party to happen Sunday at their place, right?" you ask, as you absently balance your weight onto your left hip and shift your purse to sit more comfortably on your shoulder.

"Yeah, it's gonna be a surprise. He's taking her away to propose Saturday, and when they come back home, the party will be happening," she explains, then adds amusedly, "I cannot believe one of us is finally going to succumb to marriage."

"Well, she could end up saying no, so the surprise party might be kind of awkward," you sarcastically muse.

"Ay, por favor. You know she's been wanting to get married forever," is your friend's glib reminder, to which you concede with a sardonic shrug. "Are you bringing Javier to the party?"

"Yes, and I'm warning you from now to not give him the third degree, ok?" is your stern mutter, crossing your arms when she scoffs and waves you off, so you insist, "Seriously. I want to bring him along and just have a nice time. The focus should be on Naida and Rafa anyway—"

"What're you lecturing Zory on?"

You both turn to see Tayra approach from the central promenade of the mall, with her long stride and confident poise.

"Eh, she doesn't want us to interrogate her jevo on Sunday," Zoraida deadpans before kissing her hello on the cheek. "With her track record, I don't think we should listen—"

"Zory!" you snipe, taking umbrage before quickly greeting Tayra hello.

"Well, she has a point. We didn't do nearly the questioning we should've the last time—" is Tayra's matter-of-fact musing that you scoff dismissively at.

"This isn't like the last time. I've told you plenty about him and our relationship already. Probably more than I should've. So be satisfied with that, and please, just be nice to him," you beseech, hands going to your dark blue pantsuit-clad hips when they both exchange contrarian looks.

Just as they seem about to tag team you with their objections, Rafa approaches from the nearest entryway into the mall.

"Hey, guys! Thanks for meeting me and helping out with this," Rafael Pagán, Naida's longtime boyfriend, greets boisterously as he hugs you each.

"We're more than happy to!" you affably assure.

The discussion around Javier is put to the back burner, and the four of you enter the jewelry store filled with wall-to-wall display cases. You are greeted by a saleswoman behind the center display console, who helps guide you all over to the engagement ring section.

The assortment of fine jewelry and lavish-looking diamonds throughout are clearly intimidating for Rafa, so you three talk through all the specifications you know Naida would like in an engagement ring.

"—Something that will fit a setting like this one. She's never liked the standard wedding band."

"Yeah, and no pear-cut diamond! She thinks it's the ugliest."

"And yellow gold. She thinks platinum gold is nice, but she doesn't think it looks traditional enough."

After perusing the display counter individually, you each decide to pick out a ring for consideration.

"Oh, what about that one?" you point out a specific ring in the display case to the saleslady, and once she's retrieved and placed it down on the glass surface for you all, you remark, "It looks timeless, elegant."

The girls check out the sweeping cross-prong, classic 3-stone engagement ring in the yellow gold band, admiring the clarity of the center circular diamond and the smaller matching ones on either side of it.

"Wow, it kind of looks like one of the ones she used to have in that scrapbook, remember?" Tayra remarks, and Zoraida nods along.

"Uh, scrapbook?" Rafa asks, looking nervous.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not like she's been fantasizing about her perfect wedding since she was 13-years-old or anything," Zoraida can't help quip, and you shake your head comically at her adding, "All the way down to the pattern of the napkins at the reception—"

"Anyway, I think this one is definitely a contender," you redirect sagely and gesture for the girls to keep perusing the display case.

Doing so, Tayra selects a more vintage-looking option, while Zoraida picks out a very glitzy 18-karat gold and knife-edge diamond ring with smaller stones lapping the band on either side of the big princess-cut center diamond.

Leaving the final decision to Rafa, you each agree to not lobby him to pick in front of you, deciding to be surprised by the selection like everyone else will during the engagement party.

"—Oh, remember her ring size is six," you tell Rafa as the three of you wish him well and say your goodbyes.

"Thank you all! I really couldn't have done this without your help," he genuinely declares before going to the purchase counter to deliberate on which ring to choose.

As soon as you three are away from the shop and at the main thruway of the mall, Tayra mutters to Zoraida, "You know there's no way he's picking yours, right?! That was easily a 5-figure ring!"

"He said he's been saving up!" she defends, and you snicker drolly, so she needles, "Oh, so when Javier asks for our help to pick a ring, I should go with the most cheapy-choppy thing, eh?"

"Mine wasn't cheapy-choppy!" you counter, shoving her wryly by her shoulder. "I have a photographic memory, and that ring was almost exact to one of her favorites in her scrapbook."

"It just wasn't gaudy, like you like your jewelry, Zory," Tayra lobs and grins.

Scoffing with outrage while you purse your lips knowingly, Zoraida snipes, "My jewelry is not gaudy! It's just ritzier than you two like wearing, is all. As a matter of fact, Eleanor Roosevelt called, and she wants her ring back, Tayra!"

"Oh, whatever! It was a gorgeous vintage ring! That oval-cut diamond is timeless, and the braided band was something she's always liked as a design feature—" Tayra litigates to Zoraida, who plays aloof as she checks her manicure.

"It looked like the ring an old lady wore before The Great Depression," she zings dryly.

"Ok, I think we all have said our pieces. I guess we'll just see on Sunday, won't we?" you declare and gesture for a truce between the three of you.

All in agreement, you each exchange goodbyes in order to hurry back to your jobs, going your separate ways, with well wishes for the rest of your day and exclamations of, 'See you Sunday!'

You walk through the busy mall towards Sears, which is on the side of the building with the adjoining parking garage. As you go through the main level and head up the escalator to the third floor, you're unaware of the stares from some of the men in your vicinity as you stroll by – attention on getting through the lunchtime crowd so you can make it out to your car, which is parked on the top level of the garage.

Ugh, I gotta come back here before Friday with the girls, you're thinking to yourself, remembering you still need to get a pair of heels to go with the dress you're wearing for the gala. As you mentally itemize other errands and chores you needed to complete before the weekend, you're on autopilot while walking through the furniture showroom of the department store en route for the adjoining food court entrance.

It isn't until you've made it midway into the bustling space of diners milling around waiting in lines, grabbing tables, or meandering in the way, that a feeling prickles at the back of your neck.

Turning to look over your shoulder as you keep walking, you don't see anything out of the ordinary that could explain the weird feeling that you were being watched, so after almost bumping into a group of middle schoolers at lunch during their school field trip, you chastise yourself for not paying attention, and rush towards the outer exit.

You get to your car, and are about to get into the driver's side, but something makes you dutifully round the vehicle and check to make sure your tires look fine. Finding nothing out of the ordinary yet again, you scoff at yourself, get in the car, and pull out of the spot before cruising down to the ramp to exit the structure out to the street leading towards the avenue that will make your commute back to the Federal campus shorter.

While you're pulling into the security checkpoint's front gate, Javier is trying to rein his impatience in as he once again gets left on hold while trying to reach the FBI Agent in Charge, Bozzi, who has been indisposed most of the week so far.

"—Sorry for the wait, Agent Peña. We were unable to reach Agent Bozzi. Would you like to leave a message?" the man's admin politely explains when she returns on the line.

"I've been trying to get in contact with him almost every day this week already. Just tell him to call me back as soon as possible, please," he instructs curtly before ending the call. "Fucking prick," is his sharp grumble as he leans back in his desk chair.

"Who's a prick?" Steve asks as he walks into their shared office space with his refreshed mug of coffee.

Glaring over at him, Javi grouses, "How 'bout you call that Bozzi asshole and see why he's blocking the coordinated op, before I go over there and kick his door down."

"Oh, I'm not in charge of that, amigo," Steve acerbically rasps in that twang of his, shrugging innocently when Javi scoffs and scrubs his palm down his face in clear aggravation. "Plus, you don't want to signal to the guy that he's able to get under your skin, do yah?"

Huffing gruffly at Steve's point, Javi broodingly crosses his arms and concedes, "Of course I don't, but I don't have the patience to put up with this inter-agency standoff bullshit."

"You could go to Mercer about it?" Steve suggests, knowing by Javier's glower that is definitely not a serious prospect. "Or just go back to your days of running down informants, and roll up on the asshole?"

Grunting moodily, Javi considers it, then wonders out loud, "Think he'll be at the gala Friday?"

"Hah, you're willing to have a dustup with the dude there?" Steve asks, taking a quick sip of coffee, then presses further, "With Celina dressed to the nines, and practically all the Federal employees in attendance?"

Grunting sourly at the mental visual of him blowing his stack at Bozzi in the middle of the swanky event, with you standing by, horrified, Javi shakes his head and exhales, "No, that wouldn't be right."

"Well, I heard he's a gym rat. A lot of the federal agency guys use the training facilities at Fort Buchanan. It's supposed to have a state-of-the-art fitness center. Including a boxing ring," Steve mentions thoughtfully as he organizes his desk.

Absorbing that, Javi ruminates on it. While he considers the merits of dropping in on the FBI special agent without warning, you're in your office reviewing the progress reports on the upgrades your team has been undertaking.

After a few minutes of that, you sigh and set the reports aside so you can take a break and take another bite of your lunch. You pause just as a knock raps on your door, followed by Devon poking his head in. Waving him in since your mouth is full, you quickly dab your napkin over your lips while he apologizes.

"Sorry! I wanted to go over your calendar for the trip?"

"No worries! I had to run out during lunch so I've been multitasking eating and reading," you retort affably and put the lid of your lunch container on before grabbing for your planner. "We've been so busy lately, so thank you for being proactive and helping me plan this."

"No problem. So, I was able to coordinate the best dates the team lead there could have everyone be available for the conference in St. Thomas," Devon explains as he sits in front of your desk and reviews the itinerary he's worked on. "I think with everything coordinated right, you'd only need to be gone two, three days tops."

"Oh, excellent," you reply, relieved to not have to bother with making the arrangements this time around. "The last trip before the holidays had been such a hassle. I didn't plan the flights right and had a day layover."

"Luckily they've increased the flights now, so there are more options," Devon remarks before going into detail about the dates, tentative schedule for meetings, the conference, etc.

You're just in the middle of finalizing the last details when another knock on your door draws both your attentions to it as Ellis opens it and leans in to ask, "Interrupting anything?"

"We're just planning for that upgrade conference in St. Thomas," you retort and wave him in as you ask, "What's up?"

"Totally not important, but I'm going to be busy the rest of the week with some telecom stuff, so I wanted to ask if you knew the level of swank I need to dress for the gala Friday night?" your friend explains and asks as he sits in the available chair next to Devon.

"I swear, did no one read the email?" you joke, amused at Devon and Ellis exchanging puzzled looks, so you relent, "Ok, I don't think they did a good job spelling it out in the invite, but based on the location and who will be attending, it's cocktail attire."

"Soooo…" Ellis dramatically intones as he moves his hand in a beckoning gesture for you to elaborate.

"So, not business casual, and not black tie. Basically a nice suit. Nothing casual," you explain with a wry smirk when Devon nods and Ellis frowns. "Just let Anita dress you."

"Har-dee-har," he drawls comically before asking Devon, "You're a snappy dresser, so how fancy you planning on taking it?"

"Well, Noreen is wearing a cocktail dress, so I plan on wearing a dark suit and tie," the younger man answers, adding, "Oh, and a matching pocket square."

"See? That's perfect cocktail attire," you razz Ellis, who has always preferred being business casual.

"Alright, fine. I'll just have Anita get something for me," he defaults amiably as he looks at his watch. "Crap, I gotta head to my meeting. You and Anita were going to the mall still, right?"

"Yep. Connie, too. We're planning on meeting up Thursday at Plaza after work. Now go, before you're late!" is your quip.

As Ellis gets up and pats Devon on the shoulder in goodbye, he asks, "You and Javier are riding to the gala together? Or do you need a ride?"

"So far, we're driving together. I'll let you know if plans change," you retort coolly and wave him off as he exits your office.

Once you're both alone again, Devon scoots to the edge of his seat before asking, "I take it things are official?" At your curious expression, he clarifies, "Forgive me for asking, I meant about you and Agent Peña."

"Oh. Yes. We've, um, reconciled," you find yourself answering, before scoffing at your choice of words, then adding more confidently, "Yes, we're seeing each other again. He'll be my date to the gala."

"Good, I'm glad," Devon genuinely tells you, and at your brows raising in query, he confides, "There's just been chatter in the building the last few weeks. Mostly speculation—"

"Mind telling me some?" you interject, tone easygoing as you add, "It's when you're the subject of the gossip that it tends to rarely filter your way."

Cracking a lopsided smile, Devon nods and admits, "Well, everyone has heard some version of Colombia and what went down there; how your relationship was secret, but still managed to, um, get out. But for some time, since he first set up in the office here, really, people have been speculating that he only came down here to rekindle things."

"Oh?" you ask, intrigued, but not giving anything up.

"Yeah. I guess the gossip picked up from you both being seen walking together on the campus after lunch one day. And occasions when you've both driven out in the same car together for home?" he tells you as he idly toys with his work binder after sitting back more comfortably in the chair. "It's mostly been observational. No negative commentary or anything. At least none that I've heard."

You absorb that, then respond, "Thank you for telling me. In full transparency, we've put off disclosing the relationship officially to the chief, but plan to do so very soon. Since the guidelines aren't as restrictive as they'd been back at the embassy, it didn't seem like anything we needed to rush."

"Understood. And this stays between us," Devon replies earnestly.

You sense his genuine conviction on the matter, and give him a grateful smile, nodding your unspoken thanks.

"All right. Now, where were we with the planning?" you redirect back to the previous task seamlessly.

Unbeknownst to you, the gossip in the building about you and Javier had many layers, and most of them were filtered away from your staff, who politely kept any knowledge private and did not themselves partake in talking rumors. So, Devon nor anyone else would've been aware of the tawdrier chatter and speculation.

If not for the local junior officers who'd been tasked to work with the different federal agencies keeping their ears open and having fostered such goodwill with them overtime, Javier wouldn't know half of the chisme that was going around. All of his and Steve's agents had enough sense not to talk about it in the field office, or within earshot of the ASAC, Segarra, but he was always able to read the energy of others who thought they knew shit about him.

That being said, Javier was still getting used to having the blather about him involve you, and it ground his gears that anyone would dare gossip about you at all. Let alone because of him.

As he drove to your place at the end of the workday, he couldn't help brood over it, especially after spending so much time trying to pin down Bozzi, the culprit for the most recent bit of chatter he'd heard relayed to him by Wilmer that afternoon.

"—I was talking to a pana of mine who was assigned to the FBI office. Agent Bozzi was bragging about having chatted Miss Celina up recently, and how he couldn't wait to see how she'd look for that gala. Mentioned how at the last mingling event, she'd shown up in a sexy dress—"

Javier had done everything to keep his temper from flaring and his expression from betraying how incensed it made him, hearing about the man so flagrantly moon over you.

