#Mechanical Finishes of Garments

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[sunmoon-starfactory]

Flowing Fabrics

This set followed the simplified processes of turning wool all the way into garments for sims to purchase. They will have to collect, clean and weave wool into thread and fabric. If they'd like to take their craft a step further they can gather natural sources of dyes and extract them to then dye their fabrics. With access to fabric bolts they may make garments and if they also have access to materials such as tanned leather products and fur they can make a wider variety of garments.

This is one of the more intertwined and advanced Sun&Moon sets, requiring quite a bit of other sets to function. Please read the manual carefully to understand what is needed for all parts of production and smooth functioning.

Key Features:

Wool Cleaning Vat - Clean wool to be spun. Produces Clean Wool.

Wool Winder - Turn clean wool into thread. Produces Thread Spools.

Standing Loom - Turn thread in solid sheets. Produces Fabric Bolts

Dye Extractor Pot - Extract natural dyes from various plants. Produces Bottled Dyes.

Fabric Dyeing Vat - Dye plain fabric. Produces Dyed Fabric Bolts

Sewing Workspace - Turn thread, fabric bolts, tanned leather, leather strips and cured fur into clothing. Produces Functional Blankets and Wardrobe Grants.

Functional Blankets - Main texture source for Sun&Moon fabrics moving forward. Functions as a radiator, allowing sims to warm up when their temperature is low enough.

Wardrobe Grants - The end product of the process, these serve to be used by sims so they can add a garment to their wardrobes, simulating a purchase of an outfit or a self made finished project.

Skilling Objects - Dress Forms; sims can gain charisma or mechanical skills.

All Fabric Bolts come in 7 fabric textures and 16 colors.

Display Shelves - Three varieties; Tall, Short, and Short With Shelf.

Tools - A pair of shears helps with dealing with wool, thread and fabric and a botanicals book helps the dye making process.

Download - SFS

View Use/Instruction Manual

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Hi! Your blog is awesome. I don't know if I'm allowed to ask non-atla questions, so I hope this is okay. I'm working on a non-avatar ttrpg campaign that takes place both in a (fictional/fantasy) northern tundra region AND during a magical endless winter. The people in it aren't based on any specific culture but, given that they're successfully living in similar environments & have for countless generations, I want to draw as much inspiration & knowledge from real-life circumpolar cultures & native science as much as possible. Do you have any advice or even just fun, underappreciated ideas for winter tundra survival, things someone who grew up in a desert like me wouldn't think of on my own? If you need/want more direction: I'm particularly looking for clothing, shelters, resource gathering-practices for non-food (esp what kinds of resources would be valuable), as well as like, any fun details that evolve naturally in a culture that formed in the tundra that you'd want to see represented. I hope that makes sense ^^; Thanks so much if you decide to answer, have a good day either way <3

[I am SOOO sorry this took so long! Tumblr kept not saving my progress when i tapped "save draft" so i had to rewrite a few of these passages a few different times]

Don't worry about asking, friend, i get cultural questions all the time and i'm happy to share.

Note: my knowledge is almost entirely based on coastal tundra peoples with access to marine mammals. That's not to say it's impossible for people to live farther inland, just that it's not my area of expertise.

Clothing

Just about everything you wear is going to come off of a dead animal. This doesn't necessarily need to be the case if your fictional culture has a means of raising hardy livestock for fiber and a history of woven textiles, but even then skin clothes are warm and generally quite hard-wearing and are a good fit for living in these circumstances.

This amount of fur means lice are a perpetual problem. If you want to make that an immersive part of the game, you can work in a mechanic for checking scalps and clothing and bedding for lice.

Bird skins can also be used for clothing and waterfowl specifically has the benefit of water resistance. Fish skin can also be used for similar properties. Animal intestines can be made into a waterproof material if sewn with sinew and soaked before finishing.

On that note i'd recommend making a list of available animals and what qualities and textures their skins and furs have. Even if you don't intend on being incredibly descriptive with clothing, it's something better to have and not need than need and not have. And if you do anything else creative in a similar setting you have your nifty little source to consult.

When it comes to the actual construction of the clothes, you want a loose fit. Trapped air ia a great insulator and you want clothes to be easy to move in. Another benefit for loose-fitting upper body garments in cold weather is you can pull your arms in and keep them by your much warmer core. Not only will this option keep you comfortable, it can also prevent muscle injury or getting frostbite

Mittens can be worn on a string yoke. This doesn't have to be exclusive to children either. Wind can pick up out of nowhere and lost mittens means fingers exposed to arctic cold which can mean gangreen and amputations down the line.

Swimming or running to deliver a message may involve stripping nude, even in cold. Clothes soaked in water or sweat are deadly in the cold.

Clothes may be stored in bags outside when not in use. The low temperatures can kill bugs and bacteria. On a similar note, boots and coats are best to be hung to dry as soon as one is indoors for the day. This may mean it's normal for people to be topless indoors.

Boots should never have holes or tears. Frostbite and resulting gangreen is already bad enough but you especially do not want it on your feet

Shelter

You're going to want dwellings to have as few rooms and windows as possible and small doors. The fewer walls you have, the easier it is for heat to circulate throughout the whole dwelling. You'll probably want one room separating the door and where you sleep. Remember: trapped air is a great insulator.

The culture I've reconnected with is semi-nomadic so the permanent houses are not always occupied and a village can seem abandoned when it's just on its "off season". You can take that or leave it depending on what you're going for.

Even if the dwelling is not a tent, you're probably still going to have poles serving as a supporting frame.

Sod houses are common due to the availability of sod (the grass and the dirt its roots are tangled in). Tents made of warm, waterproof skins (like walrus skin) are also an option.

An easy way to insulate such a dwelling is to build a wall of packed snow around and fill the gaps with loose, airy snow. This traps air the same way down feathers do.

Non-Food Resource Gathering

While I imagine you meant obtaining resources outside of hunting, in a tundra or tundra-like setting, a lot of your resources are going to come from dead animals. Your garments and shelters and bedding are likely to be made of animal skins, with hollow and/or fluffy fur for warmth, or smoked intestine or fish skin, sewn with tiny stitches and soaked to keep everything flush, for waterproof boots and overlayers. Antlers and tusks are good carving materials for things like spoons and closures and slabs for armor and handles and also talismans and smoking pipes and beads and art. Baleen is good for art too, as well as boot soles and smaller sleds and beautiful baskets. Sinew and rawhide are good for thread, ties, and rope. Bones have a near infinite amount of uses from tiny wing bones to make sewing needles to huge whale bones used to build houses.

For the purposes of working this into a roleplaying game, i'd second the recommendation of keeping a list of animals in your universe and their properties, as well as the things that can be gathered from or made of them. A sort of crafting recipe guide would allow all kinds of quests and sidequests.

There are, of course, non-animal resources to gather for non-eating purposes. Soapstone is the traditional material for oil lamps. Grasses can be woven into baskets for any number of purposes, including supports to give the uppers of one's boots more structure. Wood, in the form of slices of tree trunks, can be hollowed out into bowls and small tubs and buckets or, as logs or slats, can make up flooring. Sturdy branches can be used for frames in houses, boats, and drums, and tree resin makes both good glue and antibiotic salve for closed wounds. Sod, also called turf, makes a good building material and moss is exellent insulation in boots. You can make a list of these too, if it helps.

If your fictional culture has a strong tradition of metallurgy, then they'd also mine for metal that can be used for knives. If not, slate is another option that requires significantly less fire. You could even have both and make the metal a status symbol.

Fun Details to Represent

There are so many lovely little things that show up in arctic cultures

First, a gift economy. Where a cash economy relies on a fairly individualistic culture where you work for someone else to earn capital and exchange that capital for goods and services, a more collectivist and interdependent culture natural to the harsh conditions of the tundra tends to result in a gift economy. The currency in a gift economy, to perhaps oversimplify, is favors. Someone does you a good turn, you remember that, and when you're in a position to help, you return the favor. Usually this means basic material things like hospitality and food, but the "gifts" exchanged can also be luck! King Islander boys would often wish hunters setting out at dawn good luck, with a slab of driftwood as a token of that luck, and if the hunters were successful, they'd give the boys who wished them luck a share of their catch. I believe it was Frank Ellana who remenised that this was what the world was like before money.

Another thing that would be nice to include is parenting practices considered fairly gentle to a Euro-American perspective. Physical punishments are traditionally treated as abuse and scolding a child is not only seen as wrong but something an adult ought to be ashamed of. Discipline is instead a series of moral lessons, teaching children why what they did was wrong and using stories as examples of the consequences. Given the amount of stories about the dangers of abusing a spouse or child, i'd say a lot of these lessons were proactive and preventative. Knowing someone will be hurt by it is considered enough of a deterrence to stop bad behaviors. Traditional potty training, for example, is also gentler in comparison; starting at a younger age (about six months) with more emphasis on praise and encouragment than routine. The goal here is to teach the baby to signal when they need to go so they can be taken out of mama's atigi and relieve themself in a hygenic manner instead of holding it until they get permission. Even our take on kissing is based on inhaling instead of pecking with the lips. This kind of gentleness is usually overlooked to instead focus on the badass hunter image or overall "cuteness" so it would be nice for it to be referenced.

Oral histories would be pretty neat too. I think the idea of learning to be a historian of oral histories is an interesting one and i think it has a lot of potential plot hooks for an rpg.

That's all i have for now. Sorry for the delayed response time. Happy gaming, and i'm always up for further discussion if you would like ^-^

[fallout4-reacts]

How would the companions react to walking in on Sole nude (not in like a sexual way, but like, got a wound on their thigh during a fight and was in the middle of stitching it up in their room with the door closed or something like that)

That raider was ruthless, sneaking around Sole and opening them up like a fish with their bloody, rusted knife. Sole made it through and made it to Sanctuary owing to the stimpacks, but now they has to assess the extent of their injuries and heal themself. Sole totally removed their garments as the enemy drove his blade directly into their ribcage and managed to slide down to the thigh, shocked by the length of the cut. Then they hear footsteps in the corridor...

Cait : She casts a quick glance at Sole before crossing her arms and leans against the doorframe.

"Not bad, I had one like that before. Ya can come back after you're done patching and tell that fool Preston that I'm not going to take care of his stupid tatos. He wants a planter, but I'm too busy with my bat knocking the heads off the raiders trying to take us from behind."

Sole remains stuck for several seconds before regaining the capacity to speak.

"Can you get out of here now?" they ask, their face expressionless.

"What? Are you going to say you're shy? You don't have to; you're hiding a lovely body beneath your armor."

"OUT!"

Codsworth : (OK, not exactly speaking steps) In a nervose movement, his mechanical arms rotate two or three times on themselves. He tries to keep his cool by moving his three eyes in unison towards the corridor.

"Please excuse my untimely disruption, Mum/Sir; I came to inform you that supper will be served tonight in the common room. All of your companions will be present, but if you want, I may arrange a meal for you in your extremely quiet dining room. I understand if you don't feel compelled to... socialize."

Sole smiles at their butler, but he doesn't look at them.

"That's OK, Cods, eh... When... I'm finished, I'll join you in the lounge to discuss this further."

"Definitely!"

And the robot bolted from the room.

Curie : She runs over to inspect the huge wound.

"Oh no! What occurred? How come you didn't provide proper care?"

"That's exactly what I was about to do."

"This lesion requires disinfection and suturing! Just wait for me; I'll collect my equipment!"

Sole would have liked to object, or at the very least inform Curie that it is not appropriate to enter people's bedrooms without their permission because they may be... naked... but the Synth has already gone. Sole, with a pout, casts a glance at... their own health kit.

Danse : If embarrassment could kill him, he would have died right there. His face is absolutely bloodless. Not that he hasn't seen other naked soldiers; intimacy is a very meaningless concept in the field. But Sole, in this situation. He feels as if he has crossed an unbearable line and committed an awful act. He swiftly turns around and makes a motion to exit, but his brain records the second piece of information.

"You are severely injured!"

"It's mostly superficial, but it is."

"Need…help?"

"No, I'm doing just fine on my own."

"Perfect!"

And he's back in the hallway as swiftly as he came. Sole will have to wait until the paladin explains why he came to see them in the first place.

Deacon : (glitch power) As soon as his eyes are drawn to Sole's nude body, a huge wicked smile grows on his lips, and before his friend is able to react, he is in his underwear. Sole is taken aback and takes some time to comprehend what the spy is saying.

"Is this some sort of nudist gathering? Or is this an Adam and Eve celebration?"

"This is MY room, and I am HURT!"

"Oh, yes!"

Deacon is clothed again before Sole can say anything else. The unfortunate vault dweller is fully swept away this time.

"So, let me look at this wound— 

"No, get out!"

"Alright, alright. Whatever you desire! But if you ever feel like the planet is spinning much faster than it should, give me a call and I'll be there."

And now he's gone. Sole winks, unsure whether the scene was real or if they have hallucinating.

Dogmeat : He lies on the bed with his head resting on his legs, waiting for Sole to finish.

Elder Maxson : He enters and exits the room. It was a single continuous motion. With no change in expression. When Sole is finished, they dress and proceed to the living room, where they find the Elder in a pretty stiff position. The Elder, on the other hand, constantly stands straight.

"You're done, Knight. I needed the report on supermutant activity near Satellite Station Olivia immediately. Did you finish cleaning everything?"

"Not a single mutant left alive, sir."

"Perfect, perfect, perfect. I'm returning to the Prydwen in order to dispatch the soldiers to retrieve any sensitive data that may be left. I intend you get there as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Knight..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Please never bring up this unfortunate incident again."

"The satellite station's super mutants?"

"You are fully aware of what I mean. Dismiss."

"This is my living room, sir."

"Perfect, perfect, perfect. Have a nice day."

He walks out of the home, and we can hear the motor of a vertibird in the distance. Sole then allows themselves to burst out laughing.

Hancock : His smile becomes so large that he appears to have much less flesh on his face. Sole's expression is devastation.

"Wow, this is my kind of job!"

"I am hurt!"

"Yes, I see. That's too bad. Need a hand?"

"Definitely not!"

"Well, I'll meet you in the lounge."

Hancock walks back. Sole takes comfort in the fact that, despite his debauchery, Hancock never crosses the line, demonstrating some semblance of... respect...

Gage : He enters the room and doesn't seem to be bothered in the least. He begins casually declaring the report of Nuka-World's behaviours.

"Porter! I’m naked!" 

"I saw. But as I was saying about Nisha’s operations— 

"I’m naked and I want you to go out immediately."

"All right, Boss."

Sole is still taken aback by the raider's dashing demeanour. But, well, Gage has undoubtedly seen some green ones in his life, and it does make him any more impressed by anything.

MacCready : His expression is stern, as though it were Sole's fault. Sole, for their part, is frozen in place. MacCready makes a hand gesture with a scowl on his face.

"When you're finished—whatever you do—I need your support to recover—

"Get out!"

"Okay, I'll wait in the living room."

When Sole has finished, they proceed to the living room with the intent of reprimanding the mercenary, but he sits quietly on the couch with a broad smile.

"Aside from that, it was a pretty spectacular view. Not too bad, you know?"

The vault dweller pauses before turning to return to their room. Before they rip their friend's head off, they need to scream into their pillow.

Nick Valentine : The tin can has a swirl function. Sole notices this because as soon as they realise Nick is in the doorframe, they can only see his back.

"God! Pardon! I… I didn’t think. I should have known better. I saw you come in and I wanted to... It's unforgivable, God. Pardon."

"It's fine, Nick, and given how many times you've patched me, it's not like you haven't seen these parts of my body before. It's just that you have the big picture right now."

It makes Nick feel even more uncomfortable. Even though they are over two metres apart, Sole can clearly hear Nick's fans react by kicking in all at the same time. They can't help but chuckle at the scenario, but they have too much respect for the detective to make fun of him.

Piper : A reaction halfway between Danse and Nick."Wow, Blue!" she exclaimed in turning heels. "Sorry! I’ll uh," she’s cut off by her nervous laugh, "waiting for you in the living room. Yeah, I’ll just wait for you in the living room. There. Do you have nuka cola in your fridge?"

Preston : He already possesses the grace and stature of a marble statue. He now has the stiffliness. He's not even blinking. He was about to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. Not even breath, by the way. Sole thinks they could castigate him, but the Colonel's state of stupor is heartbreaking. They stoop, take up their coat, and drape themselves in it. When they speak, they try to employ as calm a tone as possible.

"You wanted to see me, Preston?"

