#I gotta tell the truth 🫡 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 8 months ago

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Writing so good I feel like

Not you tho me. HAHAJAAKKAJSJSJJSJSKS

“And Madame did not tell him about my moon’s blood?” you asked.

I WAS LIKE MADAME WHO she's a whore gotta read the description

“I was told you were unavailable this evening.” The contempt in that word was obvious. The inconvenience of an exchange of even as few as two superfluous sentences was an irritation for him.

Why's he so mad 🙄✋ hello??? Local man got told no, threw a tantrum ???❓❓❓❓

“I am not most men,” he said lowly, as he turned your head to the side and began kissing your neck.

HE SAID IM NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

AND IT SO GOOFY SILLY FUNNY OF HIM 😭😭😭😭 MAN DOESNT NEED SEX HE NEEDS REASSURANCE Oh ok now I know why he's so mad 😭😭😭

You grinned to yourself as he licked and nipped at your neck.

HA HA SO NORMAL THIS IS ALL I COULD EVER WANT IN THIS VILE HUMAN

Your hands roamed over his bare skin, up his sides, his back, one hand in his cropped hair.

As a long haired truther this threw me off loop I was imagining him with long hair and now 😭 it's all over for me. OK I KNOW THE ART HAS SHORT HAIRED DAEMON BUT I WILL LIVE MY TRUTH

You riffled it through your fingers before resting your hand on the back of his neck. You gazed at the puckered flesh of his scars as he kissed lower on your collarbone and chest. Just as you began to graze your fingers over the rough skin of his neck and shoulder he stood to his full height. You let your arms rest on his shoulders and looked into his violet eyes.

You write so well I feel like I'm interrupting. Loving on scarred skin my beloved

As you lay back he gently nudged your legs apart with his knee, making space for himself.

I'm normal. Your honor I have nothing to say I'm normal

He licked the skin between your breasts as he cupped one in each hand. You arched toward his mouth when he grazed his lips over your nipples. He sucked one between his teeth and drew a groan from you. You let your eyes close and ran your hands through his hair once more.

Like I said I'm so normal

When he looked up at you from under his brow, forehead creasing with mischief, you felt a shiver run up your spine.

HES SO- YOUR HONOR NO COMMENT

You didn’t think it was possible for him to be any deeper, but without pulling back he thrust forward. You gripped his upper arm, digging your nails into his skin. You felt him smile into your kiss. Daemon pressed his tongue against your lips and you parted them. His tongue moved against yours to the same tempo as the movement of his hips. You slid your legs up his sides and nearly encircled his waist. You felt, more than heard, the lewd sounds he made as you pushed your hips up to his.

When he broke your kiss he looked down at you, his hair falling forward. He studied your eyes and looked deep in thought for a moment. You moved a hand to cup his cheek. You drug your thumb across his bottom lip and he turned slightly to kiss your palm. As you slid your hand to the back of his head, he buried his face in your neck. His words were muffled but they caused your cunt to clench around him. Murmurs of “you feel so good” and “you take me so well” made you writhe underneath him.

I know I'm requoting the whole thing back to you but I don't have the heart to delete any of the sentences. It feels so real so vivid so [VIOLENT WHITE NOISE] you know. The English language fails me. I'd speak to you in my native tongue but I'd be just as incapable I'm afraid 🫡

I kinda hate that I read this on my period cos 1 I'm on my period 2 daemonless 👎 3 IT FEELS TOO REAL YOUR HONOR IDK HOW I FEEL

Bathed in Silk and Blood - Daemon Targaryen x whore!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, period smut, some blood play, p in v sex. 1.7k words

This is part of a collab with a group of my lovely moots who were inspired by an anon request I had for Daemon period smut. I mentioned it to them and they were so enthusiastic and had so many great ideas we all contributed. Some wrote for other characters and we all put our unique spin on the request. You can find the full collab masterlist here. We hope you enjoy reading these as much as we enjoyed writing them!

All boards included are made by @zaldritzosrose (And special thanks for helping with my title!)

“The Prince has requested your presence,” the servant girl told you as she entered your room.

“And Madame did not tell him about my moon’s blood?” you asked.

“She did, but he ignored her. Who is she to argue with a Prince?”

You rolled your eyes as you stood up. You pulled on a dressing gown over your shift and followed the girl to one of the nicer ‘guest’ rooms. You took a seat in a chair next to the bed and waited on the Prince.

Only moments later he strode into the room. Daemon usually walked quickly, with determination, but tonight his pace was slower. He closed the door and began to remove his tunic. He didn’t greet you yet, so you remained silent and observed, trying to gauge his mood. You had spent enough nights with him that you could read him easily. He tossed the garment on the floor, loosened the ties of his pants, and turned to you.

You stood and walked past him to the small table with the wine. You poured some for him. Neither of you spoke until after his first gulp. He delicately wiped his mouth with his knuckles.

“I was told you were unavailable this evening.” The contempt in that word was obvious. The inconvenience of an exchange of even as few as two superfluous sentences was an irritation for him.

“Yes, my Prince,” you replied, using the honorific for the only time tonight. Daemon didn’t enjoy hearing it after the formalities were over. “We don’t work often during our moon’s blood as most men find it undesirable.”

A smirk turned up one corner of Daemon’s mouth before he drank more wine. He stepped closer and reached past you to set the cup on the table behind you. He straightened and placed two fingers under your chin.

“I am not most men,” he said lowly, as he turned your head to the side and began kissing your neck. You grinned to yourself as he licked and nipped at your neck. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, up his sides, his back, one hand in his cropped hair. You riffled it through your fingers before resting your hand on the back of his neck. You gazed at the puckered flesh of his scars as he kissed lower on your collarbone and chest. Just as you began to graze your fingers over the rough skin of his neck and shoulder he stood to his full height. You let your arms rest on his shoulders and looked into his violet eyes.

“You require nothing from me.” It wasn’t a question. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. You cupped his neck and the back of his head in your hands.

“Only coin, my love.” You felt him chuckle in your arms. He let out an exhausted sigh then pulled back from you. Your fingers grazed his ears and jaw as he did. He walked to the bed and unceremoniously began to remove his boots and pants. You followed him, dropping your dressing gown onto the chair. He turned toward you and you relished the moments that you could look at him in the lamp light. The evidence that he was not a royal who languished on a throne was written across his body. His half-hard cock made you smile. How many countless times it had been in your mouth? You could taste it even now as your mouth began to water.

Your reverie was interrupted by Daemon sliding your shift up your hips, up your ribs, and guiding you to lift your arms. He pulled the gown off and tossed it aside. In a swift movement he bent his head down to kiss your breasts and encircled you with his arms. He was suddenly ravenous and you laughed softly at his enthusiasm. He all but lifted you to lay you on the bed. Your arms once again around his neck. As you lay back he gently nudged your legs apart with his knee, making space for himself. He licked the skin between your breasts as he cupped one in each hand. You arched toward his mouth when he grazed his lips over your nipples. He sucked one between his teeth and drew a groan from you. You let your eyes close and ran your hands through his hair once more.

You could feel Daemon’s cock growing harder against your belly as he toyed with your breasts. You arched up slightly, grinding against him, and he moaned. The vibration traveled from his mouth on your nipple straight to your cunt. You rocked your hips against him searching for friction but finding very little with your small clothes still on. You made a small frustrated sound and one of his hands slid down your side to your hip. Without lifting his head, he blindly searched to slip his fingers into your small clothes. You groaned as they found their path and you raised your hips to meet him.

Daemon slipped one finger into your wet heat, teasing you. He avoided your most sensitive spots, knowing exactly where they were after so many nights exploring. He cupped you in his hand and began to kiss your chest then your belly. You felt one of his fingers dip between your folds, graze your entrance then pull back. He kissed across your hips and your belly then slowly pulled his hand out, sliding his fingers through your wetness once more.

“Gods, Daemon!” You said sternly, but playfully. As he knelt between your legs, he drug his fingers across your stomach leaving three dark lines painted on your skin. He smiled at you from under his brows, a lock of silver hair falling in front of his face. Then he eagerly snatched the waist of your small clothes down, forcing you to lift your hips. He slid them off your legs and tossed them aside. As you lowered your legs back down you stroked his sides with your calves. He ran one hand up the outside of your thigh and leaned forward. He watched his own hand as he slid his fingers over your cunt, through the wetness, dipping briefly to your entrance, pausing at your clit. You moaned and arched your back, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way that he was focused, as if there were no one in Westeros but the two of you. All of his unhappiness, his anger, his responsibilities stayed on the other side of the door. He had one purpose in this room and he was diligent.

Your hips moved of their own accord as he touched you. Then he straightened and his fingers came away red. You groaned as you saw him begin to stroke his cock. He was a divine sight to behold: naked between your legs, watching himself coat his cock with your blood. When he looked up at you from under his brow, forehead creasing with mischief, you felt a shiver run up your spine. He leaned forward, holding your hip with one hand, guiding himself into you with the other. In the same movement with which he positioned himself above you, his cock slid fully into your cunt. You gasped and your gasp became a moan as he ground his hips into yours. He hovered above you while he wiped his hand on the silk sheets. The red on white caught your eye momentarily, then your attention was brought back to Daemon as he kissed you.