Steve had signaled for Wilmer to exnay any more detail from where he stood behind Javi, but ended up feigning aloofness when his co-SAC glanced quickly back to catch him, so while Steve patted Javi innocently in farewell, he remarked, "—Anyway, let me know how the cabinet meeting goes tomorrow. I'll be at the federal building for the rest of the week."

Huffing out through his nose, Javier drove his preferred shortcut from the highway to your condo building while idly wondering if that asshole Bozzi would be at the same cabinet meeting he and other agency heads would attend at the Fortaleza the next morning.

Forcing himself not to stew further about it, he pulls onto your street and cruises up to the gated driveway, lowers his window to punch in the security code, and proceeds to drive down to the guest parking spot. As he parks, he notices your car is in the designated spot you use, so he takes a deep inhale before letting the breath out – wanting to shed any of his surly temper before exiting his car and heading up to your floor.

After having decided to sneak out of work once you'd finally gotten through the progress reports, you'd gotten home to your place, stripped out of your chic pantsuit and pulled on a comfy house dress, and decided you were in the mood to decompress from the day. Fixing to start dinner early so you could spend the rest of the early evening relaxing and waiting up for Javi, you'd opened the balcony slider so the cool northern breeze could filter into the main living space while you cook.

You'd just finished with pressing the head of garlic on the cutting board when you hear the key slip into the lock just before the front door opens.

Javi comes in and seems surprised to see you already in the kitchen. You're in a slinky, pale pink house dress with a wide collar, and your hair is pulled up in a cute bun with a few whisps framing your face. A nice breeze fills the space and helps carry the scent of the garlic over to his nose, and the whimsy of coming home to something so comforting and familiar flutters in his gut.

With a soft smile, you can't help internally fawn at how adorable he looks in his slightly rumpled suit, big brown-eyed gape softening his features in that irresistible way that makes you gleeful.

"Hey, guapito," you greet in a flirty lilt as you start to remove the cloves of garlic from the head. "You're home early."

Feeling that funny tickle in the back of his breastbone radiate warmth through him, Javi closes the door and locks it behind himself before placing his keys on the side console and quickly heading around the kitchen counter to kiss you hello. His lips covetously press to yours, carried away by how wonderful it is to have you as his respite after the day he's had.

Looping his arms around your waist from behind, Javi's canela-smooth hum makes you smile as he drawls, "So are you." He peers over your shoulder while you continue to dutifully prep the garlic. "What, no more leftovers from the BBQ?" is his goofy deadpan as he affectionately nudges his temple against the side of your head.

"Nope. I had the last of it for lunch. So, I'm making a creamy garlic tortellini alfredo with chicken," you tell him and cheekily ignore how he presses up against you and hums for you to turn towards him for more kisses. "I was going to make a salad too—"

"I'd definitely go for tossing your salad," Javi mumbles brazenly as if to himself while kissing on the back of your neck.

"What was that, chulo?" is your feigned aloof query, continuing to not give into his foreplay.

"You don't have to bother fixing a salad," he answers with boldface charm, resting his chin on your shoulder to instigate you into giving him your full attention. "It looks like it's gonna rain," is his casual observation as he caresses your waist and nuzzles your neck, savoring how your soft, perfumed scent makes desire sear up in his gut. With a raspy hum, he croons, "You can smell it in the breeze coming through the balcony."

"Hmm, I still can't believe we left the balcony door completely open the other night," you snicker as you peel the last clove, deliberately leaning back into his frame and rubbing your tush against his crotch. "We're lucky there wasn't an overnight storm, or that birds and lizards didn't mosey on in—"

His hands possessively grip your hips to still your teasing as he scathes sarcastically, "It was you riling me up that caused that slipup, chingona. Just like you're trying to do right now."

Feeling heat zing excitement into your core, you hum a dubious sound before chiming, "I have no idea what you mean." At his unconvinced grunt and puckish nuzzle, you simper, "Go make yourself comfy. Just getting started on the prep for dinner—"

"Dame un beso, gatita coqueta, and I'll go," he purrs bossily in your ear, which makes goosebumps rise on your skin and that titillated ache simmer down into your tingling center.

Flirtatiously snickering, you turn your head up to meet his full, pouty lips with your own.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, twirling possessively with yours as he deepens the kiss and pulls a sexy sound from you.

Before the kiss becomes too passionate, Javi pulls back and leaves you leaning up for more before impishly pinching your waist and backpedaling to the hall whilst he rumbles, "As you were, miss."

Scoffing sassily, you scrunch your face up mockingly at him and shoo, "Go, atrevido."

Chuckling, he heads down to your bedroom to shed his blazer, belt and shoes. As he does so, he calls out, "I take it work was decent today, since you were able to leave early?" and goes to place his watch on the dresser before emptying out his pockets.

"Yeah. I spent most of the day reviewing progress reports and planning for my upcoming trip for the conference I told you about. The one in St. Thomas?" you reply as you chop the garlic before remembering to preheat the pot of water you have on the stove for the tortellini.

"I remember. That's a few weeks from now, right?" Javi calls out while he loosens the knot of his necktie and stares at your jewelry box, suddenly getting an idea.

As he leaves the tie hanging loose around his collar in order to stealthily lift the lid of the prettily decorated box, he glances to the doorway to make sure you're not coming in to catch him as you answer from the kitchen, "In a few weeks, yeah. I'm hoping to just be gone for a couple of days. Devon was helping me coordinate it all."

While you're answering, Javier is carefully sorting through the jewelry in the box, hoping to find inspiration for the kind and style of ring you like. He quickly realizes you don't seem to favor wearing rings, since he's only able to find an oval-stoned mood ring, and a silver Claddagh ring. He was staring at the latter, admiring the heart held between two hands, wondering what the significance of the crown on the heart was when the house phone started ringing in the living room.

"Want me to get that?" Javi asks as he rushes to replace everything in the jewelry box as it was.

Wiping your hands clean with a kitchen towel, you hurry around the counter to grab the phone from its charger on the console. "No, I'll get it," is your retort just before you press the button and answer, "Hello?"

"Hello, tesoro. I was expecting to leave yet another message on your answering machine," the deep bassy pitch of your father's voice greets you, and you have to stifle your eye roll as he asks, "How have you been? Did you get my last message?"

"Yes, I did. Sorry, it's been hectic lately. I've been all right. Today is the first time in a while I was able to get out of work before 5pm," you reply neutrally before asking, "How're things with you? Are you still in D.C.?"

As you listen to your father's answer, you turn at the sound of the water reaching boil, so you rush back to the kitchen and multitask. Javier pads barefoot down from the bedroom then, and you play up giving him a silly purse of your lips at seeing his now rolled up shirtsleeves and the ends of his red and gold tie swinging as he lopes by and gestures to the sideboard while mouthing, 'Want something to drink?'

Cupping your palm over the phone's microphone, you whisper, "Can we have wine?"

"Coming right up," Javier murmurs back, and the dashing smirk he sends your way before opening the cabinet to peruse the wine options is just infinitely sexy to you.

So much so, you're distracted when your father presses, "—Are you still there?"

"Y-Yes, sorry! I was distracted by something I have boiling on the stove. I'm glad all the meetings have gone well! Did they say when you would get an answer?"

"It depends on a few things. But I would imagine they'll make the decision by the Fall. Anyway, I won't keep you. Just wanted to check in," your father replies in his smooth, earnest tone. "Have you given any more thought to what we talked about last time?"

You pause in pouring the tortellini in the pot to answer, "I have. We can plan something when you get back. Does that work?"

"It does. I'm—I'm glad, tesoro. Thank you," he remarks in a tone that sounds oddly close to eager anticipation. Which, coming from your father? Takes you by surprise. "Look forward to spending more time together, mija. Love you."

"Love you too, Pá. Cuídate. Bye."

Once your father has said goodbye, you end the call and set the wireless receiver aside on the counter, just as Javi walks into the kitchen with the bottle of red wine he picked and places it down in order to retrieve the corkscrew from its drawer. He's covertly glancing at you from the corner of his eye as you swiftly dump the tortellini into the boiling water and resume the rest of the prep for the pan you're heating for the seasoned chicken breast.

"Everything good?" he asks, busying himself with opening the bottle of wine.

"Yeah," is your simple retort, engrossing yourself in tending to the chicken you're placing in the simmering hot pan.

As the fragrant aromas from the sizzling pan begin to fill the kitchen, Javi finds himself recalling how carefree and vivacious you'd been when talking to his father on the phone Sunday evening, so now seeing how guarded you were talking to your own father has him feeling disappointed that you were still feeling protective. That your defenses were up still in regards to anything involving the ominously intimidating man.

"I'm starting the sauce now. I have to stir it for a bit, so want to have a glass of wine while you wait?" you ask him, pulling him out of his thoughts just as he manages to pop the cork out of the bottle.

"Hmm, are you trying to get me nice and sauced up before dinner, preciosa?" is his playful croon as he retrieves a sturdy-yet-elegant stemmed glass and fills it with a healthy pour of wine before offering it to you.

It does the trick. You laugh and smile in that dazzling way that makes your eyes crest with mirth.

Taking the wine glass, you have a quick sip before licking your lips and purring, "Maybe?" then hand the glass back to him.

Chuckling, he takes a sip before sidling up to the opposite counter from the stove to ask, "Need any help? I can be your cooking assistant."

"Actually, yes! Can you get the milk and parmesan from the fridge?" you affably chime as you stir the tortellini in the pot.

Javi does so, and soon you're both working on the sauce together while you tell him the story of how you know so many Italian recipes.

"—Didn't have school, so to keep me occupied during the day, my mom let me help the nice lady we lived next to pick herbs or veggies from her garden in the courtyard. She showed me how to make pasta from scratch, and let me be her little sous chef. It was also a way for me to practice speaking Italian and for her to learn more English," you're remarking as you slowly mix in the tortellini with the sauce and chicken while Javi holds the tipped pot for you. "She taught me how to make the lasagna recipe too."

"You were making that at 8 years-old?" Javi balks as he sets the pot aside and marvels at you while you nod and sprinkle in some more herb seasoning whilst you stir everything together.

"Cooking was always fun, even when I was little. I liked it. Made me feel useful," you muse unguardedly before raising the stirring spoon to have a taste. "Mmm, here. Try it."

He lets you present the wooden spoon to his lips, and you watch as he sinfully eyes you with a molten look whilst he purses his lips to slurp the sample before flicking his tongue to lick the spoon suggestively.

You laugh and scathe, "Fucking fresco," before teasingly smearing the little bit of alfredo sauce left on the side of the spoon over his mustache so you can quickly lean up and lick it off.

It's so silly and sexy that Javi sputters a goofy grunt while the infectious smile that warms his handsome features unearths the boyish dimple in his cheek, which makes you girlishly fawn as you playfully shove him away from the stove and tease, "Bad sous chef! Quit seducing me—"

"Mira quien habla," he scoffs ruggedly and stands his ground to your impish nudges in order to take a sip from the wine glass before offering it to you as he asks, goadingly, "How much longer, jefa?"

Smiling around your sip, you swallow before musing, "Hmm, well it needs to rest for a bit, so let's cover the pan and give it a few, dulzón."

Snorting at that, Javi dutifully puts the lid on the pan and leads you by the hand out of the kitchen to the sofa, where you both sit.

Passing the wine back to him, you sidle up close and ask, "So, how was your day? I didn't expect you home until later."

Taking a deeper swallow than he'd intended, Javi grunts dryly before shifting in his seat to hand you the glass and stretch his arm out along the back of the couch cushion. "It was aggravating. Things feel like they're teetering close to the edge of going to shit, and I can't really place why the longer we work things, the less intel we actually have," is his venting remark, sounding more dispassionate than furious. At least until he absently scrubs his fingers broodingly along his chin as he grumbles, "And the inter-agency bullshit is grinding my patience to the bone."

Aside from the co-op being in limbo, Javier and Steve had daily briefings with the field agents on progress of leads, C.I.s, etc. Today's had addressed the frustrating lack of progress on tying financials to actionable targets, which meant he was going into the meeting the next morning with nothing fruitful to report. He hated it.

You can sense something else is bothering him, though, so you gently nudge your shoulder into him as you ask, "Anyone in particular that's tap-dancing on your last nerve?"

Huffing sourly out through his nose before he can help himself, Javi decides he doesn't want to downplay or obfuscate. "Yeah. That puto cabrón Bozzi. He's been impossible to get ahold of and is keeping a joint operation in limbo. And I can't help thinking it's deliberately just to piss me off. I got that meeting at La Fortaleza early in the morning, and I don't have much of anything to report since he keeps stonewalling DEA. Which, makes us look out of our depth," is his gruff explanation, dark chocolate eyes flaring as he glances sidelong at you while muttering, "And he's still talkin' shit about making moves on you."

Sitting up to fold your legs under you while you shift to look at him sassily, you redirect, "Funny, I heard that he's not the only one gossiping. Did you know speculation about our relationship is the topic of discussion through the federal building?"

Brow quirking intriguingly at that, Javi rumbles, "What have you heard? And who told you?"

Shrugging, you reply, "Devon, and he said it's mostly people chismeando on whether or not we're together. He said some are saying that you only accepted the DEA position here in order to rekindle things—"

"Which, is accurate," he interjects with a suave smirk that makes you chortle and give him an affectionate nudge. "What? I told you so."

"Yeah, well, while that's accurate, it's still not something I was really aware of until today – the gossip, I mean," you retort and take another sip from the glass before offering it to him. "So? What have you heard? And what is that sangano Bozzi saying now?"

Setting the wine glass aside on the end table moodily, Javi grumbles, "That he's chatted you up and is looking forward to mooning over you at the gala."

You internally roll your eyes, but seeing Javier scowl has you deciding you need to get him unwound. So, you curl into his side and glide your hand to caress the back of his neck, while the other hand coaxes him to look at you before you skim it down his jaw, to his sternum before slowly descending lower. Breath catching in his chest, Javi's eyes get heavy with want as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Sadly for him, all he'll manage is ending up watching you and I being together. How I'll be slinking up against you for kisses while we dance. The way your hands hold me while I run mine over you."

As you purr the sultry suggestions, your hand glides down to his waistband before lightly brushing along the seam of his fly before pausing.

"And, he'll have to stew, knowing I'm all yours, while watching us enjoy the night together, without giving him a single thought," is your smoky murmur as you finally cup him through his slacks.

With a groan, Javi nuzzles your neck and reacts to your touch by growling, "Oh fuck."

"Wanna hear the best part, galán?" you coax sensually as you fondle his rock-hard arousal through his clothes. Nodding vigorously, Javi grunts for you to continue, so you do. "The best part, is that he'll end up watching you take me home, and be left knowing that he never had a shot. And, that I'll be all yours when you get me naked and let me have you in all the salacious ways I want," is your scintillating whisper before you suckle on the erogenous spot on his neck before adding, "Like riding your cock as hard as I can—"

His hoarse whine makes your pussy clench. "Jesus fucking Christ, baby—"

It's then that you suddenly stop teasing him and swiftly scamper off of the sofa to prance towards the kitchen as you singsong, "Anyway! Enough about that. You ready to eat?"