"See... you? NO! Well, uh... you mean like in the expression? Okay, as stated in the expression. Okay. Yes, I was hoping to see you. But not you! I mean, I saw you, I couldn't deny it. I saw you! It’s awful! No! I mean, you're not awful! I regret! I'm truly sorry! I should have made a signal or knocked on the door— 

"Breathe!"

Sole crosses their arms, unsure whether to laughs or be annoyed by this situation. It's the first time they've seen the man in such a nervous state. They decide to take a humoros approach.

"I don't even have a door to knock on. It's all right, Preston; I understand your discomfort and that you don't mean anything."

"Of course not! I am forever thankful to you for understanding me. I mean, to grasp the situation as it is. I'll be in the living room, waiting for you."

"Does a settlement need my help?"

"Yes!" 

"My pip-boy is sitting on the table. Put it on the map, and I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thank you!"

The man exits the room without further questioning. Sole locates the small community on their map, but they don't see their Colonel again for the rest of the day.

As if he was trying to avoid them...

Strong : The super-mutant frown.

“Puny human should wear armor.”

“Puny human is in their ROOM and you GO OUT!”

“Puny human stupid. Puny human should never let their guard down.”

“GET OUT!”

“Strong get out, but Strong wants to know when human and Strong are going to get the Milk of Human Kindness.”

“GET OUT!”

X6-88 : Hands behind back, straight, and unimpressed.

"Ma'am/Sir, it is not appropriate to deal with such an injury without the expertise of the Institute's doctors."

"X6? Could you just leave my room right away?"

The Courser executes, but only for a few steps in the hallway.

"I reiterate my recommendation that you be taken in to one of the Institute's physicians for a professional body examination."

"Get the fuck away!"

"There is no need to get carried away and use vernacular. Unlike the way you handled the damage you caused yourself on your last assignment, my advice are perfectly adequate."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling the damage I've done to myself, and if you don't want me to do any damage to you, I recommend you take the Sanctuary Grand Tour right now!"

X6 obeys without fully comprehending why the future director places themselves in such a state.

[naomis-daydream]

seven deadly sins // shuri udaku

summary: self explanatory tbh

warnings: descriptions of sex, mentions of accidentally skipping meals

a/n: ik some of these aren’t the real meanings behind the seven deadly sins, just a fun take on it. something quick & cute until i get other stuff out. also, i finally learned how to add the ‘keep reading’ tab🤭 enjoy!

✧

LUST - a strong passion or longing, especially for sexual desires

a soft moan escapes shuri’s lips as she tugs lightly on your hair. she’d been gone on a mission for three days, yet it felt like a lifetime since she felt you against her. you were buried between her thighs, her legs swung over your shoulders as you gripped her supple flesh under your fingertips.

your lips were wrapped around her clit, her walls were around your fingers which were pushing slowly in and out of her. the sound of her clenching around you filling the room as she whimpered.

“miss me that much, sithandwa sam?” you mutter, lips still against her, the vibrations making her squirm slightly.

she nods quickly, head thrown back against the pillows.

“how about you show me, then?”

GREED - the excessive pursuit of material goods

no matter how many times you attempted to tell her otherwise, shuri continuously showered you in gifts. whether it was high-end or hand-me-downs, your girlfriend spared no expense to show her everlasting love for you.

like the time you mentioned a garment you liked, but said it was too expensive to buy. later that week, a package was left on your side of your shared bedroom with a note on the top saying “open me :)”. you knew better than to dissuade her, because when you looked at the label in the corner, you found pen scribbled over the return address.

GLUTTONY - an excessive and ongoing eating of food or drink (or in this case, when shuri works so hard she forgets to eat)

it wasn’t unusual for shuri to miss a meal every now and then because of her duties. she was the head of the design group, queen, and black panther. it was perfectly understandable if she skipped lunch or fell asleep before having dinner, because when you’re the world’s smartest woman, ruler of the most powerful nation on the surface, who wouldn’t?

though, that didn’t mean you would simply let her.

like tonight, when shuri had refused to leave the lab, which she’d been in for over fourteen hours, until she finished her newest contraption. she was gone when you woke up and still missing when you were ready to sleep, so you hauled down to her lab at nearly midnight to persuade her to take a much needed break.

“shuri?” you called, looking around the empty room. “baby, you in here?”

the sound of mechanical wiring answered your question, leading you to look over to a large machine which hid your girlfriend.

“you need to eat.” you called, raising your voice over the noise.

her response was low and vague. “i’m busy.”

“i made your favorite,” you say, attempting to get her out of her lab and food into her stomach.

she peaks her head up from behind the large machine. “fufu?” she asks quietly.

“mmhm,” you hum.

“with nkatenkwen?” she says, the top of her face still being the only visible part of her.

“yep.”

“and your homemade peach drink?”

“all waiting for you upstairs, my love,” you say, walking up to the machine. you go around to the back, tugging her hands so her focus would be on you. “your work will always be here when you’re done, shuri, but you won’t if you don’t eat. let me take care of you. can you let me do that, sana (baby)?”

SLOTH - excessive laziness or failure to act & utilize one’s talents

hardly anything, or anyone, for that matter, could pull shuri away from her lab. that was until she met you. now, you had to practically pry her off of you in order to attend to her duties.

you groaned quietly as you glanced at the clock in your nightstand. “shuri, you must get ready for work. you are supposed to be at the lab in less than twenty minutes.”

to which she’d hush you while pulling you closer to her frame. “shh, intombi entle (pretty girl), just a few more minutes,” she mutters, pushing her chin further into the soft skin of your neck.

“you said that yesterday. we never left the bed.”

“and i heard not one complaint!”

though your back was to her front, she could feel you playfully rolling your eyes, prompting her to whisper against your lips, “who’s queen?”

“you are, my love,” you’d say into a soft kiss.

WRATH - a strong anger or hate towards another person

hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, or in this case, a woman whose girlfriend had been. when it was announced shuri would be courting you, people were ecstatic that the lone udaku had found someone she was going to spend the rest of her life with. though, there were unpleasant whispers about a non-wakandan sitting on the throne.

one afternoon, the two of you were making rounds to all the tribes to formerly make acquaintance of their soon queen, when a member of the border tribe had a few words to say about the matter.

“an american ruling over us? wakandans?” he smacked his teeth. “i’d rather turn my blade onto myself than serve under someone who comes from such barbaric land.” he chuckles as two men beside him laugh shortly.

you overhear the conversation, frowning a little, but determined to not let them get to you. you look over to shuri, whose eyes are cutting daggers into the three men a few feet over.

before she could do anything, you stop her. “my love, it’s okay. i promise. it takes more than a few assholes mouthing off to get to me, okay?” you assure her. she looks down at you, momentarily glancing back over to the men before nodding. though as you walk with the Doras and make your way to the exit, shuri slips from your eyeline and in the faces of the three mouthy men.

“utter another word about my fiancé, who is soon to be your queen, might i remind you, and you will find yourself wishing that you had turned your blade onto yourself once i am done with you. kuqondwa (understood)?”

ENVY - the intense desire to have an item someone else possesses

before you two got together, you were in a relationship…with a man, and that bothered shuri to no end. you would talk about how he would flake on dates and forgot special occasions like your birthday and anniversary, and she couldn’t stand it. she could treat you so much better.

“you don’t deserve that, uthando (love). you should be with someone who cherishes you, appreciates you, worships you endlessly.” she’d say, rubbing the back of your hands which where held by hers.

you’d sigh, warmed by her words but conflicted between your head and your heart. the lines between platonic and romantic often blurred with you two, and the feelings you had for shuri overpowered the mere comfort of familiarity that kept you in your relationship. your head was tilted down, mostly so you didn’t have to meet her eyes. “i don’t know. he’s a good guy-”

“and you need a great woman,” she interrupted, “i can be that for you.”

your heart rate picks up as she hooks a finger under your chin.“let me show you how you deserve to be treated, hm?”

PRIDE - an excessive view of one’s self without regard for others (or in this case, how shuri cannot go a day without the admiration she has for you spilling from her lips)

the warm feeling in her chest whenever she was with you, the burn in her cheeks that came from smiling so hard, and the tranquility that overtook her only when you were by her side. to everyone else, the two of you were almost an annoyingly adorable couple. whenever in your presence, shuri could not draw herself away from you. her eyes followed you wherever you went in the room, and if you were within arms reach, hers were wrapped around you. and when shuri was away from you, there’d be rarely a day she went without mentioning her to wife to be.

“ngangamsha (your majesty), what is this…music?” okoye asks hesitantly, face lingering with slight distaste for the current song choice in the training room.

“she calls herself megan thee stallion with two ‘e’s,” shuri responds, effectively blocking okoye’s spear with her forearm.

“her lyrics seem a little provocative, no?”

“yes, but, the beat is nice, eh?”

shuri relaxes her defensive stance to dance to the lyrics of ‘cash shit’ for all of three seconds before okoye sweeps her leg, hitting shuri’s ankle and bringing her back to the mat.

“unfair! i was showing you the dougie!”

“since when do you listen to american rap?”

“y/n plays it while she gets ready.” shuri says simply, rising from the ground.

okoye shakes her head, “whipped.”

✧

[bomberqueen17]

Loftus Bralette Construction #2: completion!

yah so i finished the bra and tried it on and it was more comfortable than the RTW bra I'd been wearing so I just left it on the rest of the day, LOL.

But anyway I'll detail the rest of the sewing of it, and what I've learned and what I plan to do next.

[image description: a bent sewing needle, held between my fingers]

So the first thing I learned is that sewing through the many layers where the bra cup is attached to the band is enough that it'll snag on the feed dogs and if you try to pull it through you'll bend your needle. Had to yank out the entire bobbin raceway/case assemblage to free the bent needle so I could get it out and retrieve the in-progress bra, and then reinserting the whole bobbin assembly took forever to get right. So, don't recommend.

A bit later I shattered another needle when I misjudged how much of the metal eye there was underneath the fabric of the preassembled hook-and-eye closure I was inserting. They only came in a pack of 5 so maybe I need to order more microtex needles....

I wear glasses, but if I didn't, I wouldn't wear goggles to sew but I'd know I should, LOL.

Anyway. Bra sewing is not for the faint of machine. I am using an old mechanical Kenmore that fears nothing. I can't set the stitch width very easily, but that's the only downside I can find.

Attaching the band was wildly confusing. I'd watched the sewalong and it had seemed straightforward enough, but the written directions were baffling. They wanted you to pin... the center in place... from the top... then turn the entire bra and pin from? the other side? what?

I tried to follow the directions, failed entirely to get the thing on, and had to retreat upstairs to seam-rip and rewatch the sewalong.

She has you pin the center, then sew the waistband V to one side of the center gore, then sew it to the other side of the center gore, then pin the rest in place and sew the rest. And that worked. That is not what the written instructions say to do. I'm still not sure what the written instructions say to do. I could not decipher them in any way at all. (By "turn" do they mean like, fold the thing to get at it from the other side? or do they mean like, rotate the whole assemblage, to work on the same surface but from a different angle? what the fuck.)

But I did manage to get the band attached, in the end!

[image description: a pink bra with a black, inverted-v elastic waistband lying atop a sewing machine.]

i then had to attach the straps, and as I was doing it I was like "this is dumb I should make them shorter every bra ever has had straps too long for me" and I remembered someone asking "why put adjustable straps on a homemade bra you're making to measure" and the pattern designer or someone answering "because the elastic might stretch over time" but i'm here to tell you a little secret, those elastic sliders never fucking stay where i put them, every single bra i own the first thing i do when i get it is adjust those sliders as short as they go, and that's the first thing i do every time i put that bra on for its entire life, and it is still never short enough and sometimes i have altered RTW bras to remove the sliders and make the straps permanently shorter. But I was like "no they wrote the pattern like this for a reason i'll do it" and then. I got the straps on. And got the hook and eye closure installed. And I put the bra on.

And the straps are way too fucking long, like minimum three inches too long, and won't stay adjusted shorter and even at the shortest adjustment are too long.

So score 1 for whoever was like "putting adjustable elastic on a made to measure garment is silly", they were one hundred percent right. I have picked /cut the elastic back off and am going to just sew some on at a fixed length about three inches shorter than the pattern as written. I was completely wrong: i do not need or want adjustable straps. If the elastic stretches out over the lifetime of the garment, I will unpick it and sew it again shorter. The sliders never work and I don't know why I bought in to the propaganda that they would when I know better.

Anyway: making this not-rebloggable because I'm going to include a photo of the garment on, and I don't need that to be rebloggable. It can just stay in its original context here. Not that it's racy. But:

[image description: a size 38J non-wired bra, pale pink with peach elastic and a black waistband, worn by a torso that fills it out pretty well, with just a few wrinkles in the center gore and arms raised out of frame.]

The high center gore doesn't suit me, so I'll do the next one at the lower line option. The lack of pressing the seams shows; the seams are blocky and my boobs have low-poly corners, LOL. The Sharpie marks are funny everywhere. And I could stand to have less volume at the bottom of the cups so my boobs fill out the tops of the cups a little better, somehow. Not sure how to alter that.

But what I've done is I've since cut out a second one, using the nice kit I bought, and first I very carefully shaved down the edges of the paper pattern pieces, which i had cut out with my usual not super high level of care. But these pieces need to be very precise, and the seam allowances-- well, drawing the sew line on was good as an idea but in practice I missed it much of the time when I was actually sewing, because I couldn't see it or the fabric slid or various other reasons. What I need to do is use a seam guide to make sure I'm really sewing at the full 1/4" seam allowance, which I rather often wasn't. And that means there's a little extra space in this bra that I don't need.

But the fit is not bad really!!! so I'm going to go ahead and make my next one in the same size, and make it nicely, with all new notions and shit that matches, and doing all of the finish-as-you-go shit, the topstitching and the pressing and whatnot. And then we'll see how that one fits, and maybe refine things from there.

I got no cat photo for the finale here because I turned the a/c on today and the cat has retreated to the attic, which is not air conditioned, so she can sleep in the desert heat, which she prefers. (No we don't live in a desert but she likes to pretend.)

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 42: Reflection

I have arisen~! Sorry ONCE AGAIN for the long lag in updates. Hopefully this chapter makes up for the delay in posting 😊

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: 24,500+

Summary: All the previous reconciliations and past heartache act as a reflection in your peripheral once you and Javi gravitate back to each other, but is the love and passion between you enough to keep you both together, this time?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of oral (m+ f receiving) and unprotected sex. Mentions of diet and food habits, exercise routines, angst, past trauma, resentments, frustration and regret. Allusions to toxic behavior, negative coping mechanisms, recurring relationship tropes, women's health, fluff, hurt comfort, size kink, praise kink, dom/sub play. SoftDom!Javi, Romatic!Javi, and Bossy!OFC. 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.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 41: Enchantment

Chapter 42: Reflection

To say that you and Javier made up for lost time apart would be an understatement.

From the moment he'd pulled you close and claimed your mouth with his, any coyness between you both had dissolved, and all caution had been discarded for the passionate ways you each needed to revel in the other.

Javier had whisked you against him and the wall when you buried your hands in his hair and tugged him down to deepen the kiss before you trailed needy nips across his jaw and down his neck. He'd ground into you and groped up your dress to hike your leg around his hip, and before you could gather your lust-clumsy wits, he'd had you half naked in the hallway while you yanked his unbuttoned shirt off and groaned for him to touch you.

"Love you—want to make you mine," he'd whispered at your ear after you'd tugged his undershirt off over his head and he'd cupped his hand between your thighs to touch you over your soaked panties. "Promise to make you feel so good, mi amor—"

"Javi," you'd moaned as you arched against him, bare breasts pressing against his chest while he hastily tried to maneuver you both down the hall towards the bedroom whilst suckling on your pulse point and wrenching your tangled dress from around your waist to be discarded.

The garment barely finished hitting the tiled floor before you'd already unbuckled his belt and impatiently tugged his pants undone while you both multitasked kicking your shoes off and kissing wantonly as you finally made it over the threshold of the doorway. Javier had let you undress him – to get him completely nude before you'd towed him towards the bed as he peeled your panties down before you kicked them off. His voracious touch and kisses had you tingling – pulse racing with the exhilarating excitement of feeling him hunger for you as much as you're starving to be his again.

The sex had been primal and sensual. Intense yet tender. Voracious, ardent, and divine – albeit salacious. And, it'd occurred libidinously throughout the night, in between dozing off from spent exhaustion during the post-coital periods.