Daemon’s slow, deliberate pace began to shift and with longer strokes he pulled curses from your lips. He kissed your neck and shoulders. As he lifted himself up, your hands roamed over his body. You could feel every inch of him with each stroke. He began to move faster, sliding one hand to the back of your neck for leverage. You knew his pattern, knew when he was close or not, knew exactly what to do to bring him to his climax.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “Just like that, Daemon.” His cock felt amazing, he felt amazing. Your pleasure drove him on and you knew it encouraged him. “I need to feel you cum.”

He groaned. His thrusts became harder, more erratic. His face was a mixture of bliss and concentration. You clenched tight around his cock. You knew he was almost there from the way his fingers dug into the back of your neck. You met his hips with your own and maintained the rhythm for him. He kissed you hard, teeth crushing lips together, and he let you fuck him as he came. He groaned into your mouth as he spilled into you. That was a feeling you could never get enough of. He rode out the last waves of his climax, grinding his hips against you. Then he stilled.

With a deep breath he propped himself above you and searched your face as you smiled up at him. When he seemed satisfied he had his answer he pulled away and lay on the bed next to you, leaving you with the familiar nagging, empty feeling. You rolled onto your side and trailed your fingers down his shoulder and chest. He lay with his eyes closed, spent, at peace for a moment. It was not the way of the world, but you often felt that look on Daemon’s face was all the payment you required.

Note: realistically not every one gets off during p in v sex so I write that occasionally.

Masterlist Daemon masterlist

#dragon friends collab #<<<< SJSJSSKJS SOUNDS LIKE A FACEBOOK GAME SKSKKWKWN CUTIE #daemon smut #daemon fanfic

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mcdonaldsplayground · 2 years ago

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| actually the worst | part 3

ao’nung x f!reader

summary: your relationship with ao’nung has become complicated, to say the least. every second you spend near him makes you hate him even more, but it’s hard to hate someone when they can’t stop touching you. however, things only seem to get worse when a fight breaks out and you get hurt.

includes: enemies to lovers, swearing, teasing, fighting, ao’nung being rude😤

word count: 3k

a/n: i’m sorry i did not think this was going to have so many parts, but i think i gotta just keep writing until it feels finished🫡 also pls lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series:) i hope i already added everyone who asked in part 2

“[Y/N], hurry up!” Tuk whined, dancing around the entrance of the marui as she waited for you. You sighed, cracking one eye open.

“So much for napping, I guess.” You began to get up, stretching out your limbs, taking as long as possible.

“You said you would walk me to the beach for lessons! We’re going to be late!” Your sister frowned, crossing her arms as you continued to drag your feet. The truth was, you were putting off going to lessons. You hadn’t seen Ao’nung since the ilu riding incident and frankly, it had been relaxing. He had apparently been too busy with his warrior training for the past week, but Tsireya said he would be joining you all again today. Tragic.

“Tuk, maybe you should just tell them I’m not feeling well.” You tried, giving her a hopeful look. Of course, she wasn’t having it.

“I overheard you and Kiri talking this morning about the reason why you don’t want to go…” She started, the beginnings of an evil grin showing on her lips. “It would really be a shame if I had to tell Ao’nung that you’re scared of him.”

“I am not!” You exclaimed, mentally kicking yourself. “He’s just an annoying pest is all.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Now, let’s go!” Sometimes you wondered if she was really your younger sister with the way she manipulated you and your siblings. Most of the time it was funny, but today you were irritated.

“You have no sympathy, woman.” You shook your head, watching as Tuk grinned triumphantly and began skipping outside.

The short walk to the beach consisted entirely of Tuk skipping and humming a little tune while you ignored her and went over the best plan for avoiding Ao’nung. You decided that avoiding eye contact was crucial to ignoring him. At least then you wouldn’t get that stupid feeling in your stomach and you could maintain some sanity.

“Look who decided to join us, how kind of you!” Kiri chirped teasingly when you and Tuk finally approached where they were waiting on the beach. You felt a little bit bad considering they had probably been waiting a while, but didn’t dwell on it long when you noticed Ao’nung and his signature cocky smirk staring right at you. You made a point of looking away, focusing on Tsireya instead.

“Sorry, Reya. I wasn’t feeling well earlier, but I think I’m okay now.” You apologized, though you knew what you had said was pretty much the exact opposite to how you currently felt, especially when Tuk decided to pipe up.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure [Y/N] felt sick because Ao’nung is-” She didn’t get to finish as you cut in hurriedly.

“Um, what are we doing today?” You didn’t miss the surprised expressions everyone wore, you just silently prayed they would gloss over it. Unfortunately, the last person you wanted to hear from spoke up.

“No, what was she going to say? That you felt sick because of me?” You continued to avoid looking at the boy, but you could practically hear the smugness on his face. You realized that the only way out now was through.

“Yeah, I was telling everyone that I think looking at your face triggers my gag reflex.” You watched the others’ reactions instead of Ao’nung, hoping your refusal to meet his eyes was annoying him.

“Funny. I was just thinking about how much your freaky forest face-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, bro.” Lo’ak cut him off in annoyance, though he was grinning at the bickering. You felt relieved, but still pretty tense. You had come to believe that was just a side effect of being near Ao’nung. Oh, how you longed for last week when he wasn’t around.

As the tension lifted and everyone started getting in the water, Lo’ak nudged you, grinning.

“Can’t you just get along with him?” He asked and you cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s rich coming from you. You hate him just as much as me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a crush on him.” Lo’ak cackled as your jaw dropped, nearly going into cardiac arrest.

“What! I- You- I do not have a crush on him, Lo’ak!” You hissed, glancing around to see if anybody could hear you. Luckily they were preoccupied underwater.

“Whatever you say, [Y/N].” Lo’ak shook his head, still chuckling as he dove underwater, leaving you seething.

While everyone practiced diving and swimming around the reef, you couldn’t stop thinking about your conversation with Lo’ak.

He was wrong. How could you have a crush on someone whose lights you wanted to punch out? His entire being made your nerves jump and your heart race because you hated him. Yes, Lo’ak was wrong, and you were going to prove it.

Well, you were going to prove it later when you weren’t so out of breath. You surfaced for the millionth time that day, breathing hard from trying to push yourself to stay down longer. Beside you, Neteyam and Lo’ak were in a similar state. Only Kiri seemed to be adapting well, but even she couldn’t stay down half as long as the Metkayina. You were about to try your hand again when Tsireya popped up, followed by Rotxo and Ao’nung. You silently groaned.

“This isn’t working. You have learned nothing.” Ao’nung jibed.

“Yeah, no offence, but you guys kind of suck at this.” Rotxo laughed, sharing a grin with his best friend. You huffed.

“I think we should go back to the basics. We can do some breathing lessons outside of the water to build up your endurance.” Tsireya explained, smiling encouragingly.

“Breathing lessons?” Ao’nung snorted. “That is how babies train.”

“Perfect for you, then.” You muttered, turning to follow Tsireya back to shore.

When everyone had been rounded up on shore, you all sat in a circle amongst the greenery. It would have been relaxing, except for Ao’nung, who chose to sit directly beside you. The close proximity reminded you of how his touch had felt on your skin, how he radiated body heat despite being in the water most of the time. The thoughts made you want to reach over and strangle him. The only good thing was that being beside you made it easier to avoid his gaze as you kept your eyes straight ahead on Tsireya.

She began to teach you about some breathing techniques, like how it was best to breath deeply from the abdomen rather than your chest. When she mentioned the importance of relaxing and slowing your heartbeat , you had to force yourself to forget about the infuriating presence beside you, which was proving difficult. Your heart beat was decently slow, but you were tense and very aware of your surroundings, like how Ao’nung’s knee was mere inches away from your own. The space between you felt charged with energy and it seemed to transfer onto your skin.

“Here, breathe from here.” You heard Tsireya say gently, and you cracked your eyes open. She had placed her hand across Lo’ak’s abdomen in an attempt to get him to breathe correctly. After a moment she said, “Lo’ak, your heartbeat is fast.”

You immediately shared knowing looks with your siblings, chuckling to yourself at how hard Lo’ak was trying to remain calm and nonchalant. Tsireya’s small smile convinced you that she knew what she was doing, making you silently laugh even more.

“What are you laughing at, skxawng?” You heard from beside you, and it took some effort not to turn your head toward him and make some snide remark.

“Nothing.” You replied blankly, trying to focus again on breathing.

“Nothing?” He breathed, quiet enough that only you could hear. Then, without warning, his warm hand was pressed firmly but gently on your abdomen, nearly sending you to Eywa. You froze, afraid that if you moved it would bring attention to the two of you. Your whole body shivered at the sensation of his touch, quickly warming as if a fire had blossomed right where his hand sat, calm and steady.