The look on Javi's face is something you wish you could have a photo snapped of so you can enjoy it forever. It's a mixture of shock and awe, with a lot of surly hunger radiating from his smoldering stare as he incredulously eyes you as if your daring stunt was utter betrayal.

"…Get back over here, atrevida," is his rapacious, husky-pitched order, punctuated by him crooking his finger sternly for you to come back at once, or else.

It's just too good not to instigate him further.

"Oh? You're not hungry yet?" is your innocent chime, rocking on the balls of your heels as you fold your arms behind yourself, feigning naiveness. "If you wanna just lay back and unwind some more before dinner—"

"You wicked little tease. Get your naughty ass over here, right now, or you're gonna be in trouble," is his gravelly growl, brows quirking with the promise he's trying to relay while hiding his smirk behind the hand he scrubs across his upper lip.

"Hmmm? I don't know what you mean—" you trail off when Javi gets up from the couch and prowls around it like it's taking all his control not to just break out in a sprint to snatch you up in his arms and take you wherever he catches you.

Puckishly, he drawls, "Yeah, you do. And you're looking for trouble—"

Oh? Am I?" is your daring counter as you take a spritely step backwards further down the hall.

That wicked thrill begins to zing through him at your coquettish audacity, so he gravels in his silk baritone, "Damn right, and you know it. So, why don't you behave and come over here—"

Squinting your eyes challengingly, you take a step backwards before confidently turning on your heel to strut down towards your bedroom, announcing, "Nah. I'd like to see what kind of trouble you have in mind, tough guy."

Javi feels the exhilarated pulse of excitement shoot through him, so he follows and gains on you just as you've made it towards your dresser.

You glance at him in the reflection of the mirror as you let your hair down and shake it loose, and the instigating glint in your eye is pure mischief as he prowls over in order to press up behind you, boxing you in.

The deviant little quiver that curls heated arousal in your tummy before cloying into your core from how he keeps his eyes on yours in the reflection, coupled with the unpleased exhale he lets loose as he leans forward to whisper in your ear, has your breath stuttering.

"For starters? You're going to get naked, and walk your wicked ass to the bed and bend across it," he orders in a gruff murmur, the heat in his dark eyes matched by the feeling that sizzles through you when he moves his hands to grip your hips. "And if you backtalk me, I'm not going to fill your mouth or your pussy with anything. No matter how needy for it you are."

You shiver and bite your bottom lip when he latches his mouth to your pulse point on your neck and suckles possessively. His hands begin to rove your body, molding you to him as he greedily palms one breast while the other works teasingly down to slip up your dress. Trembling, you whimper softly and begin to glide your touch backwards to cling to him. But just when you melt into him, Javi pulls away and steps back, brawny hold receding and making you waver before turning on your heels to track him.

The lustful haze clears enough from your brain for you to realize he's going to withhold touch if you don't comply with his orders.

He enjoys how your eyes flicker with fiery outrage for the few seconds before you register it. That he's instigating you. His smirk threatens to peak the corners of his mouth and quirk his moustache with impish delight. It shouldn't turn you on so much. But it does, enough to make you unselfconscious about how hastily you pull your house dress off before unhooking your bra, shedding it swiftly, and tugging your panties off. And you're so wet with anticipation that you don't even blush when you obediently trot down to fold over the bed.

Javi is pleased, and shows it when he walks around to stand over you before looking back at your reflections in the dresser's mirror to lock eyes with you. Instead of undressing, he holds your avid stare as he caresses his hands up the backs of your thighs, fondling the swell of your ass to knead up its globes before humming and bending forward to plant a kiss to the small of your back. You make an impatient little sound, as if you're too worked up and needy for him. So, Javi shifts up and buffets his hand across your ass.

"Ah!" you gasp out and writhe, pussy throbbing hard from the spank and stealing your breath.

"Are you gonna behave, malvadita?" he husks ruggedly.

"Yes, mi amor," you airily affirm.

"Good girl. Now, stretch your arms above your head for me."

You slide your arms up without thinking about it – too wound up with desire to want to defy him, and you're rewarded with him pressing his hips into you while he gathers your wrists and holds them clasped together. The feeling of his silky tie caressing along your back before it swiftly is wound around your wrists makes you shiver against him.

"Tell me if this is too tight," he rumbles above your ear before finishing the fastening and giving it a tug.

You flex your wrists and feel how snuggly bound they are. "N-No. Not too tight—"

Javier working his ravenous mouth down the curve of your shoulderblade in a lazy path down your back has your voice cracking and a titillated mewl escaping your lips.

"Good," is his roughened croon before resuming his mouth's descent. He suckles kisses down the curve of your right buttock while he rushes to undress. His breath being ragged against your skin the only tell for how desperate he is to have his way with you.

Finally shedding his clothes, Javi ruts his cock along the cleft of your ass before thwacking it lewdly against the plump expanse of your left buttock. You stifle your moan into the bed, bound hands gripping the quilt as you involuntarily buck your ass up in hopes for more friction where you're pulsing for it. His warm skin skims across your back around to your front when he rolls you under him before getting between your thighs. He picks you up, and you loop your bound wrists over his head so you can cling to him as he balances you over his lap.

His cock ruts against your dripping folds, spreading them open as he stares into your flushed, titillated features. After leaning in to graze possessive kisses along your jaw, Javi husks in a velvet over steel purr into your ear, "For being my good girl, I'm going to fuck you until you come three times."

Javi is ever the man of his word.

He gives you the first time while pounding up into you as he holds you at your waist and plunges you onto him. When he tosses you onto the bed before flipping you onto your knees and drilling into your molten sheath from behind, you hit the second time while gripping the pillows and rocking back to meet his slamming thrusts.

"Mmph, that was good, preciosa," Javi gravels huskily into your neck, nudging his forehead affectionately against your shoulder before rearing back and spanking your right buttock and admiring how it jiggles while you mewl and tremble in the aftershocks of your climax. "Now, go ahead and get on your back for me."

Quivering with anticipation, you manage the feat of rolling onto your back and staring with needy reverence up at him, with your bound wrists over your head and your breasts perked up to his ravenous mouth as he leans over to kiss and suckle on them while his big hands hike your thighs apart to be held open.

The third time you reach bliss is when he's stroked dead-center into the nested bundle of pleasure deep inside you after fucking you into the bed – one hand holding you steady at the small of your back while the other fists the silky binding of the necktie cuffing your wrists together. It hits with such force that you wail his name and whimper when your sheath contracts hard around his throbbing flesh before you soak it with your climax.

He wants to keep his control from slipping, but at how you desperately try to clutch your fingers to his hand when you arch up and cry in ecstasy propels him over the edge, snapping his pleasure loose from the knot in his center and making him moan as his cock swells inside you before his release fills you with his hot seed.

You feeling deliriously complete when the bloom of his climax diffuses warmth through your sinew has you sighing a sweet, albeit exhausted little sound as Javi lies on top of you in a spent heap before mustering the effort to roll off and lie next to you on the bed.

The mind-blowing orgasm has you both buzzing – breathing hard and cooling down as you lie in post-coital bliss.

"Holy fuck," he exhales with raspy delight, smile crooked as he lulls his head over to look at you. Your sweaty and flushed features have a content glow as you lie in post-coital repose with your eyes closed. Your lashes are glossy, and your hair is a mess now, so he sidles close and gently brushes the strands that had clung to your dewy skin away from your face before rumbling, "Mírame, hermosa."

Lazily batting your lashes, your eyes muster a heavy-lidded peer before you try to rub your hand over them and remember your wrists are still tied together. Javi snickers and sits up enough to be able to quickly undo the necktie, unweaving the silky material in a swift unraveling motion that frees you before tossing it to the side and guiding your hands to loop around his neck so he could lean in and capture your lips in a sultry, loving kiss. He only breaks it in order to caress your cheek and catalogue your expression.

"Was that ok?"

His soft mumble makes you grin and cling to him affectionately. "That was really hot, babe. I'm still shaking," is your frank praise, eyes twinkling at him when you rub your nose against his, earning a relieved little snicker from him. "I very much enjoyed your kind of trouble, sir," you lilt saucily, and at his cocky hum, you add brightly, "Especially your bossy way about it."

The warm, raspy quality of his laugh makes you melt as he playfully rolls onto his back and takes you with him. Smugly, he starts to drawl, "Hmm, shit. I just remembered – whatever happened with all those toys? They would've come in useful—"

You playfully pinching his side makes him grunt humorously. "They're in a box up on the closet shelf, beyaquito," is your sassy simpering retort, sitting up to lounge against him while running your fingers through the damp curls clinging to his sweaty forehead as you add matter-of-factly, "I'd almost put the feather and vibrating cock ring into the box with your stuff I'd packed up and sent to Laredo," at Javi's brows shooting up comically, you chuckle, "But thought better of it."

"Jesus Christ. That would've made for a mortifying chat with Pops," Javi grimaces goofily while squeezing you in his arms mischievously, earning peels of laughter to giggle up from you.

A nice relaxing shower together later, you're spiritedly ribbing him about the topic from earlier – before you'd instigated his surly dominance game, as you exit the stall and grab a towel before tossing it to him.

"—C'mon. You can't blame me for being pissed about that," he grumbles sarcastically as he quickly runs the towel over himself, and wraps the fluffy material around his waist.

"You getting all grumpy over that cocky jerk like I would ever give him the time of day is just silly, Javi," is your rebuttal as you finish towel drying your hair before tucking it around yourself to tiptoe over to him when he rolls his eyes and slicks his wet curls back from his forehead. "Hey, guapito, don't get grouchy. You know I'm right," you tut in a flirty-yet-bossy drawl at him as you caress his stubble-darkened jaw and bat your lashes.

He huffs contrarily out through his nose, but his stubborn scowl relents when you hum in a goofy way that communicates, 'I'm right and you better recognize it!'

The sudden sound of rain starting to pitter patter outside before quickly becoming a deluge begins to filter through the apartment as an early evening storm cloud rolls in.

"Told you it looked like rain," Javi remarks before realizing, "Damn, the slider door!"

He quickly sidesteps around you and rushes to dutifully shut the balcony door that got left open.

"Javi, don't worry about it," you turn the corner to watch him hustle down the hall with a tight grip on the towel knotted at his hip, his pace mindful of the tile so he doesn't slip and bust his ass by accident. The way he's striding with a waddle reminds you of the way a little duckling would run at full speed. It makes you giggle and follow him so you can stand at the end of the hall and watch him pull the sliding glass door shut before locking it and yanking the vertical blinds back into place.

Seeing the muscles in his smooth, broad, tan back work with his movements beguiles you into staring. Into admiring his warm skin and lean sinew front-lit momentarily by the swaying blinds letting the waning sunset seep through. You can't help pining, What a gorgeous hunk.

"Hey, stud muffin," you call out to him, and when he turns, you wink at him and charm, "Dinner in bed?"

More than fine with that, Javi smirks and walks over to join you in the kitchen. "Sounds good to me, bravita."

A short while later, you and Javier sit up together in bed, eating dinner together. He's in a loose pair of blue boxers while you're in a champagne-toned silk nighty. The stormy breeze coming through the windows keep the room cool as you eat and chat.

"—Ok, I have to admit. I kind of got spoiled at your place. Got way too used to eating and watching TV in bed," you chime amusedly, sipping some wine before passing the glass to him.

He takes a big gulp before setting it aside, grunting in agreement with you. "Yeah, me too," is his retort, licking his lips before he wonders out loud, "Maybe I can get one of those little television sets, and it can go on the side of the dresser?"

You smile around your current bite. Once you've swallowed, you remark, "You don't have to, babe—"

"Or, maybe we can get a place together," he smoothly suggests before finishing the last helping of food on his plate. At you blinking surprisedly at him, he shrugs nonchalantly before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to elaborate, "I mean, your place is far from work, and mine is close to it, but doesn't have much around it like you do here. Maybe we can find something that meets in the middle?"

Your heart does a summersault in your chest as you absorb that. "Your place isn't bad. Sure, it's a bit of a bachelor pad, but the gated neighborhood is nice and quiet," you find yourself remarking as you balance your plate of food on your folded lap before realizing that posture makes your lower back ache, so you shift to set the plate aside on the nightstand so you can lounge sidelong as you remark, "But I extended the lease here a couple of months ago, so I'm not sure about breaking it and moving—"

Javi sets his plate aside on the foot of the bed and stretches out to sidle close to you in order to caress his warm palm calmingly along your hip and thigh as he assures, "I didn't mean right now, querida. Just that maybe we could start looking. I like shacking up with you here, so I'm in no rush."

Snickering, you squeeze his forearm affectionately. "You do?"

"Yeah. It's like we're in our own world when we're here," is his charming purr as he leans over to kiss your shoulder before murmuring, "It's not nearly as far as your old place in Bogotá, and we're close to Old San Juan and the beach…and plenty of spots to go explore and get lost in, in between."

Feeling a tickle behind your breastbone, you let him loop his arm around your waist to tug you closer so he can reach your lips, and when you pivot your position, you end up wincing from the ache in your lower back. You bite back on it during the kiss, but Javi caught it and shifts back.

"Sorry. I think I tweaked something from romping around earlier," is your self-deprecating huff as you lie on your tummy and nuzzle his bicep.

Smirking, he sits up in order to move over so he can pat the center of the bed as he orders, "Alright, lay here and I'll give you a rub down, señorita."

Laughing, you try insisting, "You don't have to—"

"Well, I want to, now c'mon, traviesa," he counters in that canela-purr of his and pats the center of the bed with emphasis as he bounces his brows and purses his lips for you to go on.

Relenting, you shimmy over and lie on your stomach, smiling when he straddles your thighs and starts massaging his hands from the base of your spine upwards.

As you start to feel the ache ease up in your lower back, you sigh out dreamily, "Mmm, that feels nice. Thank you."

You feel his full lips press softly at your nape before he mumbles, "You're welcome. Gotta keep my good girl limber, after all."

You scoff amusedly at that before reaching your hand backwards to swat his side lightheartedly. "Oh yeah? Well if that's the case, burlón, I'll just have to take back up going to yoga classes. As a matter of fact, I'll just go to the 6:30 class tomorrow night," you heckle humorously as you roll over under him and goadingly pat your hands over his thighs. At his instigating grunt after he rests his palms over yours to stop them from sliding up further to tease him, you chime, "Wanna come with?"

Snorting, Javier deadpans, "Me, doing yoga? I'm already limber enough—"

"Oh, if you're too macho to do it, then never mind," you taunt melodiously, adding, "I guess I'll just stretch out in my leggings and halter top by myself…"

Smirking ruefully, Javi relents, "Hmph. Fine, I'll go, but I'm going to be way behind the rest of the class—"

"Actually, the night classes tend to be more intro/beginner-level friendly," you interject and squeeze his thighs cheekily. "You don't have to go if you really don't want to, chulito—"

"Oh no, you're not talking me out of it now. I wanna go, and I wanna see all the positions you can do, and what positions we can use in bed after," he tells you debonairly before winking at you smugly.