Every time you roused from slumber to him kissing on you, or tenderly caressing his touch between your thighs, or nuzzling your neck while he husked adoring words to you in the dark, you'd pull him close and end up making love all over again, no matter how tired and sore your muscles were, or how full and tender you felt. At one point, just before dawn, you'd even awoken to the soft quilt being tucked around you – with Javier completely underneath it.

His head had been between your thighs as he languidly licked your tender pussy, eating you out with shameless – albeit gentle vigor, and groaning with achievement as you gasped fully awake and ground against his mouth with needy enthusiasm.

One more romp later, and you were both passed out in the disheveled sheets, tangled up in each other with the quilt rumpled around you as the stormy climate persisted outside.

The rainy weather made it easy to lose track of time, and when Javi woke up at one point to peer over to the curtained windows, he couldn't gauge the hour of the day. It was dark and dreary, the room mostly in penumbra save for the gray daylight that filtered in from the billowing curtains every so often that a gust of breeze sifted through the ajar slats.

Content to cuddle back under the quilt with you, Javi shifted to blearily squint over his shoulder at the alarm clock on the nightstand closest to the bedroom's door and ended up balking at the time displayed.

Begrudgingly, but carefully maneuvering his limbs from around yours and shuffling backwards from where he'd been spooning you, Javi got out of bed and quietly went over to the pile of his clothes strewn about the entry of the bedroom. As he does so, you roll into the side of the bed he's vacated in your slumber. Making sure to remain silent while you sigh in your sleep as you cuddle the pillow his head had been resting on most of the night, he's relieved to not have woken you, and resumes grabbing for his pants before suddenly remembering he'd left his cell phone in the center console of his car.

Internally swearing to himself, Javier discards the chinos and sneaks out to make a pitstop in the bathroom across from the bedroom door in the hall, before quietly going down to the living room to find your house phone. He's in the buff, scratching at his tousled hair, cataloguing your apartment now in the morning light as he lopes over to pick up the receiver from the console table against the wall of the entry, and quickly dials Steve to let him know he definitely isn't making it to the gym.

"—Fuck, man. I just got ready and put my sneakers on to go get you," his friend grumbles around a yawn, testily adding, "You're the one who hassled me into working out—"

"First off, you're a father of two now and you're in shit shape," Javi mutters sarcastically as he paces from the living room over to the kitchen to open the fridge, unabashed as he retrieves the carton of orange juice and sets it down on the counter, enjoying the cool air from the fridge as he stands completely in the nude while he looks over at the direction of the balcony slider doors and notices the overcast sky peeking through the vertical blinds. "Second, I got ahold of you before you were inconvenienced in going out in this weather—"

"So, the date went well, then?" Steve fishes, raspy drawl goading.

"Yeah, it did," Javi answers in a hushed tone as he shuts the fridge door and opens the carton of juice before taking a long pull from it, letting out a sated exhale to then mumble, "Anyway, raincheck on the gym. I'll talk to you later—"

"Just make sure you get her approval on double date night for Valentine's, bud," is the deriding taunt his buddy zings his way before saying goodbye.

Scoffing, Javi chugs orange juice until he's had his fill, returns the carton to the fridge, and fills a glass of water up before he takes it and the phone receiver with him back to the room. He passes the guest bedroom and notices for the first time a dim flicker emanating beyond the ajar door. Peeking in, he sees it's a neatly appointed room with a daybed, and a wide dresser up against the wall. On said dresser is a little altar flanked by tall white continental candles. There's one next to a photo of your grandmother, and it makes a twinge of recall warm his heart.

Returning to your bedroom now, Javi takes the opportunity to catalogue the space before fondly gazing at your sleeping form.

You've rolled back into the opposite side of the mattress, so he sets the glass on a coaster already tucked onto the nightstand next to his watch, puts the phone by the lamp, and slides back under the covers with you.

You unfurl once he's spooned up behind you again, sleepily rolling over to cuddle against him. The soft scent of your hair, the loving way you nuzzle his neck, and the gentle sigh you let out once you've curled up against him makes it easy for Javi to relax and doze back off.

A couple of hours later, it's your turn to slowly stir, stretching out groggily before begrudgingly waking when your body aches and commands that you take care of a biological need. You sit up carefully and peer over at Javier, seeing he's passed out on his stomach on the side of the bed you typically sleep in. His bare back is smooth and expands broadly as he breathes deep, relaxed breaths that soften his purring snore. You frown when you see the scratches your nails left on his back, but upon closer inspection, you're relieved to see they weren't welts or cuts by brushing your fingertips gently over them and finding they were smooth and likely to fade over the course of the day.

Your touch stirs a soft, bassy hum out of your sleeping hunk before he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

Smiling at having not stirred him awake, you gingerly sneak out of bed and walk around to the door, tiptoeing over your combined discarded clothes, and quickly go into the bathroom, clicking the door quietly shut behind you.

Well, so much for taking it slow, you think to yourself as you sit, but can't muster the reproachful feelings the admonishment should conjure. Instead, you take your time to replay moments from last night as you delicately stand and flush to go wash your hands. As you do so, you end up staring at your kiss-bruised, glowing features in the mirror over the sink vanity and smile before forcing yourself to wash your face and brush your teeth. You eye the mark he left from grazing his teeth on your sloping muscle, and feel a tremor of delight quiver in your sore nether regions.

The entire time you're in the bathroom, you relive the amazing feelings Javier had stirred up in you, and can't deny how effervescent and gleeful recalling everything makes you feel now, even with your wits regained.

From the moment he'd pulled you close and kissed you, any tentativeness between you both had dissolved, and all caution had been discarded for the passionate ways you each needed to bask in carnal adoration once again.

Unlike the last time you'd both gotten tempestuously ensnared and ended up rapaciously in his bed, you don't feel any trepidation or exasperation with yourself. If anything, you're trying to remind yourself why you'd been so keen on taking things slow. And when you remember how you'd told him how much you missed and loved him last night? The feeling that warms you when your mind's eye recalls the expression on Javier's face – how bright his dark eyes got, and how his features softened – it makes you yearn all over again.

You want to cherish what you have, and not overanalyze it or default to compartmentalizing it for fear of repeating mistakes or succumbing to resurging heartache.

When you sneak back into the room, you find Javier has rolled onto his back in his sleep.

He has a hand shoved behind a pillow, one leg flung over the quilt, and his other hand flopped over the bunched-up blanket at his belly. The breeze ruffles through the curtains and fills the room up with cool air while providing the cover for you to quickly pick up all the clothes strewn on the floor and place them aside on the cushioned wicker chair in the corner of your bedroom before you tiptoe soundlessly to the side of the bed next to the windows and stealthily slip back under the covers with him.

Sidling up carefully next to his sleeping form, you gaze down at him lovingly while he snores lightly, cheeks covered with stubble and hair a tousled mess of dark chocolate curls. His chest rises and falls with his gentle breathing, and his expression is the most relaxed you've ever seen him. Admiringly, you let your gaze wander the expanse of tan bare skin and toned muscles on his torso, committing every beauty mark, dark vello and chiseled contour to memory.

You notice the time on the clock when you glance up from his taut abdomen and frown, wondering if you're being too indulgent by keeping him all to yourself, when he stretches out and exhales. His hand shifts from his stomach up so he can drape his forearm across his eyes with a rumbled grunt before kicking the rest of the quilt off of him.

Cheekily biting your lip at getting a gander at his completely nude form in the dim mid-morning light, you decide to see how much teasing you can do before he's stirred awake.

First, you ever-so-lightly caress your fingertips along the inside of his thigh. Aside from the tendons flexing at the contact, he doesn't wake, so, you skim your touch over his hip and down his happy trail before fanning your fingers out to delicately brush his resting manhood. Javier hums in his sleep, but doesn't rouse, so you next lean over and kiss a beauty mark that's on the side of his ribcage before grazing a soft path with your lips up to his pectoral. The hand behind the pillow shifts out to dangle his arm over the edge of the bed while he yawns and arches his spine.

It's when he drags his forearm up to flop above his head that his eyes flutter open before he stiffens at the sensation of ticklish pleasure that makes him squirm, just as he wakes up and sees you're tracing the tip of your tongue along his nipple.

"Hmph, cristo amado, what'd I do to get such a naughty wake-up call?" he chortles gruffly – voice thick from disuse, before yawning noisily and smiling at you snickering girlishly at him.

"You lying here like a Playgirl centerfold, that's what," you tease before lounging sidelong against him so you can affectionately comb your fingers through his wild, wavy curls after he snakes his arm under you and tugs you to cuddle close. "Took advantage and leered at you, hermoso."

Javier grins dreamily before turning to nudge his cheek against yours, humming for you to kiss him. You do so, chastely, then huff an endearing sound before letting him deepen the kiss with the greedy sweep of his tongue into your mouth, and in an instant, he's rolling to flatten you into the disheveled bed while he tries to maneuver back under the blanket in order to be pressed skin-to-skin with you.

"Hngth, Javi," you mumble in between kisses, which makes him regain his wits and prop himself up on his hands to give you his complete attention. "As much as I love lazing in bed all day, I don't want to keep you from any plans you might've had already—"

Scoffing agreeably, he maneuvers to lounge sidelong next to you, as he drawls, "I woke up this morning and got a raincheck, so no worries, querida." You look surprised, so he snorts and nods over to the nightstand as he remarks, "I brought the phone in after calling Steve. Left my cellphone in the car."

You notice that indeed the wireless phone is set next to the lamp, and smile when you see he brought you a glass of water too. Craning your neck out to look over his shoulder allows Javier to notice the nippy scrapes he left near the base of your neck.

He reaches up to caress his touch conciliatorily and grunts reproachfully at himself before muttering, "Got carried away last night."

"Mmm, it's ok," you sigh as you notice the faint pinkish hickey you left on that delectable spot just under his jaw and pet your fingertips gently over it. "We both tend to do that. You should see your back," you chime and smile when he sits up further on the bed and angles his back towards the mirror over your dresser so he can peek over his shoulder and see for himself.

"Shit, I don't even feel 'em," he chuckles, appraising the hickey with a tilt of his head before snorting – as if almost pleased – before flopping back down to lounge next to you.

"Good. I never mean to use you as a scratching post, I swear," you goofily mumble, and smirk when he gives you a scruffy, moustache-heavy kiss into the valley of your breasts, making you crack up with laughter. At your raspy timbre, he shifts sidelong onto his hip in order to retrieve the glass of water and hand it to you. You sit up to recline your back into the headboard before guzzling the water down. "Mmm, thanks," you sigh once you've quenched your thirst and handed the empty glass for him to set it back onto the coaster for you.

"So? What about you?" he asks once he's flopped onto his side and rested his cheek in his hand to ogle you ruggedly. "Am I keeping you from anything?"

You gather your wild hair and comb it to one side over your shoulder as you smile and chime, "Nope. Because of the rainstorms, Anita and I are skipping our Saturday routine this weekend. I'm all yours today, galán," is your silky purr as you playfully wink at him.

Pleased, Javi pulls you by your waist down into the pillows and grunts before crooning smugly, "Perfect. I wasn't gonna let you out of this bed for a few more hours anyway."

He's true to his word.

After fooling around for a while, in which Javi sweetly kissed down your body and promised to be gentle – using only his tongue caressing over your clit to make you orgasm, you then domineeringly got him on his back so you could go down on him with gusto before you both ended up tuckered out against each other in a languid tangle of limbs.

"I could get used to staying in bed like this," Javier murmurs puckishly before turning his head to plant a kiss to your cheek.

"I'm sure," you chuckle as you roll to sit up on your elbow and affectionately smile down at him while you caress your hand along his chest. You relish how his eyes flutter closed and he hums at your touch skimming from his chest up to his cheek before you fan your fingers to comb through the hair at the side of his head, zeroing in on that spot behind his ear that turns him into putty.

"Hmm, that feels nice," he purrs in a sigh and relaxes.

Lovingly, you lean down and kiss the beauty marks dusting his corded neck before settling your lips to suckle lightly over his pulse point. Javi tips his head back and groans in approval before gasping when you suddenly nip the spot.

"Alright, we both smell sinful," you chirp mischievously before sitting up and impishly tickling down his toned sides, as you goofily singsong, "A bañarnos, mi cariñito."

Squirming under your attempt to tickle him, Javi quickly cuffs your wrists in his big hands and playfully wrestles you onto him before rolling to pin you onto the bed, grinning as you squeal and giggle effervescently while trying to fend him off sassily.

"I like how we smell, atrevida," he grouses as he relentlessly suckles kisses into your neck and shoulder while you cackle and snake your arms free to loop around his neck.

"That's because you're a filthy beyako!" you guffaw while he roughhouses to try and pin you down again, but you manage to cling to him instead and nuzzle his neck with a silly sound.

He laughs and lays on his side, giving up as you bossily clamber onto his lap and pin his arms down above his head in victory. "I give up!" Javi exclaims in a ridiculous grouchy voice, and you smile triumphantly before leaning down and showering his grinning features with doting kisses. "But seriously. I don't have stuff to change into, so I'll have to go down to my car and grab my gym bag—"

"Oooh, you'll have to do the walk of shame in your rumpled clothes," you snicker and bounce your brows derisively at him.

Chuckling, Javi sits up and kisses you on the lips before patting your thigh for you to climb off his lap so he can bound off the bed and grab for his clothes tossed on the wicker chair. Once he's finished buttoning his shirt, he comes over and pecks you on the lips before you tell him to grab your keys on the way out.

By the time Javi comes back through the front door with his gym bag, you're already in the kitchen setting out the ingredients for breakfast. His stare doesn't make it to the counter to see the carton of eggs you've already emptied by cracking what was left of the dozen into a mixing bowl, not when you're wearing his cotton undershirt and nothing else.

"Jesus Christ, are you trying to drive me crazy?" Javi growls as he drops the duffle by the bar top kitchen counter and comes up behind you to crowd you against him.

You giggle effervescently as you try to fend off his gropy touch and raunchy kisses. "Quit it!" is your silly huff as you turn in his arms and nudge him back a few paces whilst exclaiming, "I was going to draw a bath first, but then I figured you'd be hungry, so I grabbed the closest thing and put it on."

He groans and tows you closer with his hands cupping your hips. "I'm fucking starving, but now I just want to do filthy things to you all over again," he grumbles in a low octave as he nuzzles your mussed hair at your temple.

"Babe, I'm sore," you whine begrudgingly, tone clearly communicating how badly you wish you weren't. Javi leans back to give you a sincere frown, brows already knitting together in upset, so you mollify, "No me mires así, mi amor. A nice hot shower will loosen things up—"

"Hmph," Javi grunts and sweetly holds you to him before pressing a kiss to your forehead, purring, "Mi tiernita."

You melt in his arms and just relish how serene you feel, being with him like this.

It's easy to end up abandoning the kitchen to instead indulge in a nice, hot shower together. Especially when Javi rubs your back while you lean into him.

He enjoys being in the roomy shower stall with you, and is more than happy to let you scrub him down with your fragrant soap and shampoo his hair with an irreverent giggle. But seeing the way you stare up at him under dewy lashes, features warm and wet as you smile at him after affectionately sweeping his drenched hair back from his forehead, has him lovestruck. Like he's found the center of the universe, and it's in your adoring face.

Needless to say, all he wants to do is dote on you, so after you both exit the shower, Javier declares that he wants you to relax for the rest of the day, so he has you sit in the wicker chair while he strips the bed of the filthy linens before dressing it with fresh sheets and a lightweight ivory coverlet. While he does so, you both banter about the things you can do – other than each other – while cooped up in your apartment during the stormy weekend.

"—I have some movies from Blockbuster we can watch," you're telling him now as you finish towel drying your hair while he empties out his gym bag and sorts out the dirty from the clean clothes, setting the latter aside onto your dresser.

"That works," he muses coolly as he tugs his underwear on before removing the towel from his waist, grabbing a pair of gray drawstring sweatpants and yanking them on.

"Oh, hand me the phone?" you chime after he's pulled a plain white t-shirt on and has tossed his now empty duffle aside.

Javi sits on the bed after he's handed you the wireless receiver and admires how cozy you look in your terrycloth robe with your damp hair swept over a shoulder. So much so, that he doesn't have a chance to ask who you're calling before you've quickly dialed the number and greeted congenially, "Hola, Zory," and go on to have a quick catchup with your friend before asking her for a hookup on a foursome reservation at the nicest restaurant you can think of in El Condado. "—Oh, yeah, I know I'll owe you big," you're chortling now as you crinkle your eyes cutely at Javi when you answer your friend with, "Ah-hah, te presento mi jevo pronto, ok?"