“If you don’t breathe sometime you’re going to pass out, forest girl.” His voice dripped with amusement. You seriously contemplated just passing out instead of giving in, but eventually let your breath out, making sure to remain quiet. “Your heartbeat is fast.” He mimicked his sister’s words and you could see the shit-eating grin he wore in the corner of your eye. You heartbeat was, in fact, fast. Fast enough that you briefly worried the others might be able to hear it.

“Do I still make you sick?” He breath fanned across your neck, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood suddenly, nearly knocking the boy out. Everyone’s heads snapped toward you, looking concerned.

“I’m actually not feeling well.” Your words rushed out quickly, not even bothering to wait for any response before you turned and walked as quickly as possible away from the group. It took everything you had not to break into a sprint.

“What the fuck?” You muttered to yourself, rapidly trying to process what had just happened.

Kiri found you sitting on one of the giant mangrove roots that was tucked out of sight from the village. It had only been a few minutes since you had rushed away, and part of you wanted to tell her to leave you alone for a while longer. However, when she sat down next to you, it was a welcome comfort.

“What happened?” She questioned, searching your eyes as if they could tell her the answer. You just shook your head, attempting to clear it before you spoke.

“Something is wrong with me, Ki.”

“What do you mean?” She had a way about her that made you feel entirely safe to say anything you wanted without fear of judgement. Kiri was not usually so empathetic, but the two of you had a deeper understanding of one another. So, you explained everything to her. How you despised Ao’nung and his arrogant remarks. How much it frustrated you that you didn’t have a good reason for hating him. And of course how odd he made you feel when he looked at you or touched you.

“So what I’m hearing is that he’s touching you without your consent?” Kiri finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had set in after your explanation. You snorted at her fake serious face, already feeling a little better.

“If he was, he wouldn’t have arms anymore, probably courtesy of you, Lo’ak, and Neteyam.” You chuckled, imagining how that would play out. “No, I mean, I think what bugs me about when he does that is that I actually don’t… hate it?” The last words felt sour on your tongue, making you regret them almost instantly. Thankfully, Kiri had the courtesy not to laugh at you.

“So you like him, then?” She asked and you whipped your head back to stare at her.

“No, of course not! I’m just not used to male attention like that. He’s using it against me because he thinks it’s funny. He’s arrogant, and stupid, and I would honestly rather eat sand than talk to him longer than five seconds.” You finished, hoping you got your point across well enough. You couldn’t tell if Kiri was buying it, but everything you said was true. That boy was a pain in the ass.

A few weeks later, you and Kiri were using your free time to mess around on the beach. Things between you and Ao’nung changed since that day during breathing lessons. You had decided to stop acknowledging him and his goading remarks, to his chagrin. When he would make a snide comment you would either ignore it or respond civilly, clearly frustrating the boy. In response, he had become crueler and crueler. At this point, he was a terror, someone to avoid at all costs.

This sentiment ran through your head as you looked up and saw Ao’nung and his terrible friends approaching your twin, who was blissfully unaware as she stared down at the sand under the water. Feeling protective, you quickly made your way over, trying to hear what they were saying.

“She’s just looking at the sand.” One of them remarked, followed by a few barking laughs. Before you could make it all the way over, Kiri seemed to notice them standing above her and started to stand too.

“Hm? What’d you say?”

“Are you some kind of… freak?” Ao’nung questioned, deliberately flicking his gaze up to lock with yours as you came to stand beside Kiri. There was a pause before Kiri sighed and began to walk away, you in tow.

“No.” She said, looking at the ground. Your fists clenched.

“Are you sure?” He taunted, clearly not content to let the two of you off so easily.

“She said no, dipshit.” You couldn’t hold back, replying in your usual manner for the first time in weeks. Something flickered in Ao’nung’s eyes and his smirk widened. He suddenly reached forward, trying to grab your hand.

“You’re not even real Na’vi. Look at these hands.” He managed to grasp onto your wrist, pulling it towards him in a surprisingly gentle manner. His tone didn’t match. “I mean, look at them!”

“Hey!” Lo’ak appeared from the trees behind you, looking pissed. “Back off, fish lips.” Ao’nung grinned, releasing his grip on you. A ring of fire blazed along your wrist and you tried to shake it off, annoyed that he still had that affect on you.

“Oh, another four-fingered freak!” Ao’nung exclaimed, laughing as he and his friends continued to mess with Lo’ak.

“Leave us alone!” Kiri said forcefully, eyes darting nervously between Lo’ak and the other boys. Thankfully, Neteyam came stalking over, shoving Ao’nung away from the three of you.

“You heard what she said. Leave them alone.” His voice was calm, demanding. Pride swelled in your chest at your older brother, always the protector and mediator. One of Ao’nung’s friends tried to step in, but Ao’nung pushed him back, clearly trying his best to look like he wasn’t afraid of Neteyam. “Back off, now.”

There was a stretch of tense silence before Ao’nung finally took a step back, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Smart choice,” Neteyam said. “And from now on, I need you to respect my sisters.” A few of them hissed at his words, but allowed you all to turn and start walking away. Before you followed, you stuck your tongue out at Ao’nung, earning a scoff and a glare from him. You knew it was childish, but you couldn’t help it. After all, you had been civil for over a week, which was torture.

As you walked off, you could hear the boys giggling and continuing to talk shit. Beside you, Lo’ak paused, deciding to turn back around.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam hissed, but it was too late.

“I got this, bro.” Lo’ak held his hand up, slowly making his way back to face Ao’nung. “I know this hand is funny,” He wiggled his pinky. “Look, I’m a freak. Alien.” The boys snickered. “But, it can do something really cool.” Lo’ak continued talking, but you mentally groaned, knowing where this was going. Before you could say anything, Lo’ak had punched Ao’nung, hard. “It’s called a punch, bitch! Don’t ever touch my sister again!”

Next thing you knew, Ao’nung was tackling Lo’ak to the ground, his friends joining in on what you were starting to think was going to be the beat down of the century. You and Kiri shared a look as Neteyam scratched his head, resigning himself to joining the fight.

“Stop it, stop!” Kiri called, exasperated.

“This is so stupid,” You muttered, growing a little worried as you watched your brothers in the outnumbered fight. Gathering your courage, you decided to step in when Lo’ak started getting hit a little too hard in your opinion. “Can you guys just stop before someone gets seriously-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before you got an elbow to the cheek from one of the guys punching Lo’ak. It was obviously not on purpose, but everyone stopped, silent for a moment as you hissed in pain, frowning.

“Okay that’s it-” Lo’ak was about to go in for another punch before you aggressively tugged him away.

“No! No more fighting!” You barked, marching Lo’ak steadily away. “Stupid boys acting like stupid mongrels. I can’t believe I just watched you all be so stupid, and for what?” You muttered angrily, mostly to yourself.

As you and your siblings walked away for good this time, you glanced back at the Metkayina boys. You thought maybe they would be laughing, but to your surprise, Ao’nung appeared to be scolding the boy who had accidentally hit you. You stared for a little too long because Ao’nung seemed to feel your gaze and looked up, meeting your eyes. It was unsettling to see his usual smirk replaced with worry.

taglist:

@luvlykrispy @foreverfolkloregirly @findingourtreasure @tiddybiddy @nao-cchi @goodiesinthecloset21 @elegantkidfansoul @azaleaniath @cloakedvengeance

#ao'nung #aonung #ao'nung x reader #aonung x reader #ao'nung x you #aonung x you #aonung x y/n #ao'nung x y/n #avatar #avatar 2 #aonung fanfiction #ao'nung fanfiction #aonung fluff #ao'nung fluff #the way of water #avatar movie #avatar imagine #atwow #atwow ao'nung

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thepocket221 · 2 years ago

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FAUST HEADCANONS BC I MISS THEM WHERE IS MY BABY MR VOICE BRING THEM B A C K

yes i have the faust liker disease

they are everything to me🫶🫶

they/them faust TRUTHERS WE STRIKE AT DAWN

not non-binary nor gnc, just kinda,, genderless??

doesn’t feel connected to anything gender related(it might be due to a lack of self identity)

average “clothes don’t have gender” truther

cannot cook nor bake for shit

idc what you saw this bitch cannot follow a recipe to save their life

fav place to eat out at is very unknown noodle bars

an average pho enjoyer (soup and noodles are their safe foods)

blocked the term “blue hair and pronouns” and it’s many variations from regular chat.