Humming approvingly, you blithely singsong, "That sounds like a wonderful plan, sir."

Chuckling, he leans down and starts showering you with merciless, mustachioed kisses along your neck and jaw, earning your effervescent laugh that trails off into the discordant little sigh he adores.

The next morning, you stir awake at the sound of Javi getting dressed, and roll over to watch him put on a blue jacquard-patterned tie before be grabs the slate-gray blazer from the chair and shrugs into it. When you shift up in bed and rub your eyes, Javi turns and frowns. "Shit, I didn't mean to wake you," is his mutter as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. "It's still early. Go back to sleep, cariño—"

You shake your head and shuffle closer to kiss his cheek. "I will, after you give me a hug and promise not to bail on yoga tonight," is your soft mumble as you smile sleepily at him.

Grunting humorously, he nods and wraps his arms around you. With a kiss to your temple, he declares, "I'm not bailing. Meet up here and go together? I should be home by 6pm."

"That works. I'll be home from shopping with the girls by then, and we can go," you answer sweetly and peck him on the lips. "Good luck on the meeting."

"Thanks. Now," Javi remarks as he guides you to lie back and tucks you in before kissing you on the forehead. "Get a few more winks. I'll see you later."

"Love you," you sigh softly as you hold onto his hand.

Giving it a loving squeeze before brushing your hair back behind your ear, he murmurs, "I love you too."

You smile and close your eyes, beyond relaxed. So much so, you barely hear him get his shoes on and head out to the living room, where he pockets his things before exiting the front door and locking up behind himself.

Twenty minutes later, Javier is driving into Old San Juan, navigating through the circuitous traffic in the tightly-lined streets of the islet to get to the security gate of the Governor's mansion. Once he's parked, he clips on his identification badge and exists his car to meet up with the aide that receives him and leads him up to the cabinet meeting. On the way, he trades polite conversation with the young man as they traverse the grounds and enter the main edifice where the government meetings occur. After leading the way to the wing with the conference room today's meeting would be taking place, the aide excuses himself and leaves Javi, who checks his watch while already reaching into his pocket for his packet of nicotine gum.

"You're early, Jav."

He turns and spots Tom Vernon, head of ATF, as he leans against the nearest column and sips from a small paper coffee cup.

"Mornin' to you too, Tom," is his neutral reply as he pops a gum out of the tray and tosses it into his mouth, giving it a few chews before asking, "Where'd you get the coffee?"

"Oh, friendly little lady came by with a coffee cart earlier. Good stuff," the man in the brown suit and mismatched yellow tie replies before taking another sip.

Grunting, Javi crosses his arms over his chest to keep his right hand from ticking impatiently due to his mounting anxiety about the meeting. "Speaking of friendly. You're buddies with Bozzi, right?" When Vernon shrugs noncommittally, Javi presses, "Happen to know if he's going to show up for the meeting today? I need to talk to him."

"You never know with Tony. What you gotta talk to him about?" is Vernon's aloof query.

Trying not to scowl, Javi ticks his jaw askew to toy the gum to his opposite cheek before resuming chewing. "A joint op. My ASAC got word from Bozzi's guy that he denied a coordinated operation request. I haven't been able to get ahold of him all week," Javi lays his proverbial cards out on the table with the seasoned ATF agent, eyeing him guilelessly as he adds, "Kind of starting to think he's deliberately pushing my buttons."

That gets Vernon's aloof expression to perk up with interest. "Well, I can't say I know his motives on that, but he definitely has the most leeway down here among all us agency heads. The locals don't like to fuck with the FBI," is Tom's observant remark, lowering his voice when he cusses and giving a cursory glance about before adding, "Tony has a few irons in the fire, from what I've heard, so I'd just assume he's prioritizing those operations and his job over anything you DEA fellas are looking to execute."

Unconvinced, Javier puts his hands on his hips and stares at Tom like he knows a bullshitter when he sees one. "I have it on a reliable source that his job isn't the only thing he's prioritizing these days," he remarks persuasively, communicating the unspoken part with his narrowed gaze.

Squinting knowingly, Vernon mutters irreverently, "I'm not one to get between two circling bulls, so I'll just say: He has been working that prospect since before you showed up."

His shoulders square up at the veiled reference. "Most know by now that prospect was in my purview from before. Hell, I heard you even told him said prospect was already spoken for," is his leading comment, placing his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he raises a brow questioningly at the other man.

Cracking a lopsided smirk, Tom concedes, "I sure did. He's a hard-headed fella, so it didn't dissuade him one bit, but you might need to let it play out to its own natural conclusion, Jav. I bet it'll work itself out—"

The nearby conference room door opens, interrupting Vernon. A female aide smiles brightly before holding the door open and greeting, "Good morning, gentlemen. Please, come in and find a seat. We'll be starting the meeting soon."

Exchanging a look, the two agents return the greeting and lope over to enter the room.

Checking his watch before he dumps his spent gum into a nearby wastebasket, Javi sees there's only a few minutes remain until the start of the meeting. Aides and their officials start to file in, so he goes around the room to shake hands and look professional and have face time with key cabinet members. After exchanging greetings with some of the local government officials, he ends up taking a seat across from the ATF agent, who is shaking hands with a cabinet member just as a younger agent with an FBI-labeled ID badge clipped to his suit breast pocket enters. Once officials begin to file in, he is aggravated when the governor enters with his aides, and the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI still hasn't arrived. Fucker isn't going to show.

Sure enough, when the meeting progresses to the stage where each federal government agency head is supposed to take turns giving a progress report, the representative for the FBI update ends up being dictated by the Assistant Special Agent in Charge, who apologized for his superior's absence.

Javier's annoyance helped sharpen his confident resolve when it came time for him to give the DEA progress report. But by the end of the meeting, he's was stewing. So much so, he makes a beeline to the FBI rep the minute the governor exited.

"Castellano, is it? Javier Peña," is his battering ram of a greeting, forcefully shaking the other man's hand and not giving him a chance to even return the gesture by barreling on with, "Segarra told me your boss denied the joint operation request. I've had a hell of a time trying to get ahold of him for a rationale, so since he ain't here, can you give me one?"

The other man has a lot more steel to him than his ASAC, unfortunately, so he keeps his cool and explains, "Agent Peña, my boss has been overseeing an operation I cannot disclose at the moment, but I assure you, I will brief him on your follow-up regarding the co-op request. Have a nice day."

Clenching his jaw, Javi absently scrubs his palm down his face before turning back to glare at the retreating man's back.

"Valiant effort, Jav," is Tom's amused drawl as he comes up to stand next to him. "That fella is ex-Marine. He ain't going to be mad-dogged easily—"

"You going to the gala tomorrow night, Tom?" Javier cuts in with a dry, acerbic tone as he loosens the knot in his tie and brushes his fingers over his moustache, hand concealing how his nostrils are flaring crossly.

Pressing his lips together musingly, Vernon replies, "Naw. I got a bureau conference back in D.C. I'm flying out for at noon." At Javier's grunt of acknowledgement, he leans close and confides, "I assume you'll be taking that gorgeous prospect of yours, though, so it'll be a shame to miss watching the novela play out. Good luck, Jav."

He pats Javier on the back before loping off and waving over his shoulder at him.

Exhaling gruffly, Javi heads for the exit and stalks to his car, beyond irritated.

While he drives out of the secure compound to traverse the morning rush hour traffic, you're putting on a pot of coffee before arranging items into order on the breakroom counter in your department. The extra sleep time had you feeling refreshed and ready for the full day, looking forward to leaving the office to meet Connie and Anita at the mall to find outfits for tomorrow night's gala.

Having run into your neighbor, Jodalys, in the lobby on the way to your car, you chatted about the gala excitedly, and accepted her invite to get ready together before the event. The prospect of not having to do your own makeup was too good to pass up, and so you coordinated a time and exchanged goodbyes before commuting to the office and getting a jump on the workday.

You'd already gotten through your messages, including your personal email inbox and been pleasantly surprised to see a message from Francesca. Having caught up with your former intern and agreed to write her a letter of reference for grad school, you'd made sure to block out your late afternoon of any meetings.

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you make mental notes for yourself regarding what you needed to pick up at the mall later, when you hear Olga's heels clicking along as she enters the breakroom.

"Ah, you beat me to it!" she declares, referring to you making a pot of coffee.

"Yeah, I needed the caffeine boost," you quip as you stir the sugar with the skinny little straw while scooting to the side to give her access to the counter. "Oh, did you get around to blocking off the department calendar for tomorrow afternoon? I want everyone who plans to attend the gala to be able to without any late day meetings tripping them up."

"All set! A lot of the other admins throughout the building have been doing that. Everyone's looking forward to it," Olga replies as she pours some cream into her coffee. "It's rare when an event that glitzy is open to clerical and office staff."

"Well, I'm glad they planned it to be inclusive. Should be interesting to see all the different offices and departments mingling," you remark before taking a sip of your coffee.

While she stirs some sugar into hers, Olga's expression perks up as she asks in a hushed tone, "Do you think even the different agents will attend? I mean, from like the federal agencies?"

Intrigued, you quirkily smile and lean your weight into your hip as you ask, "I'm not sure. My guess is it'll depend on their shifts? Usually, field agents alternate being on stand-by, or have to be on call during certain operations. Why?"

You expect this to finally be the moment Olga, who you know to be congenial and a well-meaningly-nosy social butterfly, will ask you about the rumors involving you and Javi.

Instead, she confides, "Ah pues, nothing really…I just was wondering if the handsome agent de la DEA would go. I've not had a social occasion that would make sense to have more than 'hi' and 'bye' with him. And I'm hoping to get a chance to talk more."

Surprised, your brows arch and you whisper interestedly, "Really?! Which agent?"

Getting smiley, Olga busily stirs the little straw in her coffee cup as she answers sincerely, "Nicolás López. Es tan lindo, y buena gente. Su sonrisa me encanta. We've only ever done quick greetings from seeing each other around on the campus. One of the other admins who works in the DEA office told me his name."

Tickled with delight, you gush, "Oh, Nic is a sweetheart. I'm not sure he'll be there, but if he is, I'll introduce you both!"

As she excitedly peppers you with questions about the scrappy-yet-handsome agent, Javier is stalking across the bullpen within the field office, still annoyed from earlier and wondering if he's going to have to personally kick Bozzi's door in after all. As he rounds the corner towards his and Steve's shared office space, Segarra pokes his head out from the doorless room he's made into his office and rushes over to greet him halfway, with a legal pad in hand.

In no mood, Javi doesn't slow down his pace, but does acknowledge the younger man with a curt nod and tries not to project his aggravation when Segarra falls into step beside him. "Good morning, sir. I was just about to call you. I finally heard back from my counterpart at FBI. Our co-op request was approved—"

That has Javi skidding to a halt right inside his office before he swiftly gestures for Segarra to come in and close the door. Once the ambitious man has done so, and Javi's braced himself by leaning into the edge of his desk with his hands propped on either side so he can keep his fingers from fidgeting impatiently, he deadpans, "Castellano confirmed it just now?"

"Yes, sir. He said Agent Bozzi signed off," Segarra replies in his raspy tenor, holding up his legal pad as he dictates the details. "However he insisted on running an op drill with our guys and theirs, and booked the facility in Aguadilla for tomorrow at 1500—"

"What? For 3:00pm tomorrow?" Javi interrupts, crossing his arms and cocking a curious brow. "Why so late in the day?"

"It's the time that works best for Agent Bozzi, sir," Segarra explains as he flips to the next page and lists off more of the coordinated details while Javi scowls and listens.

After confirming a few things with his ASAC, going over other outstanding agency business, and signing off on some reports, Javi grabs his desk phone and dials Steve's line at the Federal building.

"Agent Murphy."

"Guess who magically agreed to the co-opt, and scheduled an op drill for tomorrow afternoon," Javi grouses as he plops down into his desk chair.

Steve grunts wryly. "Sounds like you pushed the right buttons successfully this morning at the meeting, then."

Scoffing as if unconvinced, Javi leans into his chair and mutters, "Segarra is going to pull the guys together and brief them. It's gonna be at a base about an hour away, on the northwest coast."

"So what you're saying is, you're currently free to come to the barbershop during lunch with Rose and me to get haircuts for tomorrow night?" Steve quips.

Running his fingers through his unruly curls along his crown and down the back of his head, Javi glowers as he admits, "Shit, I have been due for a trim. Just haven't had the time."

"Well, Ellis vouched for a place in Hato Rey. Meet us downstairs in 20 minutes?"

"Sure. See you then," Javi agrees before hanging up and glancing at his watch. Deciding you were most likely too busy for him to call and check in, he collects his things and heads down to the parking garage.

By the time he pulls up to the carport in front of the federal building, Steve and Ellis are coming out of the building, so Javi flags them down and gestures for them to just hop into his car. Steve gets into the front passenger seat and Ellis sits behind him in the backseat as they exchange greetings with Javi before snapping their seatbelts on.

"—Take a right outside of the gate," Ellis instructs, playing navigator for a few blocks before Javi is cruising down the busy avenue en route towards the financial district of the metropolitan area. "I know a lot where we can park for free, so take a left at the next boulevard. Anyway, how long were you saying you got the babysitter for tomorrow night?" he pivots back to the idle conversation, directing the question to Steve.

"Only until 10pm. Connie works with the girl's mom at the V.A. and the lady's pretty strict, so she doesn't like her out until late, even on a weekend. So we'll have to head home by 9:30, at the latest," Steve answers while he fiddles with the car radio.

Smacking Steve's hand from continuing to skip the dial across channels, Javi hits the preset button for the radio station he saved after seeing it was your go-to channel in your car. Magic 97.3 is in the middle of playing a Prince single he knows you love, so he smirks as he remarks offhandedly, "Can't you get another sitter? Or bribe the kid to stay late?"

"Remind me not to let my girls babysit for you in the future," Steve razzes dryly to him and glances at Ellis in the reflection of the rearview mirror. "That's the one thing I miss about Miami. Connie's sister lived nearby, and was always great with babysitting them for us. Ah, that reminds me. Did I tell you I'm planning to take Connie away for her birthday weekend?" he asks and taps Javi on the arm with the back of his hand, getting his attention from where he was distractedly looking around for an empty space in the lot Ellis had pointed him to while Steve had been talking. "I'm flying her sister down and surprising her with the trip. She'd only trust family to stay with the kids that long. But keep it secret—"

"Secret even from the wives?" Ellis cuts in, being terrible at keeping secrets and wanting to make sure he knew how secretive he needed to be.

"Careful. Don't wanna give Jav a heart attack here, throwing that around so cavalierly—" Steve begins to jibe.