Javi mouths, 'Jevo?' and arches his brow when you squint mischievously at him before standing and going to your closet to find a comfortable housedress to put on.

"—Thanks, girl! Hang out soon," you tell Zoraida before finishing the call and emerging from the closet with a beachy-patterned yellow dress.

"Well?" Javi presses debonairly as he reclines against the headboard and watches you shed your robe to shimmy into the billowy dress. "What's a jevo?"

Giving him a Cheshire cat grin, you coquettishly hang up your robe on the closet door hook while you drawl, "Oh, around these parts? That's slang for boyfriend," then innocently saunter out of your room with the house phone in hand.

You hear the mattress protest with how quickly Javier jumps up to rush after you, and are giggling while you try to make it to the kitchen before he can sweep you up and take you back to bed.

He most definitely wants to indulge in driving you wild after that, but compromises with himself and instead bosses you out of the kitchen so he can cook instead. You set the phone back into its base, then park at a barstool and watch him from the other side of the counter while he unpackages the bacon and starts placing them on the hot skillet he's let heat up.

Amusedly, you pick up the copy of El Nuevo Día you'd left on the corner of the counter and hold it up for him to see as you lilt, "Look, the difference a couple of weeks makes."

Leaning over to see the group photo taken in the banquet hall, Javi smirks and starts prepping the coffee kettle. With an irreverent hum, he quips, "Yep, if that me only knew how hard you'd slap him—"

"You're never going to let me live that down, huh," you sarcastically complain, lopsided smile brazen when he shrugs aloofly and places the cafetera on the stove burner. "C'mon, what do I have to do to completely make up for that?" is your whimsical query.

Javier's brain has to stop him from blurting, 'Marry me.'

Shaking his head clear, he keeps whisking the eggs while the scoop of butter he slicked into the pan sizzles up. Once he's poured the eggs into it, he counters glibly over his shoulder, "Put on that sexy nighty later?"

You rest your elbows on the counter and cup your face when he looks over at you with those damnable brown puppy eyes. So, you exhale a flirtatious breath before humming, "Done deal, chulito."

He's more than pleased when you slink off of the barstool to round the counter and tow him away from the stove so you can get on your tippy toes and press a passionate kiss to his full, smiling lips.

Cheekily, he pinches your waist before herding you out towards the fridge so he can reclaim his place at the stove. "Do me a favor, and pull out the orange juice for me?" he drawls in that raspy timbre that makes excitement flutter warmly in your belly.

Snickering imperiously, you do as you're asked, but when you pull out the carton, your brows furrow curiously at how light the contents seem. When you uncap it and go to retrieve a glass for him, Javier surprises you by pilfering the carton from you and pressing it to his lips, chugging the juice down in several long gulps.

Scoffing at his audacity, you swat his bicep after he lets out a gloating sigh and hands you the empty carton, charging wryly, "You hog! What a glutton—"

"I'll buy more when we go food shopping," he tuts unabashedly as he lets the cooked bacon settle onto the paper towel-lined plate before shutting the burner off and moving the egg pan aside.

You use the diversion to maneuver him to tend to the kettle while you make short work of pulling two coffee mugs from the cupboard as you mutter sassily, "You're lucky you're sexy. That's all I'm gonna say!"

Once the food is ready, you both curl up on the couch together and have breakfast for lunch. And after you're both full, you lounge length-wise on the comfortable cushions and watch one of the movies you rented. Truthfully, though, you end up canoodling more than actually paying attention to the plot.

When the credits roll, you eject the VHS and replace it into the case before handing Javier the remote while you take the dishes to the sink. He puts it on a random channel before getting up to herd you away from the sink so he can clean up. Not to be thwarted, you scamper down the hall to your bedroom and return lugging your hamper now filled with his gym bag clothes and your laundry. He's just finished setting the last pan aside to dry when he hears you fiddling with the washing machine dials in the laundry room behind the kitchen.

"You are incorrigible!" he acerbically grumbles when he comes into the tidy laundry room before he swings you up into his arms bridal style and marches back to the sofa.

"Babe, it's just laundry," you simper while he carries you. "C'mon, you need me to wash your stinky clothes—"

You end up squeaking comically when he tosses you down onto the comfortable couch before he drops onto the cushions and crawls over you. "I need you to be a good girl and relax like I told you to," is his husk as he presses his broad frame in around you before nudging your cheek with his in a show of bossy dominance.

It's ridiculous how much that turns you on and makes you pliant underneath him.

The rest of the time you're both cuddled on the couch, you're nothing but affectionate, albeit obediently coquettish with him. You can't remember the last time you've relaxed like this, being idle couch potatoes without a care in the world.

You're nestled between the sofa cushions and Javi while you watch the sitcom reruns, content and tickled by his current line of questioning.

"—What's this show even about?"

"Oh, it's not really about anything. Just funny anecdotal hijinks each of the four friends get into."

"So, it's about nothing in particular?"

"Yeah. They're all neurotic people who get caught up in silly scenarios, usually by their own rude ignorance, sense of self-importance, or some ironic karmic result. The guy with the crazy hair is the weird neighbor who's always doing some grifty thing that never pans out for him—"

"People watch this?"

"It's the biggest comedy of the last couple of years, evidently."

Javier shakes his head at that and keeps combing his deft fingers through your hair while he stares at the screen. "Cable is overrated," is his laconic mutter, to which you snicker and squeeze your arms around him amusedly.

"I have two other movies we can pick from instead," you suggest, but are too cozy snuggled against him and the back cushions to want to move.

He puts up with sitcom reruns until evening, where he finally lets you wear him down; laundry gets done, and you whip up a healthy dinner of chicken florentine with spaghetti squash that has him astounded by how tasty it is. You both eat at your glass table with the vertical blinds open so you can both watch the mellow rain drizzle down while the breeze gets the foliage of the trees and tropical plants swaying whilst you talk about your upcoming plans for the work week.

After dinner dishes are left to soak in the sink, you both curl back up on the couch to watch the beastly thriller in the dark. Javier's arm is around your shoulders while you snuggle into his side, resting your head against his. You both occasionally jolt against each other whenever a jump scare occurs, but most of the time, Javier is peeking down his nose at you to see you're stoically watching the movie. He tries to gauge whether you're really into the preposterous plot, and keeps his jeers quiet – until the credits roll and you sit up to give him your best poker face.

You know he's been bursting at the seams, so you shake your head as you go eject the movie from the VCR and place it into its case.

As expected, he heckles derisively about how bad it was the entire time you're flouncing around the apartment to get ready for bed.

"—I can't believe you rented that!"

"What?! It looked scary! I didn't know it was going to be so goofy—"

"Jack Nicholson as a wolfman didn't sound goofy to you—?!"

"Oh my god, I didn't know it was going to be so silly, chavón—"

"I had to do everything not to laugh during that ridiculous fight scene—"

"Ay, ok, Mr. Movie Critic! Just quit hassling me and come to bed."

Shaking your head at hearing him scoff sarcastically while you change into the sultry nighty Javier loves, you suppress a smirk when he comes in and pauses to stare at your form. You're sauntering to the side of the bed you favor before pulling the covers back while he chuckles to himself as he sheds his shirt and sweatpants after turning out the light in the hall. He struts in the buff over to where you've just climbed under the blanket, and impishly maneuvers you to slide farther across the width of the mattress onto the opposite side of the bed, nearest the windows, before getting under the covers and turning off the bedside lamp.

You snicker, "Tan controlador."

He loops his arm around your waist and tows you to be snug against him, husking in a canela-rough purr, "Go to sleep, provocadora."

After not getting much sleep the night before, it's easy for the two of you to stretch out and doze off together, especially when the sound of the rain and the chill of the breeze lulls you both into peaceful slumber.

You end up dreaming of being in the mountains, driving down the precarious, winding road that overlooks the lush valley below and the promontories in the distance. The sky is sparkling blue and twinkling across the windshield of the Cadillac you're driving. You're alone in the car as you drive down and pull off to park at a roadside overlook. Instead of the tropical din of animals, the air is filled with a distant melody you're trying to place, when you sense someone approach where you're looking out at the view.

Just as you turn, Javier looks over at you and smiles. The melody starts to get clearer as he pulls you into his arms, and you're finally able to make out the words to the song.

¡Que viva el amor y duren los encantos! Que el mundo se entere que nos amamos tanto El amor es perfecto cuando se ama Amor transparente más claro que el agua

The song's chorus keeps echoing in the air around you while Javi holds you close, and just as you rest your cheek against his chest and look back out at the picturesque valley scenery beyond, you wake up to the blaring of your alarm clock.

Javier groans and blindly rolls over to try and shut it off, but he's not used to the clock's switches, so he fumbles and swears under his breath as he tries to focus his bleary, squinting eyes to find the off button.

Reaching over him, you easily deactivate the alarm and slink against his back to flop into the mattress and roll over with a grumbled, "Sorry. Forgot it was preset for my Sunday morning jog."

"Jeez," he gravels out as he turns onto his back and scrubs at his eyes. "Who're you trying to get in such sexy shape for anyway?" is his snarky grouse as he sits up on his elbow and peers goofily over at you, cocking a brow at you when you scoff and roll over to sneer at him.

"Mira quien habla," you lob around a yawn before sitting up to glare sassily at him when he rolls his eyes and shifts up to recline his back against the headboard. Leering at his broad chest and his defined abdomen as you drape the blanket up to your collarbone, you sulk, "You've clearly been working out for a while long before you got down here—"

He blows a raspberry at that as he scratches his messy hair. "Yeah, well, it wasn't to impress anyone else, unlike you—" he pauses when you hit him across the chest with your pillow.

"Since when have I done anything to impress anyone else?" you challenge as you bop him on the head with the pillow now, smirking when he wrestles it away and shoves it to be pinned between his back and the headboard.

"Baby, give me a fuckin' break. You had men wanting to fall to their knees and worship your hot ass before. And now? They're probably willing to sell their souls to get a chance at touching you," is Javi's gruff compliment, all while his features take on a chiseled, intense etch to them when you look at him dubiously. He can't help a hint of insecure jealousy bleed into his muttered tone as he points out, "You never worked out before—"

With a huffy exhale, you snipe, "That's because my life didn't fall apart in a day and I didn't subsequently spend months being a depressed shiftless layabout who overindulged in all the decadent Caribbean food my heart could ever desire – all the other times we broke up." At his expression dropping into a frown, you dial back your angsty energy and coolly add, "And you remember how big the embassy was. My workout was hoofing it up and down that building all the time. I did a lot more walking back in Colombia, and in general, got plenty of cardio," you bounce your brows suggestively at him, earning a snicker and silly smirk from him at the obvious compliment. "So, around Christmas, when I couldn't get into my favorite jeans? I decided to diet and be more active. It also helped that all my girlfriends down here are nutrition-savvy, workout fiends, so I had the motivation to stick to it. Now it's part of my routine, and I enjoy it well enough," is your elaboration before you shrug your bare shoulders.

Javier seems to absorb your explanation and feel at ease, which encourages you to stick to the half-truths and continue omitting your health-related motives for being more fit.

Deciding to deflect the attention back to him, you hum an easygoing sound and playfully nudge his shoulder, squeezing his deltoid appealingly as you drawl, "Well? Don't hold out on me now. You were a damned sexy stud before, but clearly you wanted to sculpt your bod up for someone—"

He huffily slaps his hands down over his blanket-covered thighs and grouses, "Not true. When I'd first gotten back home, I went out to help my dad mend a fuckin' fence, and within no time – from just lifting the posts and digging the holes, I was so damned winded – sweating my ass off, and dizzy from the labor, that I knew it was because I was in shit shape," he pauses when he looks over and catches your worried pout, so he confesses, "When I chased Jurado, I could barely keep up. My lungs ached and my knees wobbled. I didn't catch my breath for over an hour…"

You tuck your legs under you and lean close to him. "And you feel better now?" you ask, eyes scanning his features for any sign of doubt.

"Much better, yeah. I can run a mile without getting winded. That's probably more from quitting smoking than anything, but helping around the ranch, getting hassled by my buddy to hit the gym with him – it all helped get me into shape. It also helped me redirect the pent-up energy, and kept me from going fucking crazy there," he explains, and when you relax, he snakes his arm around your waist and tugs you close. Giving you a roguish look, he gravels lowly, "You're the only one I want checking out my 'damned sexy sculpted' body anyway, chingona. I'll keep fit just for you, so don't bother being tan celosa—"

You brazenly swat his shoulder, sitting up to bossily start crawling over him to the side of the bed he's occupying while you imperiously jibe, "Oh god, forget I even said anything, jodón! Serves me right—"

Thwarting you, Javier effortlessly hauls you back and over his lap to sit facing the dresser, where you can see your reflection in the mirror. It should be embarrassing how quickly your nipples stud underneath the silky nighty at the sight of him watching you over your shoulder as he fondles his hands down your hourglass shape to squeeze your hips in a show of dominance before he kicks the coverlet away from his legs and grinds his ramrod erection against you.

"What were you gonna say, bravita?" he gruffly husks against the back of your ear as he settles you to straddle just right, causing you to gasp and clutch at his thighs.

You bite your lip and rub against him, wearing nothing under the nighty and already wet with desire as you get off on the salaciousness reflected in the mirror. "S-Serves me right for being sincere w-with a raunchy fresco," you stammer breathily as Javi paws his hands under the silky fabric to line you up with the thick spear of his cock just as he thrusts home into your molten cunt now.

The way heat rushes up your body and radiates at your cheeks as you end up watching Javi fuck you makes you dizzy and needy, shameless even. You bend forward to manage the momentum to rock back against his pounding thrusts, whimpering when Javi growls, "Never get enough. You love just driving me crazy, don't you."

"Ahh!" is your silky cry as you buck back onto him and arch your back when he sets a quick, rough pace after he catches you smirking titillatingly in the mirror. His hands bunch your nighty up to the center of your back so he can stare at your ass while his cock disappears into your silken cunt. It has him ravenous, seeing how you're loving the way he's dominating you – by how eager your mewls are when he kneads the globe of your ass before teasingly brushing the pad of his thumb in slow circles over your tight ring of muscle.

You keen airily when his talented digit presses into the puckering hole, teasing it while he guides your undulating hips to keep riding his cock. When he finally eases his thumb in, you whine a needy sound as your cunt contracts excitedly. He rewards you with a pleased groan before snapping his hips up to fuck deep into the angle that steals your breath away and has you grasping at your own thighs to not bowl forward into the bed.

"Take those gorgeous tits out. Wanna watch you touch them while I fill you up," he orders in a raspy purr before loosening his grip on the back of your nighty so he can drag his palm down your back before spanking your ass.

You clench around his cock and his thumb as you whimper a thrilling sound. A deviant thrill flares in his gut at your reaction, and he's rapacious from the high of dominating you like this. Dark eyes intense and pleased as he watches your hands clumsily yank the nighty down your arms to expose your breasts before you cup each in your hands and start rubbing them tantalizingly while continuing to mindlessly ride him.

The weather outside is blustery, whipping rain and wind that has your curtains billowing gustily while you and Javi are completely swept up in the lascivious round of coupling, filling the room with the torrid squelching and skin-to-skin sounds of your rapturous lovemaking. Your heated skin feels the cool kiss of the breeze, but you're uncaring as you grope your breasts and ride his cock fervently while he fucks up in synchronized rhythm into your clenching pussy, hands greedy as they fondle, squeeze and clutch at your nubile form.

"Oh, Javi! F-Feels so good," you hiccup in a watery voice, getting quickly edged into a tizzy that has an orgasm prickling pleasure to radiate from the seat of your core into your throbbing clit. You pinch your nipples and sigh, "Javi—"

"Mmm, fuck. That's it, preciosa. So c-close," he groans as his thrusts become slamming pounds that steal your breath and have you dripping arousal while your pussy flutters around his pulsing shaft. "Such a good girl. Just take it, take it all—"

His breath catches in his chest when his heavy-lidded gaze looks up from where he's receded his thumb from your ass, to the mirror just as you sob a reedy cry of pleasure and climax on a whine of his name before arching forward and gripping the bed as you gush your orgasm. The sensation of your sheath strangling around him while your slick soaks his crotch has Javier biting down on a swear, clutching both hands on your waist, and barreling with burning need into you just as pleasure snaps loose and has his balls pulling up and tight against him from his searing climax.