“super chat is just funnier” <- faust when they are lying

definitely has beef with charlie

my only evidence for this is that in the end of bittersweet chapter 3, charlie and auron clearly have a better relationship compared to that of auron and faust

definitely feels like their easily replaceable

“wow all that time i spent trying to get to know you and spend time with you just for your to like this blond bitch huh. okay. wow, love you too, brother.”

often in a very dissociative state

doesn’t feel like themself

(gives them horrendous short term memory loss bc it’s what i have)

arm is littered with reminders

also has facial blindness

remembers people based off of certain attributes(voice, hair color, style choices, etc.)

chronic migraine disorder haver

their head hurts so much, but they are being very brave about it

“most of my hcs for faust aren’t based off of angst that lives in my head” <- glenn when they lie

became a streamer bc their body hurts a lot all of the time (wow projecting again, huh glenn /s /lhj)

little walks around town bc they still gotta get that vitamin D💪

also gonna slip in that they have trouble taking pills (WOW, PROJECTING AGAIN, HUH GLENN /lhj)

also doesn’t have a lot of friends but this is more self-inflicted. they just don’t like talking to people

“no point of getting to know someone if i’m just gonna forget them”

“autistic” <- glenn when they tell the truth

SpeIn is tarot, mythology, and constellations

“i can’t tell you a thing about myself but i can tell you every little detail about the stars and they have such deep lore behind them”

we don’t see enough abt the witchy aspects of them and finn I NEED MORE (i am a practicing witch)

only added bells to the cat ears, tail, and collar because they like the sound

makes them go (:

despises almost every fabric so they have to get all of their clothes custom made

vocal stims:

phrases from games they’ve played

a meme/tiktok they have saved to their phone (��lemme get my cat on the mic.. MOOOWWW”, “get the fuck off my porch”, shit like that)

humming and/or singing

tactile stims:

swaying either while sitting or standing

finger taps

walks on the ball of their feet

also a camboy

collabs between them and alphonse are legendary

at least friendly acquaintances

they charlie despisers together

this isn’t charlie slander i promise, i love him dearly (i have a playlist abt him so obviously i’m telling the truth /lhj /s /pos)

canonical thick thighs

canonically saving lives!!

doodles on their thighs

makes little tattoo ideas for themself (never goes through with it bc their pain tolerance is very low and the ink pen looks like it would hurt a little)

the type of individual to keep the stuffed animal they had since they were a baby

okay that’s it, goodbye and stay safe🫡

#glenn moment #glenn talks #glenn talks about yuurivoice #yuurivoice boys #yuurivoice #yuurivoice faust #headcanons #yuurivoice headcanons

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lou1e · 2 years ago

Note

🚨🚨🚨 new ask game alert 🚨🚨🚨

drop your favorite lyric from each fitf song and let us see if you have taste or not!

and tag whoever you want to do the same!

hiii, god this is gonna be long,, but here we go 🫡

the greatest ─ “the way you know something, your face reminded me of a love you cannot hide, but don't need to tell me why. // Back dancing in the dark, back to the very start, finding pieces that can fit, making up for what we missed.”

written all over your face ─ “you're giving me that silent treatment, don't know what it's achieving // when we're finished saying nothing, can we please get back to loving? when it's good, it's really something. can we please get back to us?”

bigger than me ─ “yeah i might’ve changed, but everybody does.”

lucky again ─ “whatever gets you through the darkest night, just find the light out in the madness, hold tight”

face the music ─ “a story's made up when we're young to scare us. // love and hate are in-between, depends on your reality to see them.” “ i just wanna stay in the moment the rest of my life”

chicago ─ “they say bitter ends turn sweet in time, is that true of yours and mine?” “just because it didn't work doesn't mean it's meaningless to me. it just wasn't meant to be”

all this time ─ can i say the whole song? 😀 “i keep on building mountains hoping that they'll turn to gold… but the truth is, i still doubt that what i do can get me home.. when it gets cold” “our eyes meet... and i can tell that you're the same as me” “Oh, sometimes, sometimes, you lose your hope. // the friends we make, the love it takes… it's worth, it's worth, it's worth it all this time”

out of my system ─ “i only wanna go faster towards disaster every time.” “i've lived a lot of my life already but i gotta get through the rest.” “demons, i'm taking all of my demons, putting them where i won't see them, 'cause i just wanna feel alive”

headline ─ “i guess i never knew we'd have the shortest forever”

saturdays ─ “my heart might be broken, but i won't be broken down.”

silver tongues ─ “you said love was a pretty lie… and i choked when your smoke got in my eye” “when i'm with you i'm so much happier, nights like these we'll remember…”

sibwawc ─ “fabricated fairytales bring a new world to life.” “are we one or are we two? are we me or are we you? have we been all this before? do you see what i see?”

common people ─ “i came from a good home, a house full of terrace dreams… that was enough for me.” “common people, not who you know. just how far you're willing to go”

angels fly ─ “look at the horizon, does it make you feel small?” “there were problems in this empty bottle, at the bottom but we drained all that”

holding on to heartache ─ “you said i'm holding on to heartache, you said i wear it like a crown… it's gonna drag me down” “the moments never shown to us, because we faded into darkness… i can still hear a silence, i can still hear a clock that’s ticking” “i called you twice, but then regretted it and changed my number”

that’s the way love goes ─ “we're going out to end up somewhere we'll regret, ‘cause in this town it's easy to forget” “that's the way love goes, when it cuts you when you bleed, that's when you're feeling it the most”

i’ll tag @louis-in-red <3

#sorry i know this is too long 🫣#faith in the future #louis tomlinson the artist that you are #tag games #(?)#ask games

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almostempty · 6 months ago

Text

You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

(But what if I had a 🗡️)

Obviously, you’re gorgeous

I’m blushing.

You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen

But but I need to know Colleen’s nail tech

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache

lololol this is about me

Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse

YOU KNOW I always keep that thang on me or at least have a couple loosies

Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly

!! Feed him !! Feed him !! Put your fingers in his mouth

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?”

Didn’t know I needed him to say that to me but now I’ll never rest

Depends on the underwear, he thinks

Heheheheh

Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

I cackled at this hahahahah

"Okay, fine. I was not listening…”

He’s such a shitass I’m giggling weeeeee

Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything

HAHAHAH stop!!

there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Honestly cockblock!steve is such a real one, he’s always just curmudgeonly and self absorbed enough ya know? Hahaha

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask

Me preparing to cry rn if he says no 🥺

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

I love that line, it’s got me silly smilin’

so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy

☹️☹️ how does he know my fav moves, come over here and lemme leaaaaan on you bb

he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

YEAH YEAH!! Yeah!!

You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

They are stronger than me 🫡 respect

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous

AHHHH I LOVE WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS

I’m a simple lady ok

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says

NOOOOOO I HATE WHEN I GET JEALOUS

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

I can picture these two and their attitudes perfectly heheheheh

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

Hahahahah

You keep your eyes pointed at your feet and he keeps his hands by his sides. It feels like you’re strangers who happen to be walking at the same pace, to the same destination. There’s nothing more to say

Owww can you remove the dagger from my soft heart

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down

—me when I flirt and expect someone to read between the lines then complain about miscommunication

Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge

OMG I LOVE HER

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex

We know he falls in love with everyone 💗

Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks

HO BOY LET ME GET MY LIST - unfurls comically long scroll 📜

He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards

Brb I gotta touch grass real quick

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means

💗💗💗💗💗

if you consider sex a party

Heheh why not

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal.”

Stop!! (Don’t) the attitude is making my laugh like a looney, too good!!

He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder

Pls lug me to your cave Javi 🙌🙌

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

!! Chanting and shaking the bars of my enclosure

"Make me forget."

Yes yes yes

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you

AHHHH

Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him

HEHEHEHEHEHH

Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed

Yes yes yes yes

For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

Owwwww hurts so good

He wakes up beside you, feeling hungover despite not having any alcohol the night before. It's the vague sense of guilt and confusion, the way he feels more awake than the night before but less awake than he should after a full night's rest.

I can feel this SO viscerally

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

CAN you come over and hold my hand while I read this and scream with meee over all of it

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex

OOH not the infinitely more intimate version of sleeping together fr

I'd do anything for you

Same

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely

OWWWWWW

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags

NOOOOO GIRL WHYYY IM ON MY KNEES

uhhhhh, that was fantastic and I had totally casual and normal responses while reading it. hurt me again pls bb

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

pairing: javi p x reader

cws/tags: angst, p in v, oral, idk? drinking? canon death mention? javi pov

summary: reader, a dea agent, arrives in medellin (season 2 time) and quickly forms a bond w javi. are they just friends or is it something more?

a/n: there is a part 2 which will give the full picture (hopefully)

wc: 8.6k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches

There was Helena, and then, Gabriela, before that, Vanessa, and certainly some others here and there, but with all of them, Javi had his expectations set upfront. Or at least, he thought he did, he tried to, but he'd be lying if he said Helena only came to mind when he was lonely in the middle of the night, naked and unable to sleep.

Elisa was a mistake, an unfair mistake that was dropped off at his doorstep before he could tell himself that this doesn't mean anything. There must've been some self-preservation instincts in him that held him back from begging her for more, from moping around after she left. He risked a lot for her, but he would've risked more if she'd let him.