"You are a relentless pain in the ass, you know that?" Javi derides acerbically as he zooms into the parking spot tucked around the bend before the car across from him could beat him to it. "I told you, I'm working on it—"

"You are going at a molasses pace, bud, is all I'm sayin'. Especially with the other suitors swaggerin' about," Steve heckles, earning an eye roll from Javi and for Ellis to do the male version of perking up his ears for gossip.

Javi catches himself and stows his tempestuous jealousy with a gruff exhale before he could lose his cool. Putting on his favorite sunglasses, he shuts the engine and clarifies, "That's a singular suitor, who is a wannabe suitor, and a stupid prick. Now, you two hillbillies get out of the car."

"If you're going to insult me, at least be correct with your insults. I'm a redneck, not a hillbilly, cabrón," Ellis sarcastically derides as he snaps his seatbelt off and exits the vehicle.

"He's got you there, pendejo," Steve jokes as he opens his door and hops out.

Snorting, Javi follows suit and locks the car before falling into step with the two gringos.

"When are you two gonna learn more than Spanish swear words, pray tell?" he hazes, earning huffy excuses from the two men as they head into the barbershop.

By the end of the workday, you're on the way out of the federal campus to meet the girls at the mall, eager to get what you all need so you can rush home and get ready to go do the class with Javi. Mercifully traffic is cooperative and you're able to find a space close to the main general entry point of the sprawling building with enough time to stride towards the JCPenney entrance. The shopping center was bustling, but not overcrowded, so you're able to stride at a brisk pace, making it through the concourse to the large department store's entry and spotting Connie sitting on a nearby bench and sorting through her purse.

"Hey! Have you been waiting long?" you greet as you lean down to kiss her hello on the cheek.

"Not at all! I got here a few minutes ago. I had cut out a page from the store catalogue this month, and I thought I had put it in my purse, but can't find it," she tells you as she gives up on the search and stands when she spots Anita and waves her over.

"Hi! Sorry I'm late. I couldn't find a parking spot," Anita greets and explains as she exchanges hello hugs and kisses on the cheek with you both.

You spend the next hour scouring the store for elegant cocktail dress options with the girls, helping Anita decide between the burgundy A-line dress and the emerald wrap dress, spotting a dress that resembles the description of the one Connie had seen in the catalogue and proceeding to coax her into getting it even though it was sexier than she'd expected on her.

"—I don't know. Isn't it too low cut in the front?" she frets as she continues to hold it up in front of herself in the nearby mirror while Anita peruses a clothing rack.

"Totally, but it's tasteful, I swear," you tease her, and she snickers and shakes her blonde hair out at your silly tone. "Mine is way riskier – lower cut, and short, but I'm still wearing it, so c'mon, don't leave me as the only one pushing the sexy envelope."

Connie laughs, "Alright, fine. And it is on sale, so—"

"So try it on tonight in front of Steve and see if his eyes bug out or not. If they do, definitely wear it to the gala," Anita quips with impish charm, purse swinging merrily at her side while she holds her dress folded over her forearm as she wiggles her brows cheekily.

After shopping a bit more through the department store, you manage to also find a set of workout clothes for Javier in the Men's section while Anita picks up a pocket square and necktie for Ellis. Once you've all made your purchases at the customer service counter, the girls accompany you to the shoe boutique you like a few minutes later, and help you decide between the chic black pumps and the strappy stilettos. "—I like them both, but these are more for clubbing," you finally decide as you sit back down and remove each from your feet while telling the store clerk that you'd be taking the pumps.

"Oh, are you wearing pantyhose, or stockings?" Anita asks as she admires a pair of gold sandals.

"No, going bare-legged. I hate wearing pantyhose," you retort as you go to the register to pay for the purchase. "Did you guys want to stop by anywhere else before we go?"

"No, I have to rush to the mercado before I head home," Anita replies and collects her shopping bag from the couch.

"Steve's probably getting home now, so I gotta get there before Olivia convinces him to have waffles for dinner again," Connie comically sighs as she shoulders her purse and balances her store bag from one hand to the other while you all chuckle at the idea of little Olivia cajoling her pushover of a dad.

After you all say goodbye in the central promenade of the mall, you part ways in different directions, and you hustle to your car to navigate your way home through the evening traffic.

You're completely unaware that you're being watched as you place your shopping bag in your backseat before getting in on the driver's side.

No, you're so preoccupied with thinking of the gala tomorrow, and how much you're looking forward to having your first very public night out with Javier – where everyone in your professional lives will see for themselves that you both are together and much in love, that you don't sense the stare from afar.

By the time you make it home, you're rushing to get upstairs and get ready for the class, so you don't bother with stopping at your mailbox before heading up to your apartment, and are barely through the door before you toss your things onto the bar top counter and shut the door while reaching to hit the button the answering machine when you see the red light blinking that you had messages.

While the machine begins to recite the date and time of the first message, you run down the hall to your bedroom as you strip your blouse off and work the zipper down on your skirt.

"Good afternoon. This is Dr. Salinas checking in to see how you're feeling, and to see when you'd like to schedule your next physical. Give the office a call if there's anything you'd like to discuss. Thank you, goodbye."

You grunt thoughtfully at that, making a mental note to call the office in the morning, while you chuck your work outfit into the hamper and grab for the yoga leggings and top you set out this morning. The machine dictates the receipt date and time of the next voicemail before the sound of dead air echoes from the living room before the caller hangs up without leaving a message.

Pausing at the dresser quizzically, you feel a sense of déjà vu come over you before continuing to brush your hair up into a neat bun. That's like, the third time someone calls and doesn't leave a voicemail—

The sound of a key being slipped into the front door's lock sounds before it opens and you hear Javi's dress shoed steps enter over the final drone of the answering machine announcing the end of messages.

"I'm home," he calls out before the jangle of his keys clatter on the counter and his footfalls approach the hall.

"Perfect timing!" you exclaim when you glance at the alarm clock and see he was true to his word, smiling as you put on the stretchy headband to keep your hair slick back and out of your face. "I just got home a couple of minutes ago—" you're saying as you turn towards him when he enters the bedroom, before gasping. "Aw, you cut your hair?"

Javi experimentally runs his hand over his trimmed hair, tossing his gym bag to the corner by the chair. His brows are knitting together ambivalently as he frowns and asks, "Yeah, does it look bad?"

Internally swooning, your mind flashes to how he'd looked the first time you saw him back in Bogotá – when he'd returned to be the DEA attaché. How dashing he looked with his trimmed, and suavely-combed hair. His hair now is not much shorter than it'd been then. Truly, he looks deliciously debonair, but his expectant look communicates otherwise, so you stride towards him and loop your hands around his shoulders as you get on your tippy toes to kiss him reassuringly before extolling, "You always look handsome, you dork. I'm just gonna miss playing with your rizos, is all."

Scoffing, he smirks down at you before squeezing you affectionately to him and kissing you cheekily as he grouses with daring, "I got something else you can play with—"

Humorously swatting his rump, you giggle, "Beyako. Naughty talk later. Hurry up and get dressed," and pull him towards the bed where you placed the shopping bag, digging into it and pulling out the soft shirt and comfortable joggers you bought him. "I wasn't sure you'd have anything to wear for yoga, so I got these."

"Thanks, querida," he croons and kisses your cheek before starting to undo his tie and unbutton his collar while he leers appreciatively down at your formfitting workout ensemble. The halter top-styled purple and black sports bra has your cleavage looking delectably snug, while the skin-hugging black yoga leggings made your ass look round and plump – begging to be caressed greedily by his hands. "Mmm, I was envisioning you in a leotard and leg warmers, but this is much hotter."

Snickering as you brush by him to retrieve your sneakers from the closet, you muse flirtatiously, "I figured you'd approve of it since you'd be my yoga buddy. Now, hurry it up, mister."

With a twinkle in his eye, Javi chuckles before he quickly strips and gets ready.

Soon you're driving to the building that houses the workout studios, and lead the way up to the floor where the evening class is scheduled. Storing your gym bags in the cubbies along the sidewall of the studio, you're chatting with Javier about the little rituals most yoga teachers use to start and progress the session while he looks around and catalogues the large room and the other attendees whilst you both remove your sneakers and socks to be placed in the shelves.

"Well, mira quien es!"

Pausing to turn, you're surprised to see Zoraida standing smug and statuesque in her workout outfit and her pink yoga mat rolled up and tucked in her arm.

"Ah! What're you doing here?! You don't normally do the night class—" you remark as you two exchange a hug and kiss on the cheek hello.

"I don't, but I've had day shoots and gigs all week, and this is the only time I could get in a workout before the weekend," she explains before bouncing her brows knowingly at you and gesturing towards Javi with a nod of her head. "And I take it this is your jevo, Javi?"

Feeling a wave of pride fill him, Javier steps forward to greet your friend with a handshake and kiss to the cheek. "Mucho gusto. It's great to finally meet you. I've heard great things—"

"And I've heard lots of things about you," Zoraida cuts in glibly as she sizes Javi up the way a discerning poker player would. "Like how overprotective you are of my dear friend, so what – are you here to take the class too, or just to keep an eye on her—?"

"Zory!" you admonishingly decry, glaring at her for doing her super bad cop routine right now.

Unfazed, Javi reassuringly caresses the small of your back with his palm while returning Zoraida's unflinching stare to answer matter-of-factly, "Celina doesn't need anyone to keep an eye on her, but I'll admit I was looking forward to staring at her and trying to follow along with the class. Although if she does that downward dog pose in front of me, I can't say I wouldn't consider spiriting her away to somewhere private."

You blush girlishly at that and swat his chest with the back of your hand as you hiss, "Javier!"

Zory cracks a smile and relaxes her stance to approvingly gesture as she quips, "Ok, he's passing the trial…for now."

Rolling your eyes as you derisively snicker, you take Javi's hand and lead him over to the back of the room to get a yoga mat, offering a, "You two are incorrigible," over your shoulder as you go, earning a smirk from Javi and for Zoraida to shoot him a conspiratorial wink.

Once the class starts, Javi is able to follow along for the first few poses, and watches you and Zory expertly match in stances with little effort as you stand side by side in front of him. By the time he gets to tree pose, though, he finds himself wobbling to try and not lose his balance and stick out like a sore thumb in the class.

"Here, center your weight and keep your back straight," is the sudden instruction from the vivacious male teacher Javier hadn't noticed work his way around the room towards him before placing his hands on Javier's hips to align his stance. "There, much better! Remember to engage your core to stay centered, everyone."

You peek over your shoulder and bite your lip to stifle the smile seeing Javi in the tree pose looking bashful has threatening to crest your features with mirth. When he catches your glance, he glowers goofily at you and mouths, 'Mala.'

Blowing a kiss at him for calling you 'Bad girl,' you turn and snicker at Zory when she hums, "¿Te tiene suelta como gabete, eh?"

"Zory, cállate," you hiss back, and when she just gives you a mocking look, you whisper, "And yes, he does."

She stifles her simpering laugh and pays attention to the instructor's next directive.

Javier watches you and Zoraida whisper teasingly at each other and smiles, happy to see you enjoying the carefree moment with your friend. So when it finally comes to the downward dog position, he recites the mantra, Don't be a perv. Don't be a perv. Don't stare at her glorious ass too long, while trying to do the pose and not ogle you rapaciously. While he does so, he's too distracted to notice Zoraida covertly watching him from her position, and pleasantly noticing how he doesn't have eyes for anyone else but you, and how obviously eager he is to impress you.

It was then and there that Javier had passed her real test.

"Namasté, everyone."

When the class ends, and you stand from the final pose and bow in respect, you turn and smile at Javi, winking at him when he exhales in relief and wipes the back of his hand along his sweaty brow. You quickly collect your mat and roll it back up to pin it to your side before going to him and asking, "Well? Not too hard, right?"

Thankful that the joggers you bought him were dark and camouflaged his lower half well, Javi kneels to roll up his mat as he answers quippingly, "Nope, not bad at all. As for hard? That's another story."

You gasp and squeeze his shoulder in playful retaliation, hissing kittenishly, "Behave, you."

"I'm trying, bravita," he dramatically mutters and stands, taking your rolled up matt and dutifully returning it with his own to where they're stored before loping back to the cubbies with you.

"After freshening up, you two wanna grab a smoothie downstairs?" Zoraida queries as she retrieves her gym tote and finishes putting her sneakers on.

"Sure. I'll be quick, querida," is Javi's easygoing reply before he kisses your cheek and takes his bag with him to the men's locker room.

You piningly watch him go, and Zory puts her hands on her hips and stares amusedly until you remember yourself and quickly grab your things.

"You got it baaaaad, girl."

"Yes, I do. And I'm not even mad about it anymore, so deja el relajo."

A short while later, the three of you are entering the trendy smoothie shop that's on the ground floor of the building, and since it was busy, Javi suggested grabbing the table he spotted in the back before going up to the counter to order. Having changed into clean clothes, Javi was checking you out – loving how effortlessly gorgeous you looked in the black spandex bike shorts and oversized tie-dye sweatshirt. And he was thankful that he had a clean pair of dark running shorts in his bag.

"Alright, what would you ladies like? My treat," is his charming offer, already rebuffing your attempt to argue by pulling your chair for you and assuring, "Nada de eso. I got it. What smoothie do you want?"

Relenting, you tell him, "The all-berry one. And Zory's favorite is the tropical citrus one."

"Coming right up," he croons and walks over to make the line.

"Nena," Zory whispers to grab your attention, and when you look at her with expectant eyes, she singsongs in Spanish, "That man is fine."

Suppressing a grin, you sass, "I told you."

"Me cae bien, fíjate. And I can see him holding his own with your dad, so hopefully you'll introduce them soon since I get the feeling your jevo wants to make you his wife—" she boasts amusingly, earning your scoff and idle dismissive wave. "I'm serious. Have you considered it?"

"Marriage?!" you whisper aloofly.

"No. Letting him meet your dad. Pero yeah – if you were gonna marry anyone—"

"Shhh!" you shush when she says it a little too loud and you notice Javi glance over from where he waits at the counter now. He winks at you, and you smile, wrinkling your nose goofily at him, and already pining to yank that grey t-shirt off of him. "As a matter of fact, I did agree to a sort of dinner thing with my dad. He suggested it, and mentioned that Javier was invited. I just haven't mentioned it to him yet," you confide, glancing back at her when she hums in surprise. "I mean, you know how it is. I don't want to set expectations until I'm sure it's the right thing – putting him through that hassle."

"Something tells me he wouldn't think it a hassle at all," Zoraida offers sagely as she runs her fingers through her ponytail. "I say, go for it."

You're about to respond in the contrary when Javier walks back to the table with three large smoothie cups he places down, sliding one to Zory and another towards you before sitting next to you.

"Here you go. Let me know if it's right," he remarks as he puts the straw in his own cup and takes a sip, humming in approval.

"What flavor did you get?" you ask before taking a sip of yours.

"The strawberry and banana one," he tells you before stealing a sip from your cup. "Mmm, that's good too."