You're turned into melted sinew after such an exhilaratingly, fierce sexcapade. So much so, that you realize after you come down from the post-bliss that Javier has you reclined back against him. His chest is so warm against your back while your overheated skin cools and your muscles throb in post-coital repose. He's breathing raggedly against the side of your head as he nuzzles you with primal affection and caresses your supple curves lovingly while his cock is still in the warm haven of your still-fluttering cunt.

There are no flirty, spent words between you whilst you both languidly cuddle and kiss, mirror's reflection forgotten to instead gaze dreamily at each other from under lust-heavy gazes. Your gravitation makes it easy to intrinsically speak with just a soft look or gentle glance, so while the rain picks up outside and fills the apartment with the languid atmospheric acoustics of a stormy morning, you both eventually saunter out of bed and into the bathroom together.

It isn't until the pleasant domesticity after your shared hot shower post-coital that Javi breaks the tranquility.

Handing you a towel before quickly grabbing his own to dry off, he smirks over at you and drawls, "You got your Sunday workout after all."

You pause in mid-dry on the fluffy rug in front of the shower stall while he impishly grins from where he's stood busily wrapping the towel around his waist.

It's too perfect. You can't even muster the haughty umbrage.

Tiptoeing over where he's standing on the opposite fluffy rug in front of the soaking tub, you stare up at him through the fringe of your dark lashes as you kiss his chest.

"It sure beat jogging, or doing a hot yoga session," you sultrily chirp, smirking as you turn to go brush your teeth.

Intrigued, he sweeps his hand to brush his wet hair back from his forehead. "Hot yoga?"

As you both go through the morning routine, you tell Javier about all the different workouts you do, and detail the difference between yoga and hot yoga. Of course, while you describe the kind of workout you get doing the latter, he fixates on picturing you stretched out in nimble poses while sweating it up in a heated studio, wearing a flimsy aerobics outfit that clings to your body. Especially when you mention that one of the poses is called 'downward dog.'

You catch the way his eyes darken in the mirror with lust at picturing you in the pose, so you turn from pulling on your buttery-soft Journey tour shirt and snicker at him before moving from the dresser to where he's still stood in the towel by the bed, where you'd set down the laundry basket.

"You behave while I make breakfast, and I might show you how limber I am now by getting into some of those yoga poses later," you sultrily proposition as you impishly snatch the towel from his waist and spank his bare butt before sauntering away to the bathroom to hang it up on the rack. You hear Javi make a gruff sound of enticement as he sorts through the clean laundry for something to wear. As you retrieve a scrunchie from a cubby on your vanity counter in order to quickly pull your hair up in a high ponytail, you tell him over your shoulder, "Since we went through the eggs and bacon yesterday, I'll make some avena and a fruit salad to hold us over until after food shopping—"

"Hmph. No offense, cariño, but I'm starving and in need of something meaty after how ragged you've run me already," Javi drawls as he comes in and leans against the bathroom's doorway.

Turning to scowl sarcastically at him, you end up giving him a flirty once over, thanks to him wearing only a pair of jeans he'd snagged from the pile you'd washed last night and had set aside. With his clothes from Friday night and the ones in the gym bag, a lot of his laundry required ironing, or were in the load you'd tossed in the dryer earlier, so besides a few undershirts, a pair of white socks and skivvies, he didn't have any clean shirts to wear.

Smirking at him, you lope by him and crook your finger for him to follow you as you remark, "Well, since we woke up early, we can get breakfast at the panadería before we go food shopping," then impishly smile as you open a dresser drawer to retrieve something before tossing it over to him, chiming, "And since it's just a dreary, rainy Sunday, it'll be ok for you to wear this."

Javi easily catches his gray college shirt.

It's soft, scented with the gentle hint of fabric softener from the other shirts it was folded under, and smelling of you.

"You know, when I went through the box of stuff, and didn't find this in there, I wondered," he murmurs as he glances over at you before pulling the shirt on. Once he's tugged it down over his torso, he fusses with his hair to keep from fidgeting from the admittance.

"Wondered?" you ask and try not to outwardly fawn over how good the shirt looks on him, as it accentuates his broad shoulders, defined pecs, and muscular arms.

You're internally drooling on wanting to kiss his biceps when he elaborates, "I wondered if you kept it, in order to send a message. Sort of like a hint that you still wanted to work things out."

Blinking, you self-consciously scoff, "No, actually, I'd been so mad while I was packing your things, I forgot I had the shirt tucked away in my nightgown drawer." At the comical way Javier's shoulders droop and his mustachioed lip curls in a frown, you rush over to hug him around his waist and effervescently assure, "But yes! I think I subconsciously wanted to keep it as a way to lure you back to me, because when I found it afterward, I didn't want to part with it. Call me sentimental, I guess."

Javi snorts, deadpanning, "Yeah, right. Nice try with the save."

You laugh and pinch his waist before standing on your tippy toes to kiss his haughtily pursed lips until he surrenders and smiles.

Once you're both dressed in t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers – ready for a rainy morning of running errands, you take Javier's car to the panadería, and run in together huddled under your coral-colored collapsible umbrella from where he parked, into the bustling business to get in the queue to order your meals at the counter. His stomach growls at the delicious aromas filling the space while most opt to eat-in to avoid the deluge, and he's marveling at the portion sizes of the sandwiches most are indulging in at the cafeteria-style tables.

"Don't worry. I'll order for you," is your confident lilt as you gesture to a little table by the front window of the bakery, handing him the now compact umbrella while you suggest, "Oh, can you go grab that corner for us?"

Intrigued, Javi nods and affectionately caresses his hand along the small of your back as he walks over and weaves through the tables to get to the tucked away 2-seater. He idly looks around the space, staring at the Valentine's Day decorations festooned behind the counter and the dangling hearts hanging from the ceiling. The bombardment of cherubic cupids plastered along the walls in between the store signs has him making a mental note to look for a florist, hoping he can find one for the romantic holiday.

After a few minutes, you arrive at the table with two to-go coffee cups, and smile when Javi chivalrously gets up to pull back your seat for you.

"So? What'd you order?" he asks and pesteringly slides the cup from your grasp so he can box your hand in between both of his, squeezing and massaging it as you snicker at him.

"You'll see!" is all you offer, smiling and patting your free hand reassuringly over his left one.

Humming, he checks his watch before glancing out at the stormy street beyond the glass window.

"It feels so much later than it is. I don't think the sun has come out this whole weekend," he marvels, letting your hand slip free from between both of his so you can peel the flaps back on each cup before sliding one to him.

"Yeah, and it's gonna be like that into most of this week, too," you muse before taking a sip of your coffee.

He grunts, holding his cup between his palms as he looks back at you. The hesitance that had been keeping you pensive and reluctant before is gone, and he senses you're not rueful anymore about pursuing things again, so he wonders if he should suggest wanting to meet your father. You had said he knew about your relationship, and that things between you were much better, but he wasn't sure if that would have your guard snap back up.

Just as he was getting the courage to ask, the lady behind the serving counter shouts out a number, and you turn to gesture that you're on your way to grab it. "Be right back," you snicker to him before rushing up and weaving your way to the counter.

Javi takes the chance alone to argue with himself as he drinks his coffee. We both agreed to take it slow, so maybe bringing up meeting her father right now would come off as a big step?

Ruminating a bit more about it, Javier is distracted in his thoughts when you make it back to the table with a cafeteria tray housing two sandwiches and large cups of freshly-prepared tropical fruit juice. But the moment you place it down and merrily sit across from him with a grin, his eyes go wide at the sandwich you've just slid towards him.

"Holy hell, what is this?!" he exclaims as he gapes at the massive sandwich while you innocently pull yours over and cutely rub your hands together.

"That, is a tripleta," you chime as you dutifully point at each layer housed within the fresh-baked pan criollo and list, "Grilled steak, lechón – aka roasted pork, and sliced deli ham, topped with onions, fries, fresh lettuce and tomato, ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, and slices of cheese," you pause when he just gawks at the thing, so you hand him a napkin and innocently chirp, "Buen provecho, querido."

To say Javier has never had a more formidable sandwich in his life, would be an understatement. He figured it served him right for telling you he was starving and needing something substantial to satisfy his appetite. And by the way you're impishly eating your much smaller sandwich criollo de desayuno? It was obvious you were thinking the same thing.

Needless to say, he is stuffed to the gills and more than content to push the shopping cart along while you both are grocery shopping a short time later.

"—Christ, I don't think I'll need to eat for the next two days," he's quipping laconically now while you peruse the produce section. You giggle and look over at him when he leans his forearms on the cart's handle and mutters, "I gotta tell Steve. He'd love that sandwich. Although Connie would probably fret over the calorie overload—"

You laugh out, shaking your head in amusement as you bag some veggies before placing them in the cart. "It is a culinary staple here," is your chuckled musing as you tow the front of the cart for him to resume walking along to the fruit section. "The four of us will need to go food-hopping around the island sometime."

That makes him feel pride expand warmly in his chest. "We should. I wanna try that mofongo you've raved about—"

"Mmm, damn. I haven't had it in a while, too," you sigh as you pout at him when he scoffs. "What? My diet cut out starches and carbohydrates, so no plantains—"

"I would go crazy if I had to keep track of that stuff. I just eat whatever. Figure jogging and lifting weights makes up for it," he mutters as he peers at the label on one of the local fruits.

You roll your eyes, and grumble, "It's so easy for guys to stay in shape," and stop yourself from rambling, 'never having to deal with hormonal fluctuations,' because it cuts too close to the real reason you had to pursue a more fit lifestyle. So, you instead gripe, "You get to eat a tripleta and not have to worry about gaining any weight!"

Pushing the cart along to keep up with your meandering perusing, Javi checks out your ass when you bend to tighten one of your shoelaces. "Oh, I'll pay for that in heartburn later, most likely, but will work it off on my run tomorrow," is his affable retort, smiling when you stand and catch his leer, so you bossily tug the front of the cart along.

"Well, it's not like you have a tripleta every day, so you can indulge," you concede, before adding thoughtfully, "And food-hopping along kioskos is mostly about grazing rather than sitting and having a full-fledged meal, so it's definitely not a gluttony fest. Not to mention most of it will be fresh, using locally-sourced ingredients."

"Anything would be better than all the fast-food spots Steve's dragged me to since I got down here," is his droll drawl, giving you a lopsided smirk when you turn from bagging a bunch of bananas to hum for him to elaborate. "He's adamant that McDonald's tastes better down here, and loves all the local franchises. I definitely have to keep hitting the gym if I keep going to lunch with him," he rumbles and goofily pats his stomach.

"Hah, well Puerto Rican cuisine ain't slimming either, stud," you deride as you move on to the next stall to pick out some tangerines. "Luckily, though, I can indulge more now that I fit these jeans again, so taking you to have a mofongo relleno de camarones is definitely in the cards," is your musing, emphasizing your point by patting your tush and winking at him.

Chuckling, Javi teases, "As long as you're dessert? Sure."

You scoff girlishly and flick your ponytail over your shoulder as you scathe, "Quit being naughty in the fruit aisle, perv," while the smile in your eyes gives your enticement away before your plush lips pull into that enchanting smirk he loves so much.

"You know I can't help it, bravita," he tuts, and before he's thought it through, he blurts, "Loving you forever is only going to make it happen more."

As soon as he registers what he's said, he pauses in stride, thinking it much too glib, and expecting you to bristle. Instead, you turn and feign aloofness before sighing matter-of-factly, "You're lucky I love you enough to not mind that one bit."

He stares as you resume picking through fruit options, as if you haven't just reached into his chest and strummed his heartstrings – reverberating a sense of perfect harmony to fill him up.

Completely smitten, Javi gazes at you like you've unlocked something precious from within you and handed it to him for safe keeping. It makes a vast feeling of divine devotion settle in for good behind his ribcage, and he ends up becoming distracted with a sudden daydream of you looking up at him through your lashes from behind a sheer veil, when you turn and smile before clicking your tongue and tossing something at him.

Javi snaps out of his thoughts just in time to catch what you'd tossed as you singsong, "Thinking about the last time you had one of those?"

He snorts as he caresses the luscious peach in his hand before cocking a smug brow at you. "No, but I am now, you little tease," is his husk as he maneuvers the cart to box you in next to the fruit stall so he can swoop in next to you and pin you against him in order to pepper merciless kisses along your neck and jaw.

The peel of laughter you let out has a few heads turning to catch you two canoodling next to the plums, peaches and grapes, so you end up hissing goofily at him to stop when you catch some of the amused looks.

By the time you get to your door with the bags of groceries a while later, you and Javi are mirthfully ribbing each other about anything and everything while you breeze into your apartment and carry everything to the kitchen counter to work together in storing everything in its rightful place.

"—You're going to catch a cold, Javier!"

"I've run while it's raining plenty of times, gatita. It actually feels good—"

"But it's winter and flu season here, so you should just run on a treadmill at the gym instead—"

"Are you going to skip your jogs?"

"Yes! I'll meet Zoraida at one of her aerobics classes instead—"

"Mmm, you gotta model the outfits you wear to those classes for me so I can see if they're overly sexy and not appropriate for you to leave the house in—"

"Hah! What, crees que siendo mi jevo gives you the right to veto my workout outfits now?"

"At the very least, I should have an idea how hot you look when you're working up a sweat during those classes—"

Scoffing haughtily as you amble away to the answering machine after Javier cockily tries to tow you against him and the kitchen counter, you sardonically counter, "Come to one of the classes with me, and I'll let you pick what I wear."

"Even if I can't do much more than whatever is on a Richard Simmons tape?" is his sarcastic remark, smirking when you laugh out at the mental image he's conjured.

Snickering as you press the play button on the machine, you shake your head derisively while you sit on the sofa to shuck your sneakers off. Letting out a sultry sigh, you lilt, "Please tell me you have a pair of super risqué workout shorts like Richard Simmons'—"

The answering machine finishes reciting its automated message before playing the first voicemail.

"Hey, nena. You're all set for the restaurant reservation! You definitely owe me, and I'll take payment in you dishing about your jevo in full detail – you can't spare a single thing! Anyway, enjoy, and call me later!"

Javier sits next to you and stretches out his arm along the back of the couch while the next message gets cued up. Glancing confidently at you when you rest your head on his shoulder, Javi charms, "Shit, that's gonna be a lot of torrid history you'll be giving her—"

"She mostly will want to know how good you fuck, and make me tell her the best sex you've ever given me," you charge blithely, grinning when he balks at you. Shrugging, you inflect chipperly, "I'll have a lot of tantalizing options to choose from—"

"Hola, tesoro. Wanted to see if you were still open to spending time together next Sunday. Let me know. Cuídate."

Javier feels you tense as your father's message plays, and frowns when you sit up and contemplate it before you sigh. You rub your fingers along your forehead, trying to quell the wave of emotion that's threatening to spring up in you. "Ugh, I almost forgot about it…"

Reaching his hand to your shoulder, Javi gives it a fortifying squeeze. "About?"

Pinching the bridge of your nose to stifle the ache behind your eyes, you sniffle before leaning back into the couch and keeping your gaze averted.

"…My mother's anniversary. Sunday is her birthday…the accident happened two days after her birthday…"

Sadness settles into his chest like a stone, and he feels you start to recede into yourself, so he wraps his arm around you and cups his other hand at your cheek, tilting your face up so he can press a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes flutter and you lean into him with a relieved exhale, so Javi holds you to him while you curl up and explain what your father had been referring to.

Every other time the anniversary had come around, Javier had been away – on a stakeout or on assignment in Medellín, so you'd never mentioned it. He feels guilty knowing you didn't want to ever burden him, so he murmurs into your ear, "I'm sorry, Celina. I should've been there—"

You shake your head and caress your cheek against his. "No. I never said anything because I just…I usually just block it out. So I never really did anything to acknowledge it…" you sigh, before curling into him more. "…In any case, we'll probably just spend the day together, so there's no point in canceling. It would only hurt his feelings," you finish telling him, head resting on his shoulder before you turn your face into his neck and seek the comfort of his warm skin and scent.

He rubs your back, humming in agreement. "I'm here if you need me, mi amor," he tells you softly against the top of your hairline before nuzzling a kiss there.

You loop your arms around him and squeeze him tight, murmuring a hushed, "Thanks."

The rest of the rainy afternoon is spent on your sofa, curled up together in idle chatter. He was able to get you out of the melancholic rut by asking you about your friends, specifically wondering out loud how famous Zoraida was to get you reservations at the fanciest restaurant in the metropolitan area on such short notice.