Prostitutes and wanted communists are one thing, but you are something else. Javi can't quite put his finger on what that something else is yet, and it’s too late once he figures it out.

In the beginning, Javi was skeptical of you, mostly because you came to Medellin with Messina and crew, and he falsely assumed that being her subordinate meant you would take her side if there were ever to be conflict between her and Javi – and there was from their very first conversation.

More than skeptical, he was intrigued. Being sent to Colombia to participate in the fight against Escobar was usually reserved for higher-ups with a much longer tenure, or fresh meat for the front-lines. As a newcomer, that meant that you were either a highly-skilled agent in the field of investigation or you volunteered yourself – likely unknowingly – to be slaughtered. You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

Once he’s determined that you’re not a threat, you’re a coworker. You keep to yourself. You don’t seem shy, just focused, and for that Javi is grateful. Considering the fact that he’s forced to work with the people he deems to be ‘RIP’ and a fuckton of bureaucracy, you make his life easier.

Obviously, you’re gorgeous. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever but he sees the way others look at you. He notices because he is also looking. You walk with confidence, but not arrogance. You traverse the halls with purpose, but not urgency. You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen and only exchange cordial glances with men who would melt if you gave them any more attention than that.

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache. It’s the phone ringing, then the keys clicking on the typewriter, even the tick of the clock gets to him. He groans - somewhat dramatically - and puts his head in his hands.

“Agent Peña,” you pipe up from beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. I’ll recover.”

“Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse.”

“Yes, please.”

You dig through a sizable bag until you find a small bottle. You carefully shake two caplets out and pour the excess back inside their container, closing the cap tightly before putting it back in your purse.

“Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly.

He opens his palm and takes the offering, greedily swallowing the pills dry.

“You should really take those with water,” you say.

“Does coffee work?” He presents the near-empty mug on his desk to you, swirling the contents.

“Here,” you say, giving up your water bottle.

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?” he says, before taking a gulp of your water, tasting the chapstick on the rim. Cherry. It leaves a pink stain that matches the color of your nails.

When he returns the bottle to you, you seem oddly flustered. He meant angel as in miracle worker not as in divinely gorgeous woman, though both could be used to describe you. You should know that, he thinks.

“Not really,” you say with a breathy laugh. “I’m just prepared for any surprise Aunt Flo could bring me.”

“Huh?” Javi’s a man without sisters, daughters, or a wife, he’s never heard the expression.

“My period.”

Honestly, he’s impressed at how plainly you say it, shameless as you should be.

“Ah.”

“She makes me more of a demon than anything, but it means I’ve got a whole pharmacy in here.”

“Got anything fun?”

“Not unless you find enjoyment in a handful of tampons and a spare pair of underwear.”

Depends on the underwear, he thinks. They’re probably modest, but you’d look good in fuckin’ granny panties. By the end of the day, he’s imagined you in just about everything.

At the time, Javi's not interested in flirting with you. It's not a conscious effort not to get involved, he's just so caught up in everything else that there's little time to think about romancing you.

Even the night he and Steve first invite you for drinks, it's sheerly for the sake of camaraderie. In fact, it was Steve's idea, not his. Murphy thought you looked lonely – in retrospect, Javi thinks it might've been projection. Javi agreed to invite you out of pure interest in what you'd be like outside of the office.

Nice. That's the best way he could describe it. Likable.

You all get drunk. Javi watches your professional facade slip as you’re swaying in your seat to the rhythm of the current hits on the radio. Your skin, dewy with summer sweat, makes you glow like an angel in the dim light of the bar.

It takes Steve a drink and a half to bring up his marriage problems. Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

"Steve's wife," Javi says.

"Where is she?"

"Miami."

"I've never heard you talk about her before."

"Because he's in hot water," Javi, again, is the one to answer.

"I can answer for myself, thank you." Steve insists.

And so Javi lets Steve talk - he's probably heard it all before - and he lets himself have a break. Just a little break, no one will notice if he lets his mind wander for a second. Really, he's mostly listening, he thinks.

"Javi." Murphy's voice from across the table is oddly stern.

"What?" Javi mirrors his tone.

"What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"Connie."

"I don't know."

"Were you even listening?"

"Yeah, of course."

It takes one long stare to get him to break. "Okay, fine. I was not listening. Tell me one more time."

You excuse yourself from the table to use the restroom, and it feels like you've fed him to the wolves – rightfully so.

"You like her." It's not a question. It's a statement, whispered as if Murphy cares about the confidentiality of Javi's love life or lack thereof.

"It's not like that." But Javi can't meet his eyes.

"I know sleeping around usually works for you, but I don't want you to fuck this up. Not right now when we're so close."

What he means is: do not fuck her. It should be simple – and to Steve's credit, he's right. But the thing is that Javi doesn't just want to fuck you. It's not like that.

"What do you think I am? An animal?" Javi asks.

Yes, he absolutely does. To him, Javi is a tiger, waiting to pounce on whatever prey he can get his hands on. Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything.

When he notices you making your way across the room, he changes the subject. "Anyway, I think you should call Connie, and tell her how you feel. Just be honest."

"That's what I said," you beam with pride, as if you've gotten the answer right.

Looking into Murphy’s bloodshot eyes, he adds, "But you've gotta sober up first."

"I agree," you say, and Javi only notices now how you slur your words.

He convinces you both to go home with the promise of a second hangout next week. It's an empty promise – he just needs to get you home safe. He assumes you won't remember in the morning. But come next Friday, you approach him, and ask if you're going to the same bar you went to the weekend prior.

It was an empty promise, but one he decides to keep.

It becomes a weekly thing. The three of you. You all get along perfectly well, but if this were any other circumstance, if you were any other beautiful woman, Javi would've pulled Steve to the side and told him to pound sand. But there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Your group hangouts typically begin and end at the same bar down the street.

The friend group arrangement works until it doesn't. Until Murphy has plans.

"How the fuck do you have plans? Your wife is in another country," Javi asks bitterly.

"Unlike you, my life isn't centered around women I want to sleep with," Steve says with less bite because he knows he's won the conversation.

Fuck Murphy. Javi was tired of hearing him bitch about Connie anyway. But you. He could never get tired of you.

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask, and he's fairly sure it's the first time you've ever called him by his first name.

He doesn't have time to find an excuse to say no when he's pushing away every knee-jerk flirtation in his mind.

"Yeah," he says, "of course we can."

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

That evening he sits across from you rather than next to you, so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy. Instead, he has to try to pay attention while you're looking him in the eyes, smiling at him and no one else.

When you decide to call it a night, and you stumble on your way out the door, Javi grabs hold of your arm, steadying you.

"I'm gonna walk you home," he says. Not an offer, a statement of fact.

"I got it," you say, patting him on the chest in thanks.

"No, you don't." He sighs as he leads you against your will, trying not to let your stupid grin get to him.

As you walk past the lit-up buildings filled with young singles dancing with their bodies pressed up against each other covered in sweat and spilled drinks – the nightlife of Medellin, a song escapes one nightclub that you recognize, and you begin to sing along. Your tune isn't bad, but your lyrics are far from correct.

Javi laughs heartily, unable to hold it in.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, I love it – it's original. I love the way you've completely changed the lyrics."

"You're so mean, Javier!" You playfully shove him – or attempt to, but you end up falling into his arms.

He takes your hands in his, holding you upright.

“It’s ‘hold me closer, tiny dancer’, not ‘hold me closer, Tony Danza’,” he says.

“Okay, fine,” you say, hands still clasped in his, swaying a bit, coaxing him into dancing with you slowly.

Halfway through the song, he’s leading you, step-by-step, twirling you like a ballerina because he loves the way you laugh when he does it.

Though you’re the one that needs help standing, you keep him on his toes too. The words are no longer ‘Tony Danza’, nor ‘tiny dancer’ - it becomes ‘hold me closer, Javi Peña’.

For the rest of the walk, he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

It takes you a moment to unlock your door as you fiddle with the keys – their clinking metal being the only sound echoing through the halls of the apartment building. Anticipatory silence. He won't come into your apartment, he knows that. You're too drunk to consent to anything. You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

“It’s kinda like Cheers when you think of it,” you note off-handedly.

“In what way?” Javi asks like he’s challenging you.

“Well, we’re always at the same bar.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Where everybody knows your name’? The bartender still calls you ‘señorita’.”

“He calls me ‘gringo’,” Steve mumbles into his glass.

As it turns out, the bartender does know your name, and just as Sam Malone would, he makes out with you in a room marked ‘employee’s only’.

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous?”

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says, turning towards the area that has become a dancefloor over the course of the night.

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

Murphy doesn’t stay to watch Javi find an eligible woman to suck him off in the women’s room. Instead, he closes his tab and asks the bartender – the one not making his way from second to third base with you - to relay a message to Javi when he inevitably comes looking.

“What do you want me to tell him?” The man – unamused, but bored enough to entertain him - asks.