Laughing, you snicker, "I know, chavón. Let me have a sip of yours."

He slides the cup over to you, and while you sip, he asks Zoraida, "So, is it true that you two used to sneak out to parties when you were teens?"

"Yes. We've known each other the longest of all the girls. We were each other's alibis with our parents. 'I'm sleeping over at Celina's this weekend,' was all I had to say. My parents admired hers and they thought she was a goody two shoes," Zoraida answers charmingly before drinking her smoothie.

You squint at her when Javi hums intriguingly. "See, she's a charlatán, because she was the one with the good girl rep," you parry back and earn Javi's raised brows and pursed lipped mueca. "I was good at school, but had a bad attitude, according to most—"

"Yeah, and our parents were all come mierdas, so as long as we behaved and kept up appearances when it was crucial, we got the leeway we needed," Zoraida concedes, not wanting to lead the convo into darker edges of your shared pasts. "Anyway, so is it true you came down here just to get her back?"

"Zory!" you jeer grumpily at her, to Javi's unshaken amusement.

"I did."

"And what're your long-term intentions?"

"Zoraida—"

"I want to earn back everything we'd been working towards. Getting a place together, meeting our families, having our lives fit together—"

"You're gonna have to get through a few more steps before any of that, just so you know," Zoraida insists rather smugly, adding, "Tayra and Naida will have to sign off on you—"

"Ok, you're being ridiculous now," you interject, getting peeved.

Javier senses there's something underlying about the conversation, so he reassures, "It's fine, querida—"

"Look, I'm the really blunt one of our quartet, so I'll just come out and say it: I fell for the charms of the last guy Celina was head over heels for, and us three girls will not make that mistake again. We're very protective of her, and after all she's been through, we want to make sure she's with someone who deserves her," Zoraida states a little sharper than she'd intended, and sees your incredulous stare before you relax your features into that stoic, impartial regard that comes over you as a way to shield yourself. "I—I'm sorry. I don't mean any disrespect."

"None taken," Javi replies, leaning close to you so he can put his arm consolingly around your shoulders. "I'm happy that she has so many people who love and protect her. She deserves the world, so all I can say is, that I will do everything I have to in order to prove I'm worthy of her, and intend to earn the trust of everyone important in her life," is his baritone declaration, and when you glance up at him in awe, he genuinely smiles and kisses your temple before saying without frills, "I love her with all my heart. And she can do with me whatever she wants. I can take it."

It's the perfect thing to say that sparks the break in tension, earning a cleansing laugh from you and a relieve chuckle from Zoraida. "Well, I'm satisfied," she exclaims before dramatically toasting her cup with his, and saluting, "You've cleared your first judge. Good luck advancing through the trials of Celina, and thanks for the smoothie."

To say it was a rollercoaster of feelings that the conversation took you on would be an understatement, so you were thankful to wrap up the outing with your friend and head home with Javier.

As you drive, you find yourself rambling, "I'm really sorry about that. She's always been the super bad cop of the group, and sometimes she goes way too far and crosses the line, but she doesn't really mean to—"

"Mi amor, it's ok. I kind of enjoyed the verbal sparring," Javi assures you, eyeing your sheepish grimace. "I swear, I didn't mind it."

"Well, I did," you admit, concentrating on driving. "I do not like being under inquisition."

He reaches over and caresses his hand along your thigh. "I know you don't. So from now on, I'll take it, and you just need to let it play out. You don't need to defend me—"

You've just pulled up to the gate of your building and pause in putting in the code to glare imperiously over at him. "I know I don't need to defend you. I want to defend you, especially from my nosy, rude friends who think disrespecting you is a way to suss out whether you're a horrible jerk or not," you huff and punch in the code before rolling up your window.

Javi can tell you're getting worked up, so he flattens his lips to keep from saying what he wants.

You see it from the corner of your eye, so once the gate has opened and you can cruise down to your spot, you tell him impertinently, "Don't even try clamming up now. Go ahead and say what you were thinking, Javi."

His brow furrows dubiously at that, but he waits for you to park in your spot and turn the car off before he pivots towards you and husks, "I was thinking that you should let the people who know you and care about you protect you, even from yourself, which is what it sounded like Zoraida was hinting at. I didn't take offense to it because I know my intentions and how I've fucked up countless times before, so having someone who cares about you hold me to a standard isn't unreasonable. It's what I would want for you. And I'm up for the challenge of proving myself. But you're taking it as a critique of your judgment. I know feeling like someone is criticizing your past decisions can make you feel insulted, but I don't think it was meant that way."

Absorbing that, you wilt back into the seat, pensive. Javi thinks he's really hit a nerve in you, so he's about to apologize when you turn and stare into his dark brewed eyes with blazing conviction gleaming in yours.

"No. I resented her line of questioning of you, because I've made it clear to her and the others that the way I feel about you is different than I've ever felt about anyone else. So her pulling that shit earlier really ticked me off," you rationalize in a cool, yet firm timbre. At his hapless stare, you narrow your gaze and sass, "I guess it bears repeating: You are the love of my life, and I do not take kindly to anyone, no matter how much they mean to me, disparaging you in any way. Even if they think they're just being protective. I know what I feel, and what I want. And I trust you, so they should respect that. And so should you, dammit."

Astonished, Javi sits there with a dopy, smitten expression, so you scoff and lean over to kiss him, bossily grabbing him by the front of his shirt and tugging him forward to meet you halfway.

The kiss is electric. It's teeming with the static cling of tension, but scintillating with the simmering desire you both have for each other and have been intensely bottling up all evening.

As the make-out session gets more torrid, the windows begin to fog up, and the warmth inside the car has both your senses honing in on each other. The way his scent is spicy and heady, how the heat of your arousal gives away how wet and needy you are for him, the way his pulse is racing as his hands fondle you covetously while his ravenous tongue sweeps into your mouth to duel with yours.

Just as he glides his hand down to caress between your thighs, you gasp and drag your mouth to suckle his bottom lip before grazing your blunt teeth over the pillowy morsel and snickering, "Ah! Not here, fresco."

The molten, searing stare he gives you while his expression etches in surly desire makes your pulse skip, then shoot aching want between your thighs when he growls, "Get upstairs. Now."

Oh, how you missed this ridiculous game.

The order sends a salacious charge down your body and has you acting before you could even think. You're out of the driver's side with the car and house keys in your hand before it's even registered, and you're sprinting up to the lobby and rushing up the stairs before you've realized you left your gym bag in the backseat with Javi's. It'd been hardwired to do as he said, and you were aflutter with anticipation as you sprint up the flights of stairs, which was making you buzz anxiously. So much so, you drop the keys at one point and struggle to double back and scoop them up before resuming your sprint.

Just as you make it to your floor, you hear the distant ding of the elevator arriving at the lobby, so you squeak and hurry to cross the loggia corridor towards your apartment door. You fumble with the keys, missing slipping the lock's key in twice before you manage to unlock it and open the door. As you're yanking the key out, you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, and you excitedly dash into the apartment, closing the door haphazardly because of how hastily you toss the keys to the counter so you can yank your sneakers off and remove your socks in order to sprint easily on the tiled floor. But before you can make a run to your bedroom, Javier is breezing through the door with both gym bags in hand and a surly look that promised lasciviousness wherever he saw fit to indulge you in when he got his hands on you.

"Ven acá," he orders in that honeyed husk that drags over a roughened, commanding pitch as he tosses the gym bags aside and gestures 'Come here' to you.

The mischievous laugh bubbles up in you before you daringly dash away and run down the hall. You don't make it beyond the guest bedroom door though before Javier's gained on you and swept you up against him, earning a gleeful squeal from you.

"You little traviesa," he purrs puckishly as he pins you to the wall and slips his hands up your sweatshirt before pulling it up your torso and yanking it off you. "Do you know how fucking hard I've been?! How worked up you got me bending over like that in the class—?!"

"It was the pose! I didn't do anything sexy—" is your giggled counter as you grab his grey shirt and tug it up to pull it off for him. But as soon as his shirt is off, Javi grabs you by your hips and spins you around to be pinned with your hands to the wall. Your voice cracks and an excited sound slips from your lips as he unhooks your bra with one hand while the other yanks down your bottoms – bike shorts and panties peeling down your thighs before swiftly getting discarded once he kneels behind you to strip them off. Just as you're about to whine for him that he was being silly, Javi fondles a hand to grip the curve of your waist and spanks your bare left buttock with his other hand.

The needy whimper you make has him throbbing in his pants, but he wants to rile you up into begging for more. So, he runs one hand up your spine soothingly while the hand that spanked you caresses the smooth skin of your derrière as he croons, "I could make out the contour of your pussy through the leggings when you bent over. Wanted to run my tongue along your seam, right then and there—"

"Ja-Javi," you mewl and quiver with desire, blindly shedding your bra, which had you removing your hands from the wall and reaching backwards. It's an unconscious need to touch him as a way to ground yourself – of needing to still feel in control and like you weren't falling into chaos, so your fingers brush his shoulders before he hums warningly at you.

"Put your hands against the wall, malcriada."

Your palms are against the cool surface before you even realize the motion, and you can feel the apples of your cheeks burn as you stifle a whine by biting your lower lip.

He's buzzing with primal pride at how eager and compliant you're being, because he knows it means you're beyond turned on and desperate for him. So, he decides to instigate you.

With a possessive touch, Javi gropes his hand down from your waist to your mound before teasingly caressing your pussy. You gasp and rut against his fingers, beyond aroused, so Javi grazes his lips just above the cleft of your backside before growling in a sinful pitch, "Quit whining, or I won't give you what you want, you spoiled little minx—"

Hackles rising at that, you defiantly arch your back and sass in a reedy tone, "Do you know what I want, querido?" and shoot him a devious glance over your shoulder.

Pleased by your audacious comeback, Javi spanks your ass and recedes his fingers from teasing your dripping cunt. You mewl and shiver, knees becoming wobbly as he stands and swiftly boxes you in from behind before possessively cupping his large hand below your jaw so he can crane your countenance up to his, pinning you into place with his smoldering dark coffee gaze.

"You want your naughty ass dominated," is his velvet-over-steel rumble, eyeing you ravenously as he glides his thumb from your jaw to your chin before dragging the pad to trace the plump flesh of your bottom lip.

Not to be outdone, your gaze becomes alluring as you sultrily demand, "Then fucking dominate me, papisongo."

The deviant thrill that crests up through him is fierce, so much so he spins you around and picks you up by your waist to pin your back against the wall before he unceremoniously shoves his bottoms down his hips enough to free his throbbing manhood and guide you down onto it while he plunges up into your silken heat.

You anchor your arms to loop his shoulders and wrap your legs around his waist as he fucks you against the wall, expertly making you melt down into primal ecstasy and plucking cries of delight from you. The snap of his hips and the strength of his hold on you has you desperate for the bliss that begins to crescendo up, promising blistering gratification as your climax builds. So when Javi coos, "My sweet girl. Feel you getting close—" you whimper and nuzzle your pleading whines into his neck. And Javi answers you by angling his next thrusts to slam home into that delicate cluster of nerves deep inside your molten sheath, which propels you off the proverbial cliff to fall into rapturous completion.

"Javi!" you cry out before losing yourself to the carnal glory as your walls strangle around his throbbing cock.

It steals his breath, seeing you come apart so fiercely, and when you desperately cling to him and ride the wave of pleasure, you mindlessly bite the warm sloping muscle that connects his delectable neck to his broad shoulders before suckling hard on it.

The sound he makes is raw need and makes you ravenous, so when he fucks wantonly into you, only gasping cries of 'Yes-Yes-Yes!' ramble from your mouth as he barrels into you just before his hips stutter and he climaxes on a hoarse groan.

Shakily, he holds you both up against the wall as his release fills your pulsing heat, gasping and panting gruffly against your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek. You're just as fucked out whilst clinging to his broad frame, but your thighs are trembling from the effort of staying clung to him so, and you greedily wanting to keep him nestled deep inside of you.

With a hearty exhale, Javi nudges his head affectionately against you and husks, "Well…I kept my core engaged…guess I learned something after all."

You laugh breathily and lovingly kiss his warm, smiling features.

A short while later, you're both lounging in the warm bubble bath together, enjoying how the water soothes your aching muscles and relaxes the post coital fatigue from your satisfied sinew. You were still giggling at how silly it was that Javier had stripped you naked and kept his bottoms and sneakers on, and he was kneading his fingers in massaging presses along your curves while snickering his rationale.

"—I wasn't going to waste time kicking them off. Not with how quick you are descalza."

"You looked so funny standing in the hall with just your sneakers on—"

"And who's fault is that?"

"Mine, and I feel no guilt, bebito—"

"Ah-hah, keep giggling, loquita—"

You simper a taunting chuckle at that, so he scoops a big puff of bubbles and plops it on your head in a goofy crown of suds, causing you to laugh effervescently and splash him before he grins and pinches your butt under the water.

With a soft snicker, you brush the crown of bubbles off as you settle to cuddle into his side under the warm soapy water before you kiss his cheek and sigh, "That was amazing, Javi."

Smiling, he glides his hand along the length of your side under the water, grunting, "Yeah. Yoga's hot."

A silly snort comes out of you before you shift to rest more comfortably against him so you can caress your warm, wet fingertips along his brow, brushing them soothingly along his forehead when he closes his eyes and exhales a relaxing breath through his nose.

"Not as hot as you," is your sincere flirtation, enjoying how his eyes flutter and he groans contrarily. "C'mon, guapetón. You know I'm smitten with your sexy ass."

He chuckles at that and stares sweetly at you. "I do. Luckily, I feel the same," he purrs and gives you a smug look.

"You better," is your sassy coo before leaning in to peck him on the lips, then dip your fingertips into the water and flick droplets teasingly at him. "So tomorrow night, I'm going to get ready at Jodalys' place. Do you need me to iron any of your clothes?"

"I got it handled, querida. Don't worry," he replies coolly before scrubbing his hand down his face. "Oh, we finally got that co-op signed off on, so tomorrow we're going to be in Aguadilla for a training exercise. I should be back in time to get ready here and pick you up at her place, if you want."

Nodding, you idly trace your touch along his chest as you ask, "Are any of the guys going to attend the gala?" When he raises his brows curiously, you elaborate, "So, Olga happened to mention today that she's hoping to get a chance to socialize with Nic. I wasn't sure if he or any of your guys would be free to attend. Especially now if that operation is going to happen."

"The invite went to everyone, but I don't know if Lopez or Duff were planning on going. I'll ask 'em tomorrow," he answers thoughtfully before asking, "How was shopping with the girls?"

"Great. We each found what we needed for tomorrow night. I'm really looking forward to the night out," you tell him, smiling when he hums and quirks his lips goadingly. "What?"

"Nothing. Just wondering what sexy lingerie you're gonna have on under your dress," he remarks nonchalantly and gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"Ah, well. Who said I plan to wear anything under my dress at all?" is your cavalier musing, mimicking his shrug.