"—Oh, I should've looked at the magazine rack at the checkout to see if she was on any of them this week," you're remarking as you snap your fingers and press your lips together admonishingly while he snorts and props himself up on his elbow so he can look down at you. "Anyway, she's a former Miss Puerto Rico, and she placed in the top five of Miss Universe a few years in a row," is your explanation, smiling when his brows arch up in surprise. Petting his curling whisps of hair at his temple, you lift your head from the armrest to slink up more comfortably against him as you add, "She's a marketing maven, too. Brand ambassador for the tourism board, and she's featured on all the big ad campaigns all over the island – from cosmetics to general lifestyle stuff. She's always going on the late-night variety shows, and does a weekly feature on the top morning radio show."

"Well, shit. And you've known each other since you were kids?" he asks as he idly traces his thumb along the curve of your hip.

"Basically, yeah. We went to the same school – all of us did, during middle school years, and we've stayed in touch. I've always been close to Zory, since she lived in the same neighborhood too. We used to sneak out to parties together," you tell him and meekly smile as memories to that fact cross your mind. "We were all a little clique, though. Everyone called us 'Las Adas' but with an A instead of 'hadas' with an H because all of our names end in 'A'—"

"A regular Charlie's Angels, eh?" he can't help razz, smirking when you scrunch your nose cutely at him.

"Charlie's Angels were three girls, not four, you dork," is your snappy comeback, smiling when he rolls his eyes and wrinkles the top of his lip up in a silly sneer.

While you two continue to banter back and forth, a mystery faction associated with the drug distribution channels throughout the Caribbean is caught unawares by an unknown rival. The ensuing bloody takedown spans several drug dens and points where product was being moved, leading to a riotous chaos across several public housing territories across the island, including the one Lopez and Duffy had surveillance on.

The agents were forced to try and cut off escape of the hooded sicarios, but were no match for the high-powered weapons they used to spray bullet fire across a precarious radius, putting civilians and officers alike in danger.

When it was all said and done, the two agents were rocked, standing in the center of a bloodbath with no idea what the fuck happened. Police – state, municipal, and district patrol were milling around, quibbling over jurisdiction, cordoning off the scenes, and waving the forensic sciences unit in to sort through the massacred bodies.

Javier's cell phone rings on the console, where he'd left it after returning from the errands, next to where you have yours charging. Having just gotten comfortable on the sofa to start watching a movie, you end up pressing pause on the VCR remote while he rushes up from his seat next to you to quickly answer, "Peña."

You'd been hoping it was Steve, or maybe his father, just calling to check in on him on an early Sunday night, but then you watch his back go rigid and his shoulders stiffen.

"…I'll be right there," he forges out tersely, ending the call and swearing under his breath before turning to look at you with a guarded scowl. "I gotta go," he exhales gruffly as he pockets his cell phone and grabs his keys, then his wallet to do the same while rushing to get his sneakers back on. Sitting on the couch, he fumbles with tying his shoes once he's yanked them on, so you put your hand on his thigh and tow him back from the brooding mire his mind had already begun to go into. Huffing as he scrubs his hand over his stubble-covered cheek, he looks at you worriedly and mumbles, "I'm sorry, querida."

With serene grace, you take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly before resting your forehead to his. In a firm timbre, you insist, "Don't worry about it. Just make sure you do not get pulled under or ground down by everything, because you're not alone and you have plenty of capable people here to share the burden. And if you start slipping into old patterns, I'm going to kick your ass, ok?"

Exhaling a chortled sound and biting his bottom lip to stifle a grin, he nods and cups the back of your neck in order to tow you into a toe-curling, yearning kiss.

Once he's got his things, you loop your arms around his shoulders and melt at how intensely he hugs you.

"I'll call you," he promises as he nuzzles the hinge of your jaw.

"I know," you murmur before you lean back and caress his cheek lovingly. "Oh, and since you don't have one, take the umbrella," is your bossy order as you dip over to grab it from where you left it to dry on the counter, handing it to him while he scoffs and shakes his head derisively. "Nope, you're the boss, and you can't be wading around, getting soggy in the rain!"

"Alright, mandona," he relents and pecks you on the lips before opening the door, stalling in stepping out to the outer hall to linger close and tell you in a low register, "I love you."

Feeling your heart soar, you steal one last kiss from his full lips before susurrating, "I love you too."

You want to tell him so much more, like 'I'm going to miss you. Please be careful. I don't want to lose you,' but internally bristle at how needy and clingy that would be, so instead you wave at him once he's walked off and looked back to smile at you before turning the corner to head to the elevator.

As soon as you've locked up, you abort watching the movie by turning the VCR and TV off, deciding to instead draw a hot bubble bath and have a long soak to soothe your very sore and tender muscles after the weekend of marathon lovemaking.

While you're melting into the tranquil water and lounging back in the tub, Javier is arriving at the scene thirty minutes later. The deluge had inundated a lot of the sparse greenery that skirted the large lot now acting as the makeshift gathering zone in front of the sprawling public housing complex that was currently being spot-lit so crime scene techs could work trying to reconstruct the scene.

Having had the presence of mind to gear up in your garage before driving over, Javier was able to exit his car already wearing a black tactical vest with the letters 'DEA' printed in bold white font on the back, and his agent shield was clipped at his hip on his belt. In hindsight, the bright-colored umbrella made him stick out like a jackass, or so he imagined thanks to the stray glances he caught coming his way as he maneuvered around the cordoned off entry to the caserío.

"Boss!" he heard before he saw Segarra bound over, wearing a black baseball cap to cover his head from the rain that was pelting down.

Acknowledging the man with a curt nod, Javier follows him as they walk towards the courtyard that is a bullet-casing-riddled scene. "What're we looking at?"

"It was a coordinated hit. Five other caseríos were targeted, but this is the one we had under surveillance. So far, it looks like a rival gang, but we're not sure who," the man grouses in a low tone as he leads Javier through the outskirts of the courtyard to a more gruesome scene within one of the ground-level housing units. Javi seamlessly shuts the umbrella, collapsing it down to be compact enough for him to shove it into the back of his jean pocket while Segarra continues to detail, "Looks like they took out the spotters, then came in through the back, and exited through the front of the complex. The odd thing is, it doesn't look like anything was taken—"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

Javier looks over into the interior of an apartment with a busted down door to see the head of the ATF operation on the island, Agent Tom Vernon, saunter over the bullet-riddled body of a would-be dealer before approaching them.

"Tom," Javier greets and shakes the man's hand before reticently gesturing with a nod of his head to the plethora of bullet casings scattered across every visible surface on the ground. "I take it this might be from that shipment you told us about?"

"Looks like it, Jav. This is pretty sophisticated fire power for a bunch of tecatos," the tall, old-fashion swagger-filled man drawls before signaling down the dimly lit hall towards a back-facing unit. "And, the formation they used to get in, clip everyone, and head back out? Not the usual spray and dash fest I'm used to seeing at these scenes. Well, except for outside. Although, I got a feeling that was more to send a message to the civilians residing through the complex. Especially after your guys gave chase."

The man sweeps back his rain-damp hair as he waves Javier through to the next apartment that seems to be the epicenter of the hit. It's there that he finds Lopez and Duffy assessing the scene.

"—Pretty curious to kill all these fellas and not take any of the cash or drugs," Agent Vernon deadpans while he saunters about, being mindful of the pools of blood and viscera. "My guys said it was the same at the other sites, so quite a puzzle," is his musing observation as he lopes back out the way he came, right past Javier's ASAC.

Glaring at Segarra when he notices the man has remained in the threshold of the door and is visibly blanching at the gory scene, Javier clears his throat to get his attention before ordering, "Get the commanding officer for the local precinct in here."

Nodding vigorously, Segarra hustles out the way they came to do the errand.

Once Javier's made his way to the back of the kitchen area where the crime scene tech was currently snapping photos of the victim slumped against the far wall, he flags Lopez and Duffy to huddle up with him.

"What the fuck happened? None of this was caught on surveillance chatter?!" he grounds out.

"Not a goddamn thing, Jav," Duffy grunts, clearly frustrated as he keeps looking over at the scene in the back hall leading to the bedroom. "One minute they were shooting the shit about the fucking baseball tournament, and the next it's bedlam—"

"None of this makes sense. This is a tactical hit. But then they didn't take anything. Even if they had, none of the rival gangs are crazy enough to pull something like this. Most are just trying to carve out dealing points and kick tribute up to the capos that run their turf, but this is like…" Lopez pauses in his vehement reasoning when he looks over at the deceased victim left slumped in the kitchen.

Looking over and back at the agent, Javier reads his gaze, and asks, "Your informant?"

Nodding, the man wrings his hand down his face in exasperation. "I barely recognized her…"

Javi exchanges a look with Duffy before nodding in the direction of the front door as he orders, "Go home. We'll let the locals in. Be ready to regroup in the morning."

As Javier follows them out and meets up with the commanding officer on the scene, you're listening to the late evening news detail the massacres across caseríos while you're finishing your weekly ironing. You glance up at the TV when they mention how authorities suspect a rival gang clearing out competition across several known drug points throughout the metropolitan area, and just as the reporter in the rain parka details the statements from eyewitnesses, you think you spot a coral-colored umbrella in the background of the scene, from behind the cavalcade of milling personnel and forensic sciences resources.

Before you could confirm whether it was Javi, the news segment veered away to a statement from the governor's office. Pensive, you toil on the rest of the chores for a while longer before calling it a night and heading into your bedroom to change into a warm nightgown. You've just slipped under the coverlet and begun getting cozy in bed when your cell phone starts ringing where you placed it to charge next to you on the nightstand.

You pick it up and answer, "Hello?"

"Hey. Sorry to call so late," Javi's velvety baritone instantly calms you to lean back on the propped pillows, with a smile.

"Ah, I was still up. You home?" is your retort as you multitask checking on the alarm clock being set for the morning.

"Yeah. Just got out of the shower. Anyway, I won't keep you—"

"So, that means you're not wearing anything?" you sweetly query, grinning when you hear him scoff amusedly.

"Just my birthday suit, guapita," he chuckles, and you can hear him flop onto his bed, and the sound of his shifting over the covers to get comfortable. He lets out a cleansing exhale before he mutters, "Wish you were here."

"You act like we don't have a big date night coming soon," you simper humorously, snickering when he grumbles contrarily in a huffy breath 'You know what I mean,' so you remark good-naturedly, "I think I saw you on the news tonight."

"…Oh?" he tentatively murmurs, as if concerned.

Humming, you quip, "Well, I'm pretty sure I saw my umbrella way in the background, anyway."

Javier lets out a relieved huff before drawling, "I got so many funny looks. Definitely need to get an umbrella that's not neon orange. I'll return it tomorrow—"

"Oh, I have another one stored in my car, so you can keep it, chulito," is your easygoing assurance, but by the way he grunts wryly, you know he can hear the cheeky smile in your tone.

"Hmph, well in any case, I'll have it when I go pick you up for the dinner date," is his debonair croon.

"Don't forget to give Steve the restaurant details," you instruct merrily before yawning.

"I won't. Now go to sleep," he purrs ruggedly before husking, "I love you."

"Love you too, hermoso. Take care," you murmur affectionately.

"You too. Goodnight, querida."

As you turn out the light and curl up to sleep hugging the pillow Javier slept on, he's lying flat on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan's blades languidly spin.

He'd gotten to his house, gone in through the laundry room door after parking his car into the marquesina, and had stripped the tac-vest to be tossed down on top of the dryer before peeling the rest of his damp clothes off to be tossed unceremoniously into the washer. Even with your ridiculously cheerful-colored umbrella, the unrelenting downpour and blustery wind had been ruthless. It had seeped through it all, and as soon as he shucked it all off, he took a long hot shower and ruminated about everything, trying to decompress from the sordid scene.

No matter how much experience he had, walking through the aftermath of a massacre always hit like a sledgehammer. It would stay with him, and make it hard for his mind to not fixate on solutions to a problem that was beyond his means to solve. Still, he would run elements of the investigation in his head over and over, trying to find the pieces that eluded him from formulating an effective plan of action. To seeing the bigger picture of those involved in order to find a weakness to exploit.

This wasn't like Escobar. Hell, even with Cali, they'd known all the players. Here, there were levels to this – a circuitous, series of insulated networks. There wasn't a neat flowchart they could tack up as a suspect board.

With his thoughts whirring around with the information he knew so far from the investigation, sleep is elusive, and it takes hours for Javier to finally succumb to a fitful slumber. It's aided more so by his mind flashing back to the walls caked in blood, and the sporadic flash of crime scene photos being taken of the slumped, crumpled bodies strewn across the low-income housing complex.

Meanwhile, an interested party is watching the repeated news coverage from their office in a fortressed villa off on the eastern coast of the island.

Annoyed, José Figueroa Agosto, known to most as Junior Capsula, was already reaching for his burner phone when the door to his office was opened.

"What's up, Junior!" the man greeted jovially, as if he wasn't waltzing into the private office of one of the most wanted men in Puerto Rico.

"Puñeta, you gotta knock and at least pretend you respect me, cabrón," Junior huffs and glares at his friend and silent partner before swiveling back to stare at the TV. "I think you overdid it."

Blowing as raspberry, the man slanted his shoulders as he leaned into the wall by the opulent desk. "I think it went smoothly. Plus, it should keep everyone spinning while we make the move," is the musing retort.

Swiveling back to eye him sharply, Junior, who was becoming known as the Pablo Escobar of the Caribbean, glared at the cool, easygoing smirk his socio gives him. "We've been doing just fine the way things were. This is a risk that better pay off—"

"Trust me. I have even more riding on this, so give me credit," is the aloof drawl, and when Junior doesn't seem amused, he gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "Can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs, Junior."

Snorting, the head of the drug trafficking organization that controlled 90% of cocaine in Puerto Rico, Junior leaned back in his chair and shook his head while his buddy fixed himself his go-to drink from the inset bar adjacent to the entertainment center.

When the man brings him the tequila on the rocks he poured for him, hands it to Junior, and then clinks his own glass with his, he cheers along with him before relenting affably, "Ah pues bien, Señor Gatsby."

Snickering mildly at the heckled nickname Junior loved to needle him with, thanks to his drink of choice – among other things, he crisply sneers after turning to drop into the sofa in front of the TV before muttering, "Change the channel to something worth fucking while."

If Javier knew how circuitous the investigation was going to become thanks to Junior's silent partner, he likely wouldn't have managed any sleep at all.

Suddenly awaking just before dawn from a surreal dream in which he was looking for you in the dim-lit hall of the caserío while chasing the echo of your voice, it takes him a few moments to realize what jolted him to bolt up in bed was a roar of thunder reverberating the cement walls of his room. He looks around the penumbra of his bedroom and realizes the downpour of last night had transitioned to a full-blown thunderstorm. The curtains over his windows quiver with the pressure of the wind outside pressing against the air in the house. Exhaling harshly, he shuts his eyes to get his bearings.

Once his pulse returns to normal, he flings himself backwards into the bed and wrings his hands over his tired features. Fuck, can't ever just shake it off. You gotta tune it out and shut it away. Can't have it weighing you down and distracting you. Not anymore.

When he's unable to get back to sleep, he hauls himself out of bed and gets into his sweats, only to end up frowning at the continued booms of thunder rumbling out in the not-so-far distance.

So, he decides to work out in his living room. Without weights, he's relegated to doing sit-ups for several sets before transitioning to push-ups. With the excess energy expended and his mind a bit clearer, Javier gets going on preparing for a long day.

You're doing the same, albeit without the sense of looming trepidation that Javi has. No, you had a wonderful night's sleep, and even procrastinated in getting out of bed, having decided to skip your morning run until the storm system finally moved out. You took the time to enjoy making yourself a fruit bowl for breakfast, and even took the opportunity to put together a decent lunch. Once it was packed in your tote, you rushed to finish getting ready before grabbing your things and hustling out the door.

By the time you're in morning traffic, Javier's on his second cup of coffee, having showered and gotten in his dark blue suit. He was distractedly looking at his reflection mirroring back at him from the glass of the slider door next to his empty dining room space, already pondering about his team's possible courses of action, when Kike pulls up to the front of the house and beeps the horn.

The day is a blur for both of you. So much so, you don't even get to talk at all.

You spend the bulk of it dealing with a contentious series of calls between Human Resources and the Department of Labor, who had received challenges to your termination of resources the week prior, so you ended up having to provide tons of documentation to justify the matter. By the time it was settled enough to not monopolize anymore of your day, you had actual work to catch up on, so you didn't leave the office until very late.