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

The bartender seems to think it’s funny enough, especially when he already harbors certain negative feelings towards Javi for reasons that may or may not be justifiable, depending on who you ask.

Javi learns of this later when he closes out his own tab, but before he does so, he has a mission to see through.

Barely concealed by a stall door that could use a new coat of paint and some WD-40 on the hinges, Javi is about to tell this woman - whose name he’s already forgotten - not to leave any marks above his collar, but then, he remembers you, and says nothing, only groans when her teeth scrape the skin on his neck.

He brushes this need to ‘conquer’ off as a typical rivalry between friends. When your friend exits the room to go hook up with someone, it’s your duty as a man to find a mate of equal social stature to theirs, and engage in at least some heavy petting by the end of the night. Or at least, that’s how it worked back in college – which, come to think of it, was about a lifetime ago for Javi. Looking back, he realizes that those nights taught him the infinitely valuable skill of bullshitting his way in and out of situations.

Though, he tells you the absolute truth of who, what, where, and how it all went down for him that night on your walk home. He only omits the why.

“Are we going back to the same place next week?”

“I thought we already established that we go there every week, just like they do in Cheers,” he says.

“Can we go somewhere else next time?”

“Why? It seemed like you were having a good time back there,” Javi teases.

“I guess…” you mumble, kicking gravel aimlessly down the sidewalk. “But he wants to see me again.”

Javi hums as if he understands.

“I just don’t wanna get caught up in anything serious, you know?”

“Oh, but I’m the asshole when I say I’m not good at commitment?”

“That was Steve, not me, and to his credit, you said you left someone at the altar. You committed and then you backed out. You broke a promise – that’s why you’re an asshole.”

“Then, she dodged a bullet by not marrying an asshole like me.”

The rest of the walk home is silent. Tense, and not the good kind.

This is not the climax of the movie where Javi pushes you up against the wall next to your apartment door, and you engage in the steamiest makeout session allowed on cable television – the kind where you pull away panting, take one look into each other’s eyes and realize you’ve been in love all along.

Until you reach your apartment, and when the two of you part ways, you say to him, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“It’s okay.” I’m used to it, he thinks. “People have said a lot worse about me.”

With Connie and Olivia back in Miami, Steve has a spacious apartment to himself, which is where the three of you decide to congregate after your little hook-up with the bartender the week prior.

Buying a case of beer from the convenience store is much more cost-efficient, and Steve can easily talk to his wife on the phone when he gets a little too drunk and misses her, leaving you and Javi in his living room together.

Briefly, you both listen to him murmur into the handset, cradling it like a baby. If it were someone else, you might gossip, at least speculate, but there’s nothing salacious about it, and despite the fact that Steve will one day return home to his loving wife, beating all of the odds currently stacked against them, it’s not a tale of epic romance. Not that Javi knows anything about romance anyway.

You and Javi sit in the living room, chatting about nothing important, mostly bitching about work and how there’s never anything good on TV anymore. But then, out of nowhere, as if it’s nothing special, you mention a man – a colleague, but the DEA is a large organization, so Javi is unfamiliar with him.

“He asked me out.”

“Did you accept?”

“Yeah, I figured, why not? You know? I feel like I should get to know more people. I really only hang out with you and Murphy.”

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down.

“You know you’ll always be my favorite, Javi.” You lean your head on him and he hadn’t realized how close you were sitting until now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Javi nudges you with his elbow, pushing you away despite himself. “Now, tell me about this guy you’re going out with.”

“He’s really sweet, and like super polite… a gentleman,” you decide.

“Oh, so you like a ‘nice guy’? Someone you can bring home, someone who holds the door open for you…”

“I guess. He’s pretty handsome, too. He’s got brown hair, and pretty brown eyes – kinda like yours.”

You smile, so he smiles. But, how can you say that with such levity?

Because he’s just a friend to you.

You've truly formed a bond with Javi by the time you step into the dating scene in Colombia. So much so that you ask Javi for his opinions on what you should wear for your third date – just as you did for your first and second.

"Either you're great with fashion advice or you're my good luck charm," you say. "So, I need you to tell me which looks best."

"Okay. Go put on outfit number one before I get bored and fall asleep on your couch."

"I'll be quick, I'll be quick. You can pour yourself a drink if it'll keep you awake."

He's never been one to turn down a drink, but what keeps him awake is your 'fashion show'.

"This is outfit number one," you say, smiling in your classic little black dress.

"Beautiful," he says honestly.

"And then," you say as you begin to unzip your dress.

"Whoa-"

"What?"

"Why are you getting undressed?"

For the first time, he's nervous to see a woman naked.

"Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge."

He gestures for you to continue and tries to keep his expression neutral. And his dick soft.

It's torturous to see you stress so much when he knows the guy doesn't deserve the sight of you like this. Neither does he, for that matter.

"You really like him?" He asks.

"I mean, yeah sure, he's nice, and he's good-looking"

"But you're not over the moon about him." He can hear it in your voice. You don't deserve to settle.

"No, but you can have sex with someone you're not over the moon about - you, especially would know that, Peña."

"Yeah, but I don't dress up all fancy just to have sex."

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex.

You sigh. "I guess I do, or else I wasted a shit ton of money on lingerie."

"Fuck the money. Do you actually wanna fuck this guy? 'Cause you know you don't have to. It's not a written rule."

Javi surprises himself with how much of his dedication to making sure you're making the right decision is out of genuine platonic care for you and not jealousy for the man who might get the chance to sleep with you.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to, and I want to look good for him because I want to make a good impression."

He shrugs, dissatisfied. You don't get it, you'll make a good impression no matter what you wear. Any guy would be lucky to get the opportunity to sleep with you, he could say, but it would come off wrong.

His silence allows you time for thought, for worry. Seemingly, apropos of nothing, you ask him if he's ever had sex with a woman who was 'bad in bed'.

"Sort of, not really. Nothing really bad, but I've had times where we're both pretty drunk and it's just… not great. One time I hit my head on the wall." He smiles at the stupidity and you laugh.

"Sorry. I'm sure it hurt."

"It hurt like hell, but it wasn't totally her fault. Another time, a girl's phone would not stop ringing, and she eventually picked it up and it was her mom telling her that her grandma died."

"Did she kick you out or did you stay to comfort her?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'comfort'."

"You did not continue fucking her."

"I did. But, as you can imagine, the mood was kind of ruined."

"Luckily both of my grandmas are already dead, so that won't be an issue."

"See? There you go. Just don't drink too much, make sure he doesn't hit his head and maybe take your phone off the hook."

But you continue to spiral through worries, telling Javi each and every one of them while he sits at the foot of your bed.

Will you bring your date back here? Is the only worry in his own mind.

Eventually, he asks you, "do you like him? Yes or no. And I mean really like."

"Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't not trust him."

"That's not the question I asked."

"It's hard to make a blanket statement saying that I trust someone. Trust him with what? To save my place in line, a briefcase holding a million dollars, my life?"

"Let me ask you this way then, who do you trust?"

"My mom, my sister, Murphy, you…"

"When you say you trust me, what does that mean for you?"

"I've trusted you with my life many times before and I'd do it again. But in our jobs we have to put our lives on the line."

"If he had my job would you trust him like you trust me?"

"Not as much as I trust you."

And somehow Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date, maybe even schedule one with him, but you go as you planned to – if he were able to look at you dressed in lingerie and keep his opinions completely detached and as objective as possible, he would say you should go with the red set because it looked the best. But he hopes, selfishly, that you saved it for his eyes only.

As most relationships do, that one ends. The man - whose name Javi rid his mind of - breaks up with you. You lament over it for about a week and then move on.

Javi lets you cry it out with your face buried in his t-shirt, staining the fabric with mascara tears. It was his favorite, but he rubs your back and holds you closer instead of telling you to stop using him as a tissue.

“It’s his loss,” he says along with all the typical phrases one expects to hear after a devastating breakup.

But what makes you feel better is when Javi suggests you watch the episode of Cheers he’d taped earlier that week.

“Can I lie down while we watch?” you ask.

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks because the couch is the only piece of furniture facing the TV, which means you’ll have to share it.

“You wanna lie down behind me? You could be the big spoon.”

He nods, lying down on his side, leaving space for you to curl up beside him.

He wraps his arm around you lazily, resisting the urge to run his hands down the side of your body, to touch you everywhere.

“Can you see from back there?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” he lies. He’s already seen the episode, he’d much rather fall asleep with his body pressed up against yours. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Javi has practiced the art of keeping himself hidden. It's a useful trait as both an agent and a reluctant hopeless romantic. He never gets too drunk, not like you and Steve. He never reveals what lies below the facade of a grouchy, sometimes disobedient but wholly dedicated agent on your Friday night hangouts. He disguises himself as a womanizer, an asshole, until he can't anymore.

You find him in desperation. Post-tragedy, a traumatic incident that he can't quite shake. It makes him vulnerable. He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards. The second time is when he makes the mistake of seeing you, not just looking at you when you cross paths, but seeing you.