"…You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"Querida—" he begins to grumble warningly, trying for stern, but the way you squint cunningly at him makes it clear you're only teasing, so he grunts, "All right, quit instigatin' me and get your pruny butt out of this bath, Ms. Namaste."

You both relish the shared nightly routine of getting ready for bed. While you do so, you mention to Javi about the plans for Sunday, telling him all about how you and your friends had been ring shopping helpers for Naida's soon-to-be fiancé. He listens and steals glances at you as you pull a big, well-worn Blondie tour shirt on before brushing your hair out in front of the mirror as you dish and appreciatively glance at your boxer-brief-clad stud.

"—I have a nice bottle of bourbon for him, and a registry preset for her at the chic homeware boutique she loves, so now it's just waiting to see which of our ring selections he chose," you're recapping as you pull the quilt away so you can slip under it while Javi shuts the hall light off and saunters in to the side of the bed closest to the door. Fluffing the pillows, you musingly query, "So you'll be in Aguadilla most of the day tomorrow?"

"No, just in the afternoon. I have meetings to go over logistics and bank financials. Lawyers for some of the banks are stonewalling us, so I have to deal with that while Steve keeps an eye on things. He'll be at the federal building office most of the day," Javi replies in a relaxed baritone as he slips under the covers with you and switches the lamp off. Slinking up to wrap his forearm around your waist so he can pull you close, he nuzzles your jaw and croons, "Mmm, you smell good, rockerita. No sexy little batita tonight?"

Snickering, you nudge him to lie back so you can cuddle into his side as you lilt, "All my nice nighties are at your place or in the hamper, suavón!"

He grunts wryly and settles comfortably in bed with you. You contentedly kiss his cheek and nestle up against him, arm slung across his chest to idly caress the contour of his deltoid while you relax and begin to doze off to the breezy sounds sifting through the room and the strong thrum of his heartbeat.

"Goodnight, hermoso."

He grunts coolly, the exhaustion of the workout class and the torrid romp in the hallway making him easily succumb to sleep, head lulled on the pillow while you snuggle to rest yours on his shoulder.

When you both rise early the next morning, you shower together, and while he gets dressed, you whip up a nice breakfast for you both to share while stood at the kitchen counter to eat so you can quickly savor the coffee while multitasking finishing getting ready for the busy day.

Straightening the knot of his silver and blue tie for him, you rise to your tippy toes to peck him on the lips before drawling, "Good luck dealing with FBI today. I hope the drill goes well."

Snorting he caresses your waist and holds you close so he can give you a soulful look while he smirks and deadpans, "I'm gonna need it, considering I just want to deck the guy—"

"Nada de eso, mi amor," you tut sarcastically and give him a faux chiding pout as you harp, "It shouldn't bare repeating that he's an asshat you shouldn't get jealous over, but since you're so terco, I'll just remind you that if you get in a dust up with him and end up needing to be bailed out, I will be really mad at you."

Relenting, Javi grouses, "Yeah…and you'd be right to be pissed. I won't start anything, cariño. I promise."

With an exacting smile, you caress his hair and purr, "Good boy."

The flare of want darkens his coffee-brewed irises just before he impishly pulls you against him so he can kiss you breathless.

Pulling away suddenly to break the kiss, he smugly grunts when you chase his lips and end up blushing. "You be a good girl and have a great day at work, preciosa," he husks before stealing a cheeky peck and grabbing his keys from the counter, shooting you a debonair wink before he breezes out the apartment door.

Letting out a flustered huff, you coax your arousal to simmer down as you rush to finish getting ready.

As you're heading out to start your work commute, you don't know that your day will be a tumult of unexpected turmoil, nor that Javi will be both at the mercy of said turmoil and the perpetuator of it. No, only the excited anticipation is what fills you up, leaving you unprepared for what's to come.

  ________________

Spanish-English Glossary:

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Mi amor = My love

Ay, por favor = Oh, please

Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend

Amigo = Friend; buddy

Chisme = Gossip

Pana = Puerto Rican slang for 'buddy' or friend

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Canela = Cinnamon

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Chingona = Mexican slang for bad ass woman

Dame un beso, gatita coqueta = Give me a kiss, you coquettish kitten

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl Pá. Cuídate = Dad. Take care

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

Jefa = Boss lady

Dulzón = Sweetheart [male]

Puto cabrón =Fucking asshole

La Fortaleza = The Puerto Rican Governor's office and mansion; aka 'The Puerto Rican White House'

Chismeando = Gossiping around

Sangano = Puerto Rican slang for a man who's a fool; an idiot, moron or dummy

Galán = Handsome gent

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Malvadita = Wicked little girl

Mírame, hermosa = Look at me, beautiful

Beyaquito = Little naughty perv

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

Señorita = Miss; little lady

Traviesa = Naughty/Mischievous girl Burlón = Joker; teaser

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Ah pues = Oh well

Es tan lindo, y buena gente. Su sonrisa me encanta = He's so cute and kind. I love his smile

Cabrón = Asshole

Pendejo = Dumbass/Jackass

Rizos = Curls (hair)

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Mira quien es = Look who it is

Mucho gusto = Nice to meet you; Pleasure to meet you

Mala = Bad girl

¿Te tiene suelta como gabete, eh? = This is Puerto Rican slang that basically translates to 'He's got you uninhibited and free;' being loose and untethered like a untied shoelace

Cállate = Shut up

Deja el relajo = Cut the hassling

Nada de eso = None of that

Nena = Girl

Me cae bien, fíjate = I like him, mind you

Pero = But

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Charlatán = Charlatan; Chatterbox

Muecas = Making faces; grimaces

Come mierdas = Literally translates to 'shit eaters' but as Puerto Rican slang, it refers to snobby people who are foolishly elitist, or think they're better than others

Ven acá = Come here

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Papisongo = Puerto Rican slang for a very sexy man; a stud

Descalza = Barefoot [woman]

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Loquita = Crazy girl

Guapetón = Super handsome, good-looking guy

Rockerita = Rocker girl; Little rocker chick

Batita = Nightgown

Suavón = Smooth talker; Smooth guy

Terco = Stubborn [man]

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

[greenerteacups]

7 and 8 for Narcissa (or really, any member of the Black family - dealers choice)

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

I love talking about Narcissa, I'll take the chance all day!

I love that fanon Narcissa absolutely runs Draco's shit. He's portrayed as an über mama's boy, with I really jive with (obviously), since it opens up the chance to explore a relationship we basically never see in the actual books. Leaning into that also explains how Draco got so spoiled, when by all evidence Lucius isn't the most cuddly parent — he's scolding Draco in a lot of the interactions we read of them (granted, usually because Draco's doing some dumb shit). Canon Draco is always nattering about his dad, so I think he idolizes Lucius a lot more, but he's actually closer to Narcissa. As an only child in a family where his mother doesn't work, that interpretation makes a lot of sense to me, as does the idea that Narcissa would play more of an influential role in his adult life, once he'd become disillusioned with Lucius (especially in a postwar context).

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Narcissa gets woobified in the fandom like you wouldn't believe. Especially postwar fics. No blood prejudice, no bias, no hateful language, and striking civility to all muggle-born characters, Hermione especially. A change which, in most cases, seems to occur spontaneously and apropos of nothing except the end of the war. I think people do this for two reasons: (1) prejudice not a sexy flaw for your villain to have, hence why many postwar Dracos don't seem to retain virtually anything of the ideology he has in canon, and extend that blanching to Narcissa in order to avoid conflict with him and his mother; and (2) Narcissa and Lucius are both extremely scary antagonistic characters in any Dramione story if you take them seriously, and sometimes people aren't trying to write serious scary antagonists. Sometimes people just wanna write slice-of-life low-stakes stuff. That's fine! People should read and write whatever makes them happy. It just drives me up the wall to read that specific characterization of Narcissa, because I think it's totally unrealistic. Narcissa married a Death Eater! Her sister was a Death Eater! She raised a Death Eater! She lived with Death Eaters for months, if not years! Yeah, she obviously doesn't give a fuck about the Cause if it threatens her family — cf. the "is Draco in the castle?" moment — but she would not have run in these circles if she hadn't drunk the Kool-Aid and kept it down. And plus, like: if losing the first war wasn't enough to create Woke Narcissa, why would the second one be?

The obvious reading of a postwar heel-face turn, if you take canon seriously, is that Narcissa is at best a morally agnostic opportunist who adopts whatever philosophy happens to be profitable at the moment. Which is a pretty dark character. And I wouldn't mind at all if that's how she was actually written, because I think there's a real foundation for that in the text. But in fanon, it usually scans like she's a fundamentally loving and charitable person who never really believed in blood purity, she just decided to marry into a eugenecist death cult for — y'know — tax benefits or something.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience, pt 2

(Cont. from this) (all parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 2nd snippet. Adar finds someone to officiate the marriage. The elf in question does not think this is a good idea and is pretty vocal about it. Celebrimbor must convince a good friend to help him - even if by, well, unconventional means.

Hiii guys this AU is slowly but surely taking over my brain so - have another snippet. No guarantee how many I'll end up writing, but well, this one exists, so I want to share it. If anyone else wants to try their hand on this concept/AU, be my guest!

"I refuse!" Galadriel spat, after Adar had dragged her into the tent after himself. Celebrimbor had very little time to be elated to see the other elf again before she ripped herself from Adar's grasp and put herself between Celebrimbor and the uruk. "You are trying to force him into something he does not want, would not want if he had any other options left. I refuse to lend you the legitimacy to the claim you seek. I will have no part in it."

She was as brilliant and fearless as the smith remembered her; despite her being in chains and how the two of them were surrounded by potential enemies from all sides, Galadriel was willing to risk her safety and lay down her life for Celebrimbor.

Which was precisely the reason as to why he would not take her up on the 'offer'.

He held up his hands and stared beseechingly at the uruk, who appeared stoic at first glance - but whose gauntleted fist was tightly clenched at his side, grasping the handle of his sword. At Celebrimbor's silent request, the uruk stopped his attempt to get closer. He even motioned the two uruk who had come in alongside him to stand down with a glance, before his eyes settled onto Celebrimbor again. Adar seemed oddly curious now, as if the tension had bled out of him.

The elf brushed it aside, and carefully came closer to Galadriel, humming before he touched her arm as not to startle her. She stepped back, closer to him.

Apropos of nothing, she hissed. "He speaks Quenya and Sindarin. Don't say anything you don't want him to hear."

Celebrimbor blinked, confused. Both at Galadriel's warning, and the fact that this unusual uruk spoke their languages. Then again - he did look elven enough that he might indeed be Moriondor. A terrifying thought, perhaps, but also one that held possibilities.

With gentle motions, the smith began to rub Galadriel's arm, and coaxed. "My friend, be at ease. Let me talk to you, first. Are you alright?"

She seemed torn between turning towards him to reassure him, and keeping an eye on the three uruk in the tent with them. Celebrimbor stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her, so the two of them were shoulder-to-shoulder - they'd cover their backs and she'd still be able to look at him. He had a hunch he'd need to be able to do that for the conversation that would follow.

Her eyes were wild as she was moved, her glances brief, but eventually she allowed herself a moment to take in the smith's face. "I am unharmed," she replied, brief and non-committal. Her glare went back to Adar. "You?"

Celebrimbor continued to rub her shoulder. "I've been treated well. He gave me food and drink," he paused, and looked at Adar. "He didn't even bind me."

This time, Galadriel did whirl around. Celebrimbor held up his hands and indeed, he had neither ropes nor manacles around his wrists. She tilted her head like a bird, and then glanced back at the uruk. Her expression still spoke of suspicion, but at least she wasn't quite so full of hatred anymore.

"Their leader told me he is planning to force you into a marriage," the word sounded like an insult from her mouth. "And tried to lie to me, claiming you'd accept to such a ludicruous idea-"

"Galadriel-," Celebrimbor sighed, gentle. Something in his tone must have given him away, because when Galadriel next turned towards him, she completely forgot the other people in the room by turning around fully. And shock was written all over her face.

If the situation wasn't so dire, the smith would have laughed at the picture she made. She was usually nearly unflappable in times of battle.

"-listen to me, I-"

"You cannot be serious," she breathed, still in shock, and grabbed Celebrimbor's hands with her own. "Tyelpe, listen to yourself. This orc-"

"Uruk," came from the other side of the room. Celebrimbor briefly looked up to see that Adar had spoken the words, but there was no heat behind them. If anything, he looked almost mildly amused. Celebrimbor threw him a glare and then focused on his friend again.

"Orc," she doubled down. Celebrimbor groaned internally. "Is speaking lies! He is trying to rope you into a plan to attack your own people, because he thinks-"

"Sauron is in Eregion. Yes," the smith finished her sentence, and Galadriel's expression fell out of her face at the name. "He's right. I- I have seen him. I know he's there because-"

He hoped, prayed to the Valar that his friend would forgive him. "Because I chose to ignore your warnings when 'Halbrand' returned to Eregion. I..." his voice broke. "I let him in, and now he won't leave. He's- he tricked me and my people, and when I realized it was far too late already."

His confession threatened to tear him apart, and he felt tears of frustration and shame gather in his eyes. "I am so sorry, my friend. I made a terrible mistake. And now my city is going to pay for it."

He would not crumble in the middle of an enemy tent, in front of the leader of a dark army that was still readying itself to attack Ost-In-Edhil if he diverged from the path he and Adar had set themselves onto.

Galadriel's gentle fingers at his cheek were a balm to his soul. As were her kind, understanding eyes. Gone was the commander of the Lindon elves, replaced with a kind smile and an imploring gaze.

"He tricked me too, same as you," she confessed. "Same as he has done to others," Adar's voice drifted over. Celebrimbor looked over in confusion and saw an unusually vulnerable expression on the other's face. And then the smith noticed how Galadriel's eyes had sunk to the floor as if contemplating something herself.

"It's not your fault," the female elf finally settled on, and looked at the smith, imploringly. "Almost none can resist him. And he set out to trick you, it wasn't a mistake or a coincidence on his part. When he first sets his sights on you...it already becomes impossible to escape him. Do not blame yourself for it."

"But I do," Celebrimbor said, and hushed Galadriel as she tried to reassure him. "I am the lord of this city. Of its citizens. I am meant to be their protector, and yet I couldn't even protect myself..."

"Which is why you must do me this favor, and help officiate a marriage between me and Adar." It was, perhaps, unfair to end his heartfelt confession with such a demand, but time was of the essence. Celebrimbor could apologize to her later, if she took offense to it. "His reasoning is sound - he plans to vanquish our common foe. As his husband, I can hand over control of my city to him. My people would have to accept that claim. He could enter it and drive out Annatar- Sauron. Hopefully with little bloodshed."

He trembled as he repeated Adar's plans at his friend, whose face was moving through different emotions at a speed too rapid to keep up with. Still, the smith pressed on. "Please Galadriel - like this, he will advance on Eregion. Elves and uruk will die, and Sauron will reign over whatever is left. Likely, he'll take the city and the army both. I know not how. But whatever he plans cannot be good," another pause. "He's tried to get me to make more rings."

At the mention of Sauron taking over the uruk army, there was a loud hiss from across the room, but it was Galadriel who was jerking in the smith's grasp at the mention of the rings.

"Over my dead body," Adar snarled, but the smith chose to ignore him for the moment. He could discuss this further with Adar when they were alone.

"He wants me, Galadriel," Celebrimbor pressed, and sought out her eyes. "Please, I need you to help me put a stop to this." "There's got to be a better way than this." The smith could tell it was her last attempt to reason with him, and already, it sounded more like a plea than an exclamation made in full confidence. He guessed that she was quickly arriving at the same conclusion he himself had come to.

"If there is, we have no the time to parse it out, or to pursue it," he said, and there was a finality to his words that made Galadriel deflate in his hold. He drew her closer and pressed their foreheads together. "Officiate the marriage. Stand by my side and give legitimacy to Adar's claims. Help me bring this to Gil-Galad so we might unite their- our forces against this greater evil. You want to get rid of him too, do you not?"

She looked back at him. "I can tell you are trying to appeal to my sence of vengeance," she said. And then sighed. Celebrimbor could tell he had gotten through to her, and it made him sigh in turn - in relief.

"I will do as you ask," she told Celebrimbor, and threw another glare at Adar, whose expression was a mask of indifference - thankfully so, for the smith was sure that if the other had been smug about it, Galadriel would have made an attempt on his life, no matter the circumstances (or consequences). She turned back to him. "And I will stay by your side to make sure he won't go back on his word. If he does, I'll cut his throat."

Her bold declaration was met with enraged growling from the two uruk guards who had brought her in, and a watery smile from Celebrimbor, who nodded and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. "Of that, I have no doubt."

This put a small grin to her face, at last. Good.

"Now that this matter is settled," a voice cut through the small moment of peace, shattering it. "I believe we should start. My children are getting restless, and morning is fast approaching."

Celebrimbor sought out Adar's gaze, who still seemed as unaffected as through most of the conversation, safe for the fact that he wasn't grasping his sword anymore and was infact walking over to the nearby table to drink from a goblet - wine, the smith presumed.

"Untie her, and then let us be done with it quickly." It sounded as if this marriage was merely another task for Adar to fulfill - the smith couldn't quite fault the uruk for that. There was no love between them, not even affection, safe for how he couldn't quite help following the motion as Adar lifted his glass and drank in big gulps, throat moving with the motions.

It was an oddly arresting sight, and Celebrimbor was thankful when the two approaching uruk guards helped him to tear his gaze away. They were cautious to touch Galadriel, and surprised the others in the tent when they gave Celebrimbor the permission to open her manacles with a key instead.

The smith rubbed her wrists between his hands after he'd handed the keys and manacles back to the guards without a fuss and thanked them. The raised eyebrows that greeted him were unexpected, however. He gave Galadriel a lopsided smile and made sure the commander would not require a balm for the chafing.

He was surprised to see that while the manacles had certainly worked, they hadn't cut into her skin. Even with how Galadriel had behaved - and Celebrimbor was sure she hadn't been caught without a fight - Adar hadn't had her bound so tightly that she would bruise.

Perhaps, he mused, there was indeed a way this alliance could work out. "Well then," the smith clapped his hands once. The finality of his words didn't escape him. "Let us proceed."

[alyxmakesthings]

Ignite

Ok so I know I said it would be a week, but I guess I'm a liar. The post from this post is here early.

[Reader is a new vigilante with a tech background who built themself a new arm after losing it in an accident. Thankfully it was their non-dominant hand. They had been knocking heads in Staten Island which kept them off the Turtles radar for the most part until tonight. Now they find themself face to face with one of them and no way to avoid a confrontation.] Rise Donnie / Reader

My brain has gone a little wild for this so I will be writing more for this reader character in the future just not sure when. The event that took the reader's arm is mentioned so, trigger warning for past trauma but no big spoilers. I’ll put up this little guy, 🚨, right before but you’ll see it coming.

TAGS: canon typical violence, angst, cussing, aged up characters

Through the Valley

When you caught this punk.

You were gonna kill him.

Your chest burned as you kept pace with the ass hole you had stopped from robbing some poor lady. Stealing from someone in the middle of a parking lot was ballsy, although it’s probably more apropos to call it ‘fucking stupid’. 

He had quickly found out how foolish his move was when you had jumped in to put a stop to it. 

Plus you needed the action.

The target Sacks had given you was a no show at all of the places you had been informed of and it had been looking like nothing would liven up the night to distract you from your failure. 

You were thankful to be wrong but this was just getting annoying.

He takes a turn down an alley you know to be a deadend, to see him panicking at the end of it, perfectly trapped. 

The guy turns to you as you make your way down the alley. When you reach him he’s trying to climb a dumpster to get to the fire escape. 

You’re faster.

You have his arm caught in your ‘iron’ grip, pulling him back to face you causing his hood to fall back.

He looked like he was just a kid. Face too round to have fully made it through puberty.

“Hey man!” He wriggled in your grasp, fear the dominant emotion on his face. “I gave it back, I’m sorry ok!” He continues to try and pull away, but you hold firm.

“Minors have a curfew.” His fear was replaced with classic teenage diss-affectedness and it looked like he was going to say something back before you stare him down. 

“If I catch you out here stealing again I won’t let you go. It’ll be straight to the cops.” Now that the kid was hopefully scared shitless, you let him go. He doesn’t hesitate to run past you back down the alley to the better lit street. 

“Fucking kids.” Tonight really has been shit, the itch in your knuckles to hit something hadn’t abated yet, even if the little punk wore you out running away. 

Maybe you needed more cardio?

A chill runs up your spine. 

Something’s wrong.

Someone’s here.

Your slow look up must have given away the fact that you knew of their presence. 

You see a figure shift higher up as the old fire escape groans at the movement. 

You weren’t the only one hunting tonight.

The figure jumps over the railing to then land on the dumpster below, you were surprised the thing endured given its distressed noise. Even more surprising was who was now jumping down from that very hunk of metal.

It was one of THEM. 

The Mutant Turtle Heroes of Manhattan.

You might owe some people money now.

Standing on even ground didn’t make a difference, he was taller than you. Purple markings decorated his shoulders under the dark metal of whatever he was wearing. The addition caught your eye.

“I didn’t realize the ‘Vigilante of Staten Island’ had a soft spot.” Speaking of disaffected, the turtle's flat tone catches you off guard for a moment. 

‘OK, I’ll play.’

“Kids are dumb and do dumb shit,” you scuff your boot on the pavement. “We’ve all been there.” His eyes follow your every move, “And don’t tell the press, you’ll ruin my image.” You lean back against the opposing wall crossing your arms trying to rest some.

“Scoff. What image?” He continued the casual tone but you couldn’t help but see the wooden bow staff on his back. 

“Emotionally despondent,” you tilt your head at him, “did you just say ‘scoff’?” The smile on your face is genuine. Tonight has been so damn weird already that you might as well roll with it if he was going to be chill. 

“It’s called an endearing quality.” His cocky attitude was dangerous, the rebuttal earning a little flutter in your chest. 

‘Change the subject!’

Suppressing the urge to grin at him after that you took your own advice. “It’s unusual for one of Manhattan’s heroes to make it out this way.” You say it as a statement, but he can tell you mean it as a question. 

“We do have a preference for not Staten Island.” You roll your eyes so hard that even in the lower lighting you know he saw you.

“I grew up here,” you tell him flatly.

“Unfortunate for you.” OK, maybe the cocky attitude wasn’t doing it for you.

“Fortunately for me I don’t have to listen to you bash my home.” You stood from where you had been against the wall, but more questions burned in your mind. “Why are you even out here? Aren’t there supposed to be more of you?” 

“I think I can manage a single human on my own.” He literally looks down on you given your height difference, the warmth from how close he was now radiating off of him. 

‘When did I get this close?’

His voice pulls you back, “The answer to both of those questions can be answered in one.” He holds up a single finger on his tridactyle hand. “We’re out looking for you.” The reveal drew your attention from his hand back to his face.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” You lean further from him now, poised to run.

“How do you pick who you go after?” His question all but confirms what you hadn’t thought possible. 

“I don’t tak-”

“I wouldn’t lie,” you look away for a moment. “The data proves your pattern so how do you get your names?” Metal on his back and goggles on his head, you wondered if he had been tracking your movements. He seemed like he could be a tech head.

‘Was him finding you random?’

“Why does that matter?” You sound more caustic than you really intend, his eyes narrow at you. 

“Some of the people you attack are innocent.” He says the last word through clenched teeth.

“Do you guys work for the fucking EPF or something?” Rage boiled in your veins.

“So you know what I’m talking about?” 

“DO YOU?!” You can feel your body growing hotter, the rage burning at your skin. “Why are you covering for those people?” 

“They’re doing their job trying to help-”

“Yeah right! They work for the EPF.” You leaned forward into his space. “How could they be helping anyone?” You then see him reach behind him.

Expecting him to pull the wooden bō from his back you are surprised to see his hand return with a different collapsed metal bō. 

It extends the instant he charges forward, a quick swing sending you staggering back further into the alley. He plants himself firmly between you and your exit.

“This isn’t going to end well for you.” His grin was infectious, your heart twists.

‘He works with THEM stop!’

Today has fucking sucked.

“Funny I was gonna say the same thing.” You know you can’t defend against him ‘weaponless’ as you are. Holding your gloved hand out for a moment you egg him on, fingers flexing in a ‘bring it’ motion. 

He’s eager to comply.

‘End it quick.’

You were tired. The entire night had been a waste. 

You had chased down that kid and almost finished off your reserves. 

Now, you just want to go home. 

You avoid some of his lunges and in reply he spins his bō to strike your arm. 

‘Gotcha.’

The resounding clang of metal on metal was barely cushioned by the gloves. The shock on the turtle's face was evident.

“Oh,” you feel your grin turning malicious. “I guess they didn’t tell you about this.” 

🚨

He looks confused, brain piecing together what was happening. “Then again after an accident like that, I wouldn’t think anyone would’ve made it out either.” You can feel the wrath growing, gnawing at your chest. “I clearly didn’t make it out in one piece,” a tear falls down your cheek, “AND MY PARENTS DIDN’T MAKE IT OUT AT ALL!”

Unlocking the mechanism on your arm you take advantage of the confusion the mutant is experiencing. Pushing off of the ground with your forward foot you shoot out your other to push yourself up the nearby wall. 

Using the bō as support you then relock your arm, using all of your body weight to rip the weapon from his grasp. He’s strong, and it’s difficult, but by the time your feet find the pavement once more, it’s yours. 

“This has to be a misunderstanding.” You throw the metal bō further back the alley and you hear it roll before hitting a wall. “The EPF doesn’t attack civilians.” You scoff.

“I bet you just believe every little thing they tell you, huh?” The ragged edge in your voice makes him wince.

“Well no but…” He sounds smaller than he is but you can’t stop. 

“But nothing!” Cutting him off you continue. “You work with them? Protect them? Then you’re just as bad as them!” You feel blind for a moment the previous exhaustion replaced with white hot steel in your veins. 

“I-,” he wouldn’t get to finish whatever his thought had been as you charge forward.

Instead of engaging he lept back and then up to the fire escape, it shook under the sudden attack and you bet that if you could reach it you could pull it down. He still had another weapon but you assume his hesitance was from the knowledge of your prosthetic. Despite his earlier claims of being able to take you on alone he raises his wrist to speak into it.

“I found her! We’re near the intersection of, AGH!” The EMP device you had installed in the housing attached to your shoulder didn’t just stop his communication. It must have caused a shock to emit from his goggles as he collapses before ripping them off.

“Maybe you’ll do better next time Purple.” Running with your arm temporarily disabled was annoying but you didn’t have a choice. You needed distance. 

Running until you thought you were going to pass you can’t help but len against the nearest building. There could be wet paint for all you cared for.

Using your teeth to remove your glove as your other arm wasn’t working yet, you let it drop to the ground before fishing for your phone. Dialing the top number you held it up waiting for the ringing to stop.

The deep voice on the line helps you calm down, “What happened?”

“You were right,” you clear your face from the drying streaks of tears that had fallen. “One of them confronted me while I was out.”

“Are you hurt?” Speaking with Sacks now made you think about the new thing from his R&D that he had shown you last week.

“No, I'm fine.” You sound miles away.

“But?” Given that he had taken care of you for the last few years, he knew your little idiosyncrasies. You still felt weird about putting someone else's tech in your arm, even his, but.

“Install it.” You say it firmly.

“You sure?” You have to be. 

Knowing that you would most likely be going up against one, or more, of the turtles in the future had your hand sweating around the phone. 

“I’ll need it.”

Thanks for reading! Like I said there will be more in this 'universe' eventually.

[turinspeachjam]

WIP Weekend!!

Make me write! Peer pressure apparently works wonders on me so here I am again!

Thanks @pearynice for tagging me and, of course, the other lovelies from @strangerthingswritersguild

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences from that WIP! No limits to the amount of emojis you can request.

👻 Steddie Big Bang - (still more behind than I'd like, so I'll happily take all the encouragement)

🌧 The Way That We Weather the Storm - Steve Storm Powers (still currently Gen)

🧠 A Place For Crows to Rest Their Feet - Stobin Songfic inspired by Marbles by The Amazing Devil (Stobin-centric in case that wasn't clear lol)

Here's a snippet from 🌧 The Way That We Weather the Storm (because my Big Bang is still a secret shhhh)

“Do you still swim in your pool,” Dustin asked apropos nothing.

Had he not been driving, Steve would have given Dustin a bewildered look. Alas, only the windshield bore witness to his obvious confusion.

“Huh?”

Steve nearly grimaced at his own response. He was supposed to be the older brother, the one with more life experience who knew best. Yet every time he opened his mouth around Dustin, he sounded so stupid. He could practically hear Nancy’s voice ringing in his ears.

You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.

“Mike said you had a pool and that Nancy’s best friend got snatched into the Upside Down because there was a portal in your pool. I was curious if you still swam in it. Mostly because I thought it’d be cool to be able to swim somewhere without being harassed by the local mouth-breather population.”

Dustin’s tone was matter-of-fact, no condescension to be found. Steve found himself relaxing, his shoulders and jaw aching slightly. He had not realized he had tensed up, his body shrinking in on itself at the sound of his own voice. His cheeks felt warm and his eyes were hot, but he quietly took a few deep breaths before answering Dustin’s question.

“I don’t live there anymore, so I guess I don’t swim in it.”

No pressure tags list: @tinytalkingtina @stellarspecter @helpimstuckposting @kikidoesfanfic @eriquin @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @sourw0lfs @little-annie @onirislanding @penny00dreadful @klausinamarink @queenofshenanigans @griefabyss69 @machtaholic @vthx