Javier was still in the conference room with Duffy and Lopez as the agents sorted through the literal post-mortem of the events the night before, trying to sift through the evidence and surveillance footage to find a clue of some kind that would implicate someone.

"—Ok, then we need to reconsider things. Every site was under a different capo's jurisdiction, but none of them have a turf war going on, so could it be internal?" Javier asks as he scrubs his palm idly across his jaw while reclined in the uncomfortable chair that faces the makeshift evidence board rigged up with all the maps, surveillance targets, and known cartel org chart.

"At this rate, anything is fuckin' possible," Duffy grumbles as he glares at some of the logs before pointing at one from earlier in the day and rhetorically muttering, "Maybe these assholes didn't pay their dues?"

Lopez was reticent, sitting adjacent from the board, with his chin resting over his propped hands. Segarra, who hadn't stopped checking his watch periodically ever thirty minutes, was waiting for permission to fuck off, and the more Javier sat there, he was inclined to fuck off himself. But then something Tom Vernon said the night before came back to him now.

"…They didn't take anything, because they already have a steady flow of cash and drugs moving in. So, they took out the points. That means there's some other influx of product that's going to supplement the business lost. All that stuff was for local sales, right?" Javier directs the question to the two agents, who exchange a look.

"Yeah. Everything was already broken out for the dealers. That's why there was so much cash on hand," Duffy replies, arms crossing as he deliberates what that means.

"We have to trace back where the distribution is coming from. We've been trying to track it leaving the island. Finding where it's coming in from might help us break down who has the most invested in taking out the points selling locally," Javi strategizes, and that seems to finally pull Lopez out of his funk. "Nic, can you put feelers out?"

"Already got a few in mind," Lopez murmurs, nodding in acknowledgment to the board as he remarks, "Some of those fuckers are bound to be chatty the next few days."

With a consensus being reached, Javier calls it a night, to the relief of his ASAC. The man wished him a good night while he headed out to the corridor, making it a point to wait until the department was empty to then grab his things and feign like he'd been the last man out.

He was tempted to tell the guy to quit being a fucking brown-noser, but was frankly short of patience as it was, so he just walked out of the building to meet his ride home.

Kike had coordinated with Javi to be driven home by Steve's guy, Wilmer Otero, since he'd be taking an advanced weapons training course that evening to get certified. With the umbrella in hand, Javi hustles through the inclement rain up to the door.

"Good evening, Agent Peña!" the officer dressed in plain clothes greeted affably once he got in. He was just as friendly as Kike, but was more fluent in English. Steve loved the guy and couldn't have vouched enough for him, so Javier was at ease with him once he'd settled into the passenger's seat.

"Thanks for the ride, Wilmer. Hopefully I'm not keeping you from anything," is his cool remark while the car cruises out of the Federal campus en route for his neighborhood.

"Nah, my girlfriend goes to night school, so I'd be home bored anyway, sir," Wilmer chuckles, before amiably commenting, "That's an eye-catching umbrella!"

Snorting, Javi shakes his head sardonically as he places the neon orange item between his press shoes. "It's on loan from my girlfriend."

"Ah, yeah that makes more sense," Wilmer snickers as he navigates through the light traffic. "Su jeva tiene estilo."

Humming in agreement with his comment, 'Your girl has style,' Javi takes pride in saying, "That, she does."

The thought of you smiling at him last night floats up to his mind's eye, and lingers to trigger replaying all the moments you'd both shared. By the time he gets home, he takes the chance that you might still be up to call your cell phone, but the line rings without answer, so he hangs up and strips out of his work clothes to shower, mind already getting preoccupied with his plans for the following day.

You'd been so exhausted from all the hecticness in the office that you'd dropped all your belongings on the console by the door and gone right to bed, then ended up sleeping through your alarm and having to do a mad-dash to get ready for work in the morning. It wasn't until you'd made it up to your office that you checked your phone and noticed the missed call. Unfortunately, you had a meeting first thing, so you added calling Javier back to your itinerary, mentally penciling it in for some time after lunch.

Arriving back to your department an hour later, you don't expect for the team's admin to merrily greet you before you've even finished passing through the entry.

"—Someone has a secret admirer!" Olga simpers conspiratorially when you lope over to her desk. "A special delivery just got dropped off for you. I left it in your office."

Intrigued and a bit bemused, you head to your office and enter to find a lavish bouquet of beautiful tropical flowers of all kinds housed within a lovely crystal vase sat on your desk. The arrangement of orchids, hibiscus, plumeria, amaryllis and damask rose flowers are a vibrant cluster of fragrant, enchantingly beautiful hues that were framed by dreamy sprays of freesia. It was the grandest flower bouquet you'd ever received, and you were dazzled by the flashy romantic gesture.

Javier is in his office looking over some files on previous drug busts when his cell phone rings.

"Peña."

"Hey! Sorry I missed your call last night. Yesterday had me running on fumes," your voice has a smile instantly tugging at his full lips as he sits back in his chair. Just as he's about to tell you not to worry about it, you follow up with a low, sultrily murmured, "Thanks for the lovely surprise, by the way. I can't believe you took the time to get something so lavish delivered to my office. You didn't have to go through the trouble, chulito."

Confused, Javi sits up in his cushy desk chair as he clears his throat and rumbles, "Oh?"

"It's beautiful. Definitely the most fantastic flower bouquet I've ever gotten! It's going to be interesting getting it down to my car to take it home, though—" you're remarking in a melodious timbre, all the while Javier is trying to figure out if it's possible that the flower shop screwed up? But then he remembers he'd never given them a direction for your office.

No, he'd called the shop Wilmer recommended to him and had left his information to pick up the bouquet he intended to give you tonight before taking you out to the double date.

So, reluctantly, Javi cuts in and tentatively tells you, "Querida, I'm sorry, but I didn't set up for anything to be delivered to your office."

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look back from where you'd been idly wandering around your office to stare at the arrangement. "…You didn't?" is your dubious query as you go over to the flowers and begin looking for a missed gift card or note.

"No. I mean, after the last time I'd left flowers on your desk, I figured it'd be bad to do a repeat of that, especially here," he remarks honestly, and you hum, thinking to yourself that you had been surprised he would be so flashy, all things considered. His guttural huff now has you frowning. You're about to tell him to never mind as you continue to peek through the stems for a misplaced card, but then he laconically grumbles, "Shit, don't tell me you got some other guy trying to make you his Valentine."

You scoff, shaking your head amusedly as you slap your hand down on your side in surrender when you don't find a note in the bouquet. "Alright, then it definitely must be some mistake. Maybe the delivery person brought it to the wrong office," is your dismissive sigh, and at his dry grunt, you snicker, "I promise, you're the only guy I want as my Valentine, stud. No one else. Just want you today and every other day, infinitum, you hear me?"

Smirking, Javi can't help goadingly drawl, "I don't know. I guess you'll just have to prove it to me, later tonight."

The smoky hum you give him is musing, before you silkily purr, "Too bad I can't head to your office right now and show you just how much I mean it, guapito. But don't worry, I'll prove it to you by riding you like the sexy stud you are. Then, you can make me yours while I say your name all night long. Sound good, mi cariñito?"

Javi feels hot under the collar with how turned on your saucy suggestion gets him, and it takes all his willpower not to fixate on how want is pulsing down into his loins. He scrubs his hand over his moustache before dragging it down his chin with a grunt. "Yeah, that sounds really good," he husks, biting his bottom lip at your alluring, pleased hum. "I'll come to the door to pick you up tonight," he tells you in a smooth baritone before letting it get a gravel pitch as he adds, "Although, with how naughty you're being, I might just end up taking you to bed so I can give you a real Valentine treat."

You feel your pussy throb at his words, and can't muster anything more than a girlish scoff as you retort, "You're not getting out of a double date with Connie and Steve that easily, chavón."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His raspy chuckle filters in your ear and sends a delighted shiver up your spine. "Alright. See you tonight, mi amor."

After exchanging goodbyes with him, you end up taking a moment to collect your thoughts from the pining whimsy he flung you into. If Javi didn't get this bouquet, then who did?

You go back out to Olga's desk. "Hey, when the delivery person dropped the flowers off, did they include a note or a little card?" you ask, hoping it'd just slipped her mind.

"Uh, no," she replies, and before you can ask the obvious question, she assures, "They're definitely for you, though. The delivery was addressed to you, but there was no information on the sender listed. That's why I said you must have a secret admirer."

Perplexed, you find yourself nodding in acknowledgement before ponderingly wandering back to your office. Maybe they're a gift from Dad? As soon as you think it, you immediately disregard the possibility. He would never send anything here. And he would've sent a card along. You stare at the flowers, wracking your brain with just who would gift you something so lux.

The curious mystery percolates the rest of the work day while you go to meetings and during lunch, as you nibble on a protein bar at your desk and multitask checking emails while glancing at the flowers every once in a while. The mystery bothers you so that at the end of the day, you go to the Telecommunications department to even ask Ellis.

When you bring him into your office to see the bouquet, he whistles and looks completely stumped. "Yeah, not me, kid. This is WAY too fancy for my blood. And way more money than I'd ever spend on you—"

"Oh, gee, thanks," you snipe irreverently and shove his shoulder platonically. "Well Javier said they're not from him, and I can't think of anyone else who'd go through the trouble, especially to have them delivered here, with all the security—"

"Hmm, what if it was someone inside the building?" Ellis poses, crossing his arms as he leans forward to sniff the bouquet as he posits, "Sure, most know the gossip about you and Jav from back at the embassy, but no one is sure if you're both still an item here. Maybe someone's trying to be a prospective suitor? And the bouquet is their first move at stating their intentions to court you?"

"Oh my god, what is this, some romance novel mystery? They didn't leave a note! And what – they expect me to go around the building asking who sent me the flowers?" is your harangue, hands on your hips as you tap your foot. "Plus, this is a really expensive arrangement—"

"Shit. What if it's Bozzi?" Ellis suggests, giving you a tense grimace when you look at him like he's nuts. "Hey, that dude has a thing for you. I know you never think so, but you gotta trust my powers of perception about this kind of thing—"

"Well, you didn't perceive that Javier was into me, so I'd say your powers aren't always accurate," you counter glibly, snickering when he pouts and rolls his eyes. "Ok, it's a moot point anyway. I was just curious," is your aside as you walk over to pick up the vase from your desk.

When you don't put it over by your sideboard and instead turn towards your office door, Ellis rushes to grab the heavy arrangement from you as he asks, "Wait, what're you gonna do with it?"

"Since it's not a gift from Javier, then it's not something I need to keep in my space. I'll just put it out in the waiting area—"

"I mean, if you're not gonna keep it and take it home, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste," Ellis offers in a suggestive singsong, eyes rounding when you give him an inquisitive look.

Understanding his unspoken meaning, you chuckle and pat him on the shoulder. "Yes, you can have it. Just do not tell Anita they're a regift!"

"Got it! Thanks, girlie," he beams before chortling, "This'll save me the cash and hassle of having to rush to a flower shop later—"

"You're such a cheapskate!" you heckle while he smugly marches away with his prize. "At least tell me you're taking her out to dinner tonight!"

"I am! Now you quit worrying and enjoy your own night with loverboy."

You're still snickering to yourself at Ellis' antics as you arrive at your apartment a short while later, but by the time you get inside, you are on a mission to shower and get dolled up for the special occasion. So, you put your purse on the counter so you can quickly move your wallet and phone from it once you've grabbed your clutch from the closet. But before you sprint off, you look at the answering machine on the console table by the front door, and notice there's a new message recorded.

Worried it might be Javi canceling, you rush over to press the 'Play' button, already chewing on the inside of your cheek anxiously. But once the machine recites its automated message of when the voicemail was received, all you hear is ambient static, as if the caller is deliberating what to say, before the line clicks. Perplexed, you rewind the tape to have it replay when the caller's message was received.

'—Received at 5:45pm—'

The voicemail of static plays once again, and you strain to hear anything on the caller's line that could clue you into whether it's some kind of telemarketer, or perhaps a dropped long-distance caller? You can't pick up anything, though, so you dismiss it, not recalling the previous dead air, voiceless message left on the machine a couple of weeks prior. Instead, you're already stripping out of your work blouse as you turn from the console and resume your sprint to your bathroom to get in the shower first thing.

As you do so, Javier is giving Steve directions to the restaurant over the phone while he comes out of the flower shop with his order and hustles over to his car in the drizzling rain. "—Yeah, I'm going to my place to shower and get ready now, so I'll see you two there."

Once he's secured the flowers in the front seat, he drives home, eager to get ready and rush over to see you. After he showers, shaves, and finishes getting dressed in a nice crisp dress shirt, the dark sports coat you love, and a pair of black trouser pants, he takes the time to brush his hair before grabbing an overnight bag and quickly packing clothes, along with his travel toiletries. He'd arranged to drive himself for the next couple of days, so he planned to spend the night at your place after dinner, and go to work straight from there in the morning.

He's buzzing with anticipation as he drives to your condo through the light drizzling rain, intent to make it a memorable, romantic night for you. Once he's pulled up to your street, he easily cruises down to turn into your gated driveway and punches in the security code to gain access to the carport. The giddy excitement bubbles in his gut as he parks, gets the roses, and heads up to your apartment's floor, so much so that he has to shake out his right hand of the fidgety energy that has his fingers twitching at his side while he rides up in the elevator. By the time he gets to your door, he can't help feel like he's a jittery teen, going on his first date – smitten and over the moon with the potential of having someone feel as infatuated for him as he does right now for you.

With his patented three swift knocks on your door, Javi internally admonishes himself. Quit thinkin' ahead on shit and just focus on enjoying the night—

The door opens to reveal you in the low-lit glow of the nearest lamp sat on the console out of sight, but really, Javi's eyes aren't on anything else but you as you beamingly smile at him.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you chime delightedly and give him a spritely once over – admiring how handsome he looks in the smoky-gray sports coat, and loving that he's in his favorite black boots – before complimenting, "Mi Valentín tan guapo."

Javi's utterly enamored by the vision of sultry-yet-timeless beauty you are in the elegantly bejeweled pink tourmaline dress you'd worn on your first date when he'd returned to Bogotá, a pair of peep-toed nude patent leather heels, hair styled in a chic up-do with several flirty wisps framing your face in undulating waves, and your sunburst-styled earrings that twinkle at him as you lean close to kiss him hello on his soft lips.

Your perfume has his blood zinging through him, and it takes all his willpower to not just sweep you up and ravish you like he's aching to. Instead, he brushes his nose against yours with a hum before pulling back to caress your cheek, murmuring, "You look stunning, Celina," smiling when you affectionately nuzzle his palm and scoff breathily at his praise. It's then he remembers the flowers he's holding, so he presents them to you as he husks, "These are for you, querida. I know they're probably not as impressive compared to whatever you got at your office—"

Taking the bouquet of enchanting red roses and pink lilies that has the stems bound together by a white satin ribbon, you hug them close and breathe in their lovely scent before sighing contently and assuring avidly, "Javier, these are beautiful." Girlishly kissing him adoringly before dotingly murmuring against his lips, "Thank you," you then hurry to fetch a vase as you exclaim, "Let me get them in water before we go!"

He's besotted by your happiness as you lovingly fill a clear glass vase in the kitchen sink before unwrapping the ribbon and placing the gorgeous flowers in it.

You place the vase prominently on the bar top counter before quickly retrieving your clutch purse and keys to join him at the door.

"Ok, ready to go?" you're asking melodiously as you do a quick check in your purse to make sure you have everything, and end up smiling when he pulls you close after you close the door, making you melt by kissing the spot just under your jaw before you can key the lock shut.

He easily takes the keys from your hand, locks the deadbolt, and then slips them into his pocket before he seamlessly herds you close so he can loop his arm around your waist and escort you down to the car.

"More than ready, corazón," is his musing croon.

All you can do to not let your lust turn you into a tingling and shivering mess as your excitement simmers in you while you let him lead the way, is to affectionately tell him the itinerary for the night, and soon you're both exiting the car and huddling under your bright coral umbrella to cross the avenue towards the ritzy building housing the trendy restaurant.

His cologne clings to his collar, softening the naturally spicy, masculine warmth of his skin. You're having to chastise yourself about not giving into the impulse of nuzzling his neck in public while you both stick close together and weave through the crowd of patrons waiting in the foyer in order to get to the hostess stand and check in.

The space has an elegant, candlelit ambience apropos for the special occasion, decorated tastefully in romantic shades of red, gold and ivory, and bustling with parties of patrons who're partaking in drinks and gourmet dishes. That, combined with a killer view of the beach from one side and the glimmering city lights on the other? It's obvious to Javier why this place is a hot-ticket spot.

"Ah, is that them?" you query and gesture over at the crowded entry.

He turns and sees that Steve and Connie indeed have just entered and are weaving their way through the crowd of waiting patrons. Raising his hand to wave and get the other couple's attention, Javi conspiratorially mutters to you, "This'll be the first time I bring a girl around to the gringos, so don't let them pressure you into telling all our business—"

You snicker and playfully swat his bicep. "Oh, so I shouldn't mention the time we did that roleplay? How I was inspired by Agent Murphy and I channeled him when I pretended to be your naughty partner—?" is your mischievous drawl that you let trail off when he looks down at you with mild mortification flashing across his stony features.

"Unless you want me to crawl under the table and die from shame? No, you can definitely leave that one out of any conversation, atrevida," Javi growls huskily in your ear, and you grin.

Affectionately pinching his side, you scoff and razz, "I know how much of a prude you are in mixed company, chulito, so no worries. I was only teasing anyway."

He gives you a gruff chuckle and shakes his head, but has no chance to counter when Steve and Connie make it over to you both now. Steve's in a dark blue suit with a nice blue-and-black-striped polo underneath the blazer, while Connie wore a pretty champagne-colored dress, with her blonde locks down behind her bare shoulders.

You all greet each other warmly, the fellas shaking hands while you and Connie kiss them on their cheeks before Javier jokes as introduction, "—This is Steve's much better half, Connie," before the blond scoffs and shakes his head.

"And this, is Javi's one true love, Celina," Steve can't help lob sardonically right back, which has Javier pointedly setting his jaw askew as he flippantly glowers at his buddy's smug, grinning face.

You and Connie pay their frat-like hazing of each other no mind as you exchange a quick hug and peck on the cheek alike.

"It's so nice to finally meet you!" Connie chimes with genuine joviality.

"I know, I can't believe it's taken this long! I feel like I already know you," you quip before adding conspiratorially, "I think these two have secretly kept us apart—"

"Now, what reason would we have for doing such a thing?" Steve cuts in with a blameless hum as he puts his arm around Connie's shoulders and tries to look as innocent as his tone.

Javier puts his hand around your waist and just shakes his head while you snicker up at him after he laconically wisecracks, "As if we could ever manage something like that, with Captain Obvious here?"

The hostess soon calls your name and you're all able to be escorted to your north-facing table, with the lovely view of the coastline lit up by the nightlife beyond. Before long, you're all enjoying your wine and appetizers while you chat like the oldest friends.

Sat at your left, you steal glances at Javi while Connie sits to your right and regales you with a story about the first time he'd made her laugh – after the 'Puff incident.'

"—I was so depressed that morning, and when he came up to get Steve to go to the embassy, he gave me this nice bottle of wine, and said, 'I'm sorry about Puff. Today, we're gonna sweat the guys who dimed him out and make 'em pay,' and he took my hand and gave me such a look, I just, it made me crack up," she tells you, snickering as she fondly adds, "And then they came home that night, and we had dinner, broke open the wine, and they told me how they interrogated the assholes, and it made me feel better."

You're delighted by the story, giggling along while you chirp, "Was it the big, round, puppy eyed look?"

"Yes!" she exclaims and giggles with you, all to Javi's modest chagrin and Steve's enjoyment.

By the time you're all on your main courses, the conversation has shifted to you telling Connie funny anecdotes starring Steve. Javier is smirking triumphantly while his buddy takes his turn in the proverbial hot seat as you tell Connie about the time Steve had arrived like a bat out of hell to chastise Javier, and ended up referring to you as one of his 'working girls' in front of you and Carrillo. He proudly watches as you retell word-for-word the exchange, without an ounce of sheepishness, and then smile goofily when Steve nods guiltily over at Connie when she gapes at him.

"—I felt really bad afterwards! After all, with this one's track record, how would he have known?" you're saying now and gesturing irreverently at Javier, who's smirk falters into a pout.

"Still! He should've known better than to say something like that in front of people," Connie tuts in a faux-admonishing tone before scrunching her nose comically at Steve. "Always putting your foot in your mouth—"

"And ya'll wonder why we took our sweet time putting the two of you together," Steve can't help drawl in a raspy twang and sarcastically look over at Javi who grunts a gravelly sound of agreement as he twists his lips in feigned displeasure.

Laughing, you and Connie amusingly jeer them before you then regale her with the story of how you'd recruited Steve to smuggle you into the CNP headquarters so you could surprise Javi for his birthday. You take special glee when describing how Javier had reacted when he'd come into the dorm room and discovered you waiting for him, dressed in a CNP clerical uniform.

"—His face was priceless! I wish I could've gotten a picture," you're saying teasingly as you pat Javi's hand when he blows a raspberry contrarily at your assessment. "What? It was—"

"I still get a rush of panic whenever I think about it!" Javi complains, but his lopsided smile betrays him. "Constant adrenaline rush with this one."

You snicker and playfully squeeze his hand, smitten with how he lovingly clasps yours. So much so, you don't even bat an eye when he pulls you in for a quick kiss.

The affectionate display is organic, but no less meaningful to the other couple, who have never seen Javier so enamored, let alone so outwardly demonstrative with his romantic feelings.

When you and Connie both excuse yourselves to go to the ladies' room a short while later, Javier takes a long pull from his glass of wine as Steve leans over and muses, "I reckon they're going to be thick as thieves now, so I hope there aren't any secrets left between you? I'd hate for Connie to accidentally blurt something out—"

Scoffing amusedly, Javi shakes his head and licks his lips before answering, "Not a one. Things are different this time."

"You sure? It wasn't too long ago that you were worried," Steve hints, and at Javi cocking a brow at him, he elaborates, "C'mon, you didn't know if she'd kick you in the dick, or just call you a bastard and run away—"

"Well, she settled for slapping the shit out of me, cursing me out, and storming off, instead," Javi cuts in acerbically, and shrugs when Steve gives him an incredulous look. "Then, she showed up at my door later that night, apologized, and we talked it out. I made it clear why I came down here, she told me she thought I'd abandoned her – that she'd tried getting ahold of you, and when that didn't pan out?"

They exchange a look, and realization hits.

All the pieces of the story fall into place, and Steve hums and takes a sip of his wine before remarking, "Well, shit…bet the makeup sex was off the fuckin' charts."

Snorting, Javi has no compunction to be elusive, so he leans back in his chair and rubs at his chin as he retorts matter-of-factly, "It sure as hell was."

Returning from the ladies' room not soon after, you and Connie are arm-in-arm as you amiably chatter, and by the time you both slip back into your seats, you're already finalizing plans to hang out this weekend.

"—Usually we just walk around and window shop while Anita pushes the baby in the stroller, so bring the kids! There are cute little areas for Olivia to play throughout the mall, and there's a 'Kid's Escape' upstairs near the food court," you're telling her as you slip your napkin back onto your lap.

"Oh, that sounds great!" Connie beams before jovially inviting, "You two should come over for dinner sometime this week."

Smiling over at Javi, you beam, "We'd love to."

Connie is already planning out loud the dinner, and when you agree and promise to bring over a nice wine to go with it, Javi glances coolly over at Steve's delighted smirk.

Then Connie puts Javier on the spot when she bossily looks over at him before stating, "I'm so annoyed at you for keeping her a secret for so long!"

He lulls his head back and groans, earning a chuckle from you at his expense.

Dessert arrives a short while later, and whilst you each partake in the rich, decadent treat the waiter had set in the center of the table for the four of you to share, you notice a well-dressed photographer working his way through the dining section as he offers to snap photos for each table he stops at, so you look over to Javi and see he'd followed your gaze and spotted the man coming your way.

It made heat pool in his chest – seeing you preen to get in together for the snapshot, eagerly reaching for him to sidle close.

You all pose for the photo, and in a flash, it's taken to memorialize the wonderful evening. When you dreamily glance at Javi, your heart throbs at how he smiles at you, and it takes all of your control not to just pull him into the passionate kiss you're now yearning to ensnare him in – gratuitous public displays be damned.

He leans in and whispers into your ear, "I'm dying to kiss you."

Squeezing his thigh under the table, you bite your lip and give him a look that makes your unspoken retort clear: 'So am I.'

By the time dessert is partaken in, the fellas eye each other knowingly before asking for the check, and since both know it'll be futile to argue, they just compromise by placing both their cards down. You and Connie are gloatingly told to polish off the rest of the bottle of wine while you wait, so you do so over entertaining talk of work.

"—I love my ASAC. Super competent guy," Steve is remarking, then snickers when Javi makes a noncommittal grunt in response. "You could just fire him—"

"Fire who?" you inquire, surprised, since you and Javi haven't delved into your work routines in depth since he'd assumed his role.

"Ryan Segarra. He's my ASAC," Javi replies on an exhale before dismissively waving the topic off. "Aside from him, everyone on the team here is great. I can't complain."

"Gonna let the guy hang himself, huh," Steve chuckles, earning a wry swat to the bicep from Connie.

"The way he's going, that shouldn't be long," Javier deadpans, and at your brows arching, he shrugs and quips, "I told you once before: I make for a shitty boss—"

You reach out to take his hand and give it a fortifying squeeze. "That's not true," you tell him with genuine tenderness, before you imperiously add, "And I've told you, I won't abide that kind of talk, chulito."

Javi's dark brown eyes crinkle at the edges as a smile ghosts his lips before he mutters, "Not in front of the gringos, querida."

Connie and Steve humorously jeer him while you theatrically roll your eyes and give his shoulder an impish nudge before humming a silly sound.

Once the bill is settled and the waiter returns with the two copies of the group photograph, you all make your way out to the foyer and through the crowd to the exit.

Admiring your copies of the picture to make sure they're perfect, you and Connie take the time to exchange contact info while Steve and Javi hold the umbrellas over you both so you don't get too wet from the drizzling rain.

"What's with the florescent orange umbrella?" Steve razzes while holding his plain black one whilst Connie finishes arranging everything back into her purse.

"It's mine, but I let him borrow it," you answer for Javi, smirking when he seems relieved to not have to quip an excuse. "I think it brings out the warmth in his eyes," is your elegantly chimed drawl as you slink against him and unabashedly purse your lips at Javi's droll stare.

"Alright, time to take this one home before she gets any more brazen," Javi jokes.

After you all exchange hugs goodbye and wish each other a good night, Javi escorts you back to the car, strategically helping you avoid puddles and potholes along the way. And after he's rounded to the driver's side once you're nice and secure in your seat, you sit patiently while he shuts the umbrella, shakes it free of excess droplets, and shuts his door. He looks over to see you waiting, as if you're going to say something, but you instead grab his coat lapel to tug him close so you can kiss him with all the simmering yearning you've burned with all evening.

His hand cups your cheek when he deepens the kiss with a gravelly hum, and you instinctually caress yours up from his chest to snake into the back of his hair.

Before the kiss can get torrid, though, Javi pulls away and sighs.

With a molten glint in his dark eyes, he croons, "You, behave and let me drive us home before you start seducing me—"

You scoff and flirtatiously nudge him back into his seat as you flop back into your own. "Mira quien habla," is your deriding chuckle, squinting your eyes mirthfully at him as you pristinely fold your hands over your clutch sat in your lap and tut, "Well then? Hop to it, my dear Valentine, you."

He laughs and shakes his head sardonically at you as he puts the key in the ignition and puts his seatbelt on.

Soon, he's ferried you both out of the nightlife district and towards your side of town.

As he drives down the main avenue towards your building, you happily gaze at him before gushing, "That was so much fun. I had a wonderful time. I love Connie. You and Steve are such dopes for not letting us meet up sooner!"

"I distinctly remember a certain chingona who wouldn't let me tell anyone about her, let alone bring her over to my partner's place for dinner," Javier can't help mock in a rugged baritone before shooting a glib glance your way. When you purse your lips to thwart the sly smile threatening to crest your features, he charms, "I think we won't have any issue making up for lost time, though."

You agree, "Most definitely. Be prepared, because I see a lot of hanging out and dinner dates in the future with the Murphys! And, I'm totally going to make her and Anita friends, so you and Steve will need to play with Ellis and not exclude him from guy time—"

He's pulling into the driveway of the condo building and lowering his window to punch in the code for the security when he chortles, "'Guy time'?"

"Yes!" is your congenial chirp, smiling when he hums and purses his lips.

"Rose is a good guy, so that's fine by me," he tells you as he drives down the carport to park in your visitor's spot.

You're eagerly buzzing with anticipation as you get out of the car and see Javi grab a duffle bag from the back seat and hangs it on his shoulder before he rounds to take your hand and escort you up into the building.

"So, early day tomorrow?" you query as you both enter the lobby and head for the elevators. You wave at the night clerk as you pass his desk, then affably tell Javi, "Don't worry, I'm only asking so I know to set the alarm. Not because I plan on dragging you out for a morning jog."

He lets out an amused huff as he presses the button to the elevator, then tows you in when the door slides immediately open. "I do have an early conference call, but if you're going for a run before work, I'm definitely tagging along," he's drawling as you press the button for your floor and steer him to sidle close when you lean into the wall so you can grin cheekily at him.

"Ok, but I gotta warn you: My usual jogging route is gonna get you winded," you teasingly singsong, loving how he cups the small of your back and gives you a silly, mocking scrunch of his nose that curls his mustachioed top lip. "I'm serious—"

"Jogging is not the same as running – which is what I've been doing, and gotten in great shape from, if I do say so myself," he smugly rumbles and pinches your waist playfully when the elevator arrives at your floor.

You hum teasingly and take his hand to bossily tow him along to lope to your door. "Yes, but that can't be sustained for prolonged periods or across varying terrain," you chuckle and squeeze his hand while he reaches into his other pocket for your apartment key.

Swiftly slipping it into the lock, he opens the door for you and affectionately caresses his palm along your lower back as he guides you in over the threshold. "Guess we'll just see," he draws out in his imitation of your lilting drawl.

You both are charged with desire, and know the idle chatter is to prolong the excitement by building up the anticipation, but Javi is already dying to break when he locks the deadbolt behind himself and tosses your keys onto the console by the door. Especially when you take your time admiring the bouquet after you set your clutch aside on the kitchen counter after turning on the hall light.

"Tell me you have a pair of skimpy running shorts along with your sneakers in that bag?" you can't help purring and shooting him a sultry glance over your shoulder as you strut down the hall towards your bedroom.

You hear his footfalls following you, and the excitement tingles in the seat of your core as you enter your bedroom, turn on the lamp on the nightstand, and head to the dresser so you can take your earrings off and place them in your jewelry box.

You've just shut the box and started letting your hair down from the clasp when he shuts the light in the hall off, tosses his duffle down in front of the wicker chair, then strolls up behind you to encircle your waist and nuzzle the back of your neck.

You smile at him in the mirror when he counters roguishly, "Do you wear skimpy running shorts for your little jogs?"

"Not skimpy, but they're stretchy and tight – little bike shorts that keep everything cinched in," you answer simply, trying to keep from melting against him as his hands caress your hourglass shape while he trails his lips languidly down the column of your neck.

Glancing at you from below his lashes, Javi skims an open mouth kiss back up your neck so he can murmur in your ear, "I just realized. I went the whole day, and haven't told you I love you yet."

You feel butterflies in your womb and a warm flourish of joy fill your chest at his words. So, you turn in his arms and sigh before silkily humming, "Ah, already taking me for granted, hm?" while you frame his face in your hands and lovingly smile at him.

His eyes soften on you as he grunts in disagreement before husking, "Mi amor—"

"I know you do, Javi. You don't have to say it all the time," you cut in serenely and caress your touch over his features, fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead as you whisper, "You know that I love you, right?"

He nods and closes his eyes when your fingertips brush over his brow and forehead while your other hand smooths the hair at the back of his nape. "I do," he exhales contently as your touch continues to soothe over his temple, then glides down to his cheek.

"Good," you murmur breathily before lilting, "So then, you'll let me give you a Valentine treat?"

Dark eyes opening to focus on your tempting smile, Javi mumbles, "You're all the treat I need."

You hum and steer him backwards as you slip your hands under his jacket and slowly work them up to ease it off from his shoulders. "Well, good thing that the treat I have in mind, involves me," you chime as you guide his coat down his arms and fling it to the wicker chair, then turn to present your back to him, before requesting, "Help me out of this dress?"

The sexy look you shoot over your shoulder at him holds an unspoken promise that has his pulse racing and heat rising under his skin, so he cups your