He knew things were bad after seeing Murphy teary-eyed for the first time. It brought the first incident to the forefront of his mind again. A cigarette and some fresh air would help, he thought. But when he steps outside, he finds you.

"It's late," he says.

"Why are you out here?"

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

You won't look at him. Why won't you look at him?

"I heard what happened today."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it. What I'm saying is, I know what you're feeling."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, and you know it. We were both there when-"

"I don't wanna talk about that either."

"Good. I don't either. We should go inside. It's not safe for you to be out here right now."

"I'm not a fucking baby."

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to help you, okay?"

You ask him to stay with you – that's what will help, you say. He shouldn't, but he's too weak to say 'no'. You make him weaker.

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means.

It means sex. It means throwing away the future he could've had with you. Not the romantic kind – that was already gone, that's been gone since before you came into his life. He won't have a white-picket-fence-two-and-a-half-kids-in-the-suburbs kind of future with anyone. But he could've had a friendship, he could've gotten the gift of existing near you without any tension, something light and untouched even if it meant keeping himself at a distance.

But, you need this. You're begging him to fuck you, and if he chooses not to, it'll only make things worse – you'd withdraw from him entirely in embarrassment from his rejection because there's no way he can tell you that it's not because he doesn't want to have sex with you. God, no – he wants to have sex with you. In his ideal scenario, you get drunk once – on a business trip, at Steve and Connie's house, at the celebration of Escobar's demise – and you make the "stupid mistake" of sleeping with each other, and it becomes an inside joke between the two of you.

In his dreams, you get married on the beach or at city hall or even at a church if that's what you wanted. But dreams are dreams for a reason. They're distinctly different from reality. They don't come true.

In reality, Javi says the best thing he can, which is "okay", and he lets his lips collide with yours.

When your frantic hands begin to strip him of his clothes, he wants to tell you "it's okay, we have all night" because he wants to take it slow. He knows he won't last long when he gets inside you.

He tries to balance eagerness with gentleness when he takes off your clothes. He wants to be close to you.

"Let's go to your bedroom," he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You don't bother to pick up your clothes, which are strewn near the doorway, so Javi doesn't either. He can tell you're impressed when he undoes your bra with one hand, and it makes him laugh, a little proud too, despite the fact that it's no more than a party trick (if you consider sex a party).

But his need to be the best you've ever had has him dropping to his knees in the hallway, and it's milliseconds before his hands are gripping your thighs and his nose meets the fabric of your panties.

He looks up, and asks, "can I take these off?"

"Yeah," you say, assisting him by slipping them down your own thighs.

With how quiet you are in the office, he expected you to be the same in the bedroom but you're not. The moan you let out when his tongue meets your clit is loud and unashamed – his favorite kind. It spurs him on.

"Javi, Javi, Javi - wait - I'm - hold on-"

So, he stops. "What's wrong?" He massages your thighs while he speaks, soft and sweet.

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal."

"But I'm gonna fall over."

"You're not, baby. I'm gonna hold onto you. But, if you want, we can finish this in bed." He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder.

It makes you gasp, just like his lips did moments ago, but this time it makes him laugh. Only you could make him smile on a night like this one.

He doesn't tease you, he dives back in, lapping at your folds, more desperate for your orgasm than you are. If Javi is one thing, it's dedicated, and the bedroom is no exception.

You're still panting when you ask him to fuck you. It might be the first time you've said 'fuck' in front of him. "Fuck me" is Javi's line.

Utterly captivated by the sight of you disheveled beneath him, he agrees.

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

And, utterly captivated by the sight of you, he agrees.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

"Rough," you say. "Make me forget."

You say it with such conviction that he sighs and says, "Okay. Turn over."

He buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust and since Javi can't see your face, he can't tell if the moan you let out is pleasure or pain, so he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you.

Something holds him back from saying it. He's not one to disappoint, especially in this facet of life. So, he saves the kiss he wants to place on your cheek for later. Instead, he drags his teeth along your soft skin and bites the flesh.

He fucks you hard, the way you want him to – holding onto the headboard, hips slamming into yours from the back at a merciless pace, and maybe if you weren't you, he'd feel different about this. But, instead of staring into your eyes and trying to cover up the immense fondness he feels for you, he looks at the pictures that hang on your wall, held up by clothespins on a string–you're smiling with your friends, blowing out birthday candles, laying on a beach towel in a bikini. He is in none of these photos. Why would he be? You've never taken a photo together. He's not a part of your life like that.

All the while, he keeps an iron grip on your hips and keeps a steady rhythm. Your moans turn into sobs, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take. Both because hearing your cries makes him feel conflicted about everything and because your walls are so tight around him, you're soaking wet and your legs are trembling. It's not long before he feels your pussy spasms and your whole body jolts – you have the sense to scream into your pillow, but he can still hear it.

Finally, he pulls out and jerks himself off, letting his release spill onto your ass, and once he's let go of you, you promptly flop down fully onto the mattress.

With the room finally quieter, you hear banging on the front door. You're about to get up but Javi stops you. "Stay there. I'll deal with it."

He slips on his boxers and flings open the door, and it's the person he least wants to see. Steve. Not because he hates Steve, but because Steve will bring this up.

He doesn't even have to say anything.

"Sorry. We'll keep it down," Javi says.

"Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him.

He tells you it was a neighbor, but doesn't specify which one. He cleans you up, and prepares himself to leave. That's how this goes, right?

"Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed.

He falls asleep with his bare skin flush against yours but this time it's gentle. He gives you a kiss on the temple before you turn out the light. You're silent but you smile.

The hurt comes the next morning. For you, it's physical, but can you really complain? For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

He retracts his hand from your body, hoping he can slip away before you notice but you turn to him, fully-awake.

If life were different – kinder, he would smile at you and you would try to kiss him.

"Mm-mm. I have morning breath," he'd say.

"I don't care," you'd say, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him towards you.

He'd pull back, just to argue because he likes the way you pout and the way he falls for it every time. You'd settle for a kiss on the forehead with the promise for something more after Javi brushes his teeth.

The quest for better breath would all be for nothing since he'd have coffee and a cigarette for breakfast (you'd tell him to eat more, of course), but you'd kiss him anyway.

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

Murphy brings it up at work when you're out of the room. Javi can see it in his eyes before he says anything.

"Sorry for keeping you up," Javi mutters, straight-faced and honest.

"Nothin' else to say?" Murphy probes. He seems more curious than angry.

"Nope. Is there something you think I should say?"

"You fucked her," he whispers.

"Yes," Javi whispers back.

"How? Did it just happen? Or have you guys been a thing for awhile now and I just haven't noticed?"

"We're not a thing."

"You're not not a thing."

Javi doesn't have to admit to Steve that he's right because you walk into the room.

He is forced to silently admit what you are to him when he fails to hold back a rare smile upon seeing your face.

He sees Gabriela again, and though he's slept with her more times than he's slept with you, it still feels like he's cheating.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks while he stands by the window with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Work."

"Bullshit." She exhales a breathy laugh.

"Yeah."

"It's not something, it's someone. Isn't it?"

He turns, silently.

"I could tell you were thinking about her when you were fucking me - I thought it was just a sexual fantasy, but you're still fantasizing… and we're not fucking anymore."

"You'd be a great shrink, you know? In case this doesn't work out for you."

"It's working out fine." She flashes him the wad of cash he handed her before they got in bed together.

"Right."

"Maybe I'm supposed to be offended, but you were sweet this time - gentle. If you keep fucking me like that, I don't give a fuck who're you're thinking about."

"You liked it?" He asks with a flirtatious glint in his eye, opting for indulgence as distraction.

"I did. In fact, I think you could get a second round. On the house."

His cock springs to life and he slips out of his jeans. He fucks her slow, pressing kisses down her spine. She cums twice and he feels like a god.

But not like a lover, not like her lover.

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex. You're tipsy off whiskey in his apartment one night, trying to shake off the past week.

The DEA, being of the USA, only knows violence as conflict resolution, so you and Javi aren't trained to solve any problem that comes after the fighting is over. Distraction is the best you can do and alcohol is often one of the greatest methods.

"I wish we had something stronger than whiskey," Javi remarks.

"When in Medellin…" you say, swiping a finger under your nose.

"I think the amount of coffee I've had today is probably equal to a gram."

Doubtful, considering Javi is dozing off in his chair.

"Javi," you say, snapping your fingers to get his attention.

Startled, his body jolts awake. "What?" he asks, frantically.

"Nothing. You're just falling asleep."

"Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I figured. Everyday for the past week, you've looked like you're going to keel over. Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath. Shakes the magic eight ball in his mind. Try again later. "I've just been having a lot of nightmares recently. It hasn't been like this since I was a kid."

"Well, how'd you get them to stop back then?"

"My mom used to sleep in my room with me."

He smiles at the thought of his mother. He doesn't often think of her because the funeral comes to mind. But sometimes, when he's lucky, she'll come back to him in memory - now, he sees her through a childlike lens, her face bright despite the bags under her eyes. The love he felt for her was so simple and pure.

His love for you is the most complicated kind.

"I'm not your mom, but if you want, I can sleep over."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you."

You say it so flippantly that Javi barely has time to process it. It's better that way.

Finally, he gets a good night's sleep. But that only makes him need you more.

You both go on pretending things are the same until Carrillo dies. He was always the catalyst.

"I don't do funerals," Javi tells you.

You nod, pursed lips, accepting his decision. Giving in easily, which is unlike you.

"I'm thinking about leaving," you announce abruptly.

"You should go home, get some rest, especially if you're going tomorrow." To the funeral. Javi can't stand the word either.

"No, I'm thinking about leaving."

"Leaving where?" He already knows.

"Colombia."

"Are they reassigning you?"

"No, I'm quitting."

"Have you told Messina?"

"No. You're the first person I've told."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "Is that what you want to do? Quit?"

"I don't know. I wanted your advice."

"It's your choice, not mine." I'll miss you.

"I just can't do it anymore." You reveal yourself. You shatter.

"Hey." He places a hand on your shoulder, but you fall into his arms. "That's not true. You're strong. You know that you're strong."

I need you, he means.

So, you stay.

There is something about the grief that fuels you both to fight harder. You're no longer just fighting for justice, you're fighting for vengeance. It makes you both colder, more numb to the cruelty.

But physically, neither of you are much stronger. You overestimate yourselves, run through the streets with handguns after blood-hungry sicarios.

In his pursuit of one of the men, Javi fails to see a shooter on the roof with a gun aimed right at him. You see it, and shove Javi out of the way.

The bullet only grazes you, and Javi leaves with a few scrapes and dirty clothes. And guilt.

A shopkeeper who seems all too used to crisis situations grabs a first aid kit while Javi sits with you.

"You're not gonna call for backup?" you ask.

"No use. They got away. Let's just focus on this right now, okay?"

"This" means the wound on your side.

"It's not a big deal," you say, though you're clearly on the verge of tears.

"You got shot. The number one priority is making sure you're safe."

"Didn't you say that we can't focus on the casualties? That Escobar wins if we waste time mourning our dead?"

"Neither of us are dead."

You'll need more than the basic first aid that Javi can give you, nevertheless, he uses an antiseptic to clean the wound.

You break down in tears at the burning sensation.

"You're doing so well," he tells you, "I'll be done in just a moment."

When the ambulance arrives, he insists on accompanying you to the hospital.

They ask him who he is and he flashes his DEA badge, knowing that "friend" doesn't mean anything in this case.

Friend isn't enough.

You don't need surgery, just stitches – and some pretty decent pain pills. The kind that makes you sleepy.

Once the two of you are alone, after the doctors have finished with you, Javi tells you - finally, "Thank you, by the way, for saving my life."

"Who's to say it would've been a fatal shot?"

"Still." He leans down and kisses you on the cheek in lieu of saying anything else, knowing how badly he could fuck this up if he lets himself say everything he's really thinking – if there are even words for his feelings.

Luckily, there might not be.

"Javi," you whisper.

"Yes, hermosa?"

He rarely calls you nicknames, so it seems to fluster you a bit.

"Can you kiss me for real?"

"How much of those drugs did they give you?"

You look like you're holding back a batch of giggles and Javi can't help his stupid grin.

Before his cheeks hurt from smiling the most he has in a while, he leans in and kisses you – for real.

Breathless, you pull back and ask him, "do you think we could get away with doing it here?"

"Are you serious?" There's no way you are, he thinks, and yet he considers the option. "No, cariño, we shouldn't risk it."

He does take you home with him, but again, you don't have sex.

In the morning, you tell him confidently, "I'm leaving."

And he knows you don't just mean his apartment.

"I just can't do this anymore – the constant fear of dying was bad enough, but now…" you point to the bandages covering your stitches.

"I know." It doesn't matter what he says. You're going to leave anyway.

And, he feels guilty for convincing you to stay anyway. You should've left before this, but he was selfish and wanted to keep you a little longer.

He doesn't say goodbye in the way he wants to. He lets you go with a kiss on the forehead after waiting with you until you're called to board.

"Goodbye, Javier," you say.

He can't say anything back or he'll cry. The kiss is all he can give.

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely.

Javier is used to falling in love. So much so that he expects to feel the same way about the next woman he sleeps with. He gets attached to one woman, and then moves onto the next, loving her the same way as the last. The process of forgetting involves ending up in the same mess, feeling the same thing for someone who is blonde instead of brunette, or brown-eyed instead of blue, maybe a cup size larger in the bust. Something old, something new. There is more to the phrase, but the idea of commitment began and ended with Lorraine back in Texas.

Texas. After all is said and done in Colombia, he goes home. Like you, he can't do it anymore. His mind is already rattled with nightmares and his body is worn out.

There's an airport in Laredo, but he can't get a flight there until Monday, so he decides San Antonio is close enough.

The airport bars tend to be filled with people waiting to depart, not passengers who have already arrived. But, Javi decides to have a drink before calling a cab. There isn't any rhyme or reason to it. His feet lead him there, not his brain.

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

He barely glances at you before trying to wave down the bartender.

"Javier?" It's your voice from next to him.

He turns his head so quickly he swears he might've given himself whiplash. He's speechless, but smiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"On my way home. To Laredo."

"You left Colombia?"

"Yeah, I quit."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

It's been years since we talked, he thinks. The last conversation was about you leaving.

"Are you on your way home or…?"

"Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags."

Boyfriend. Boyfriend who gets her bags. Boyfriend who sits next to her on the plane. Boyfriend whose spot is beside her.

"Oh."

"I feel like I've been sitting here forever."

"It's hectic down at baggage claim."

"Yeah, there's a million suitcases and none of them are mine. I really hope it's not lost. My favorite necklace was in there."

"The gold one… with the pearl?"

"Yeah, that one." You grin, excited yet surprised. "You remember that?"

I remember seeing it on your bedside table. I remember you taking it off with everything else. The one thing you didn't tear off, the one moment you slowed down.

"Yeah, you wore it all the time."

"And you stared at my tits a lot, so…" You wink, sipping your drink.

"I did not… not all the time."

A man walks up behind you, lugging two suitcases.

"Hey, babe," he says, kissing your cheek.

"Oh!" You beam at him. "This is Javier. My coworker from back when I worked at the DEA."

Coworker. Not even friend.

'Eric' – as he introduces himself, extends his hand to shake Javi's, and it feels like he's making a deal with the devil. Promising your love – something he doesn't even have – to this man for nothing in exchange.

"I'll see you around," you say.

And he thinks it's just politeness, an everyday lie, but you call.

You invite him to your housewarming party.

“Eric and I just got our own place,” you tell him.

Javi congratulates you, and it’s an empty platitude. He says it because he has to – why else would he be here if not to celebrate you and your new home? He knows why.

He shouldn’t have come at all, but he had no excuse that he could give you. The reason why wants to see you and the reason why he shouldn’t see you coincide, but after years of knowing you, and years being apart, he still can’t admit that reason.

You were right to call him a coworker – it’s an undeniable truth. You might have been friends too at some point back in Colombia. To make the best out of the situation, Javi brings a bottle of wine – that’s what a friend would do. It’s a nice red blend, something too expensive for Javi to buy for himself. He managed to save money by not buying you a bouquet of roses. It’d be too romantic a gesture coming from a friend, let alone a coworker.

The party is an intimate affair. Everyone he speaks to is friendly, even your boyfriend, and while he wants to be happy for you, he can’t help the fact that it irritates him more than anything else. He is no better than this man – in fact, he’s worse.

Over the course of the evening, he meets coworkers and friends of yours. “I love you all,” you tell them, “but Javi’s my favorite.”

Everyone tells him he’s a hero for taking down Escobar, including you. He feels like a fraud, but accepts their thanks humbly because it’s easier not to talk about it.

He’s happy when the attention is taken off of him. Eric makes a toast. It’s to you, to your future.

A wave of nausea hits Javi as he watches your boyfriend become your fiance.

He shouldn’t drink anymore, so he goes outside for a cigarette. You appear by his side and the sweetness of your voice pains him.

“I thought I lost you,” you say.

“You could never lose me,” he lies.

When you show him the ring, he takes your hand in his, gently, pretending to care deeply about the shiny new diamond, but it’s just a rock, an obstruction, something hard covering your soft skin.

It’s beautiful, it suits you.

You linger on the balcony with him. You show him the ring, you let him touch it.

You must know that the goodbye hug you give him will be the last time you’ll touch him.

Despite the ring on your finger, you kiss Javi on the cheek one final time. Your fiance won’t mind. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Javi doesn’t kiss you on the cheek. Because kissing you would mean something. It always has.

#javier pena x you #so good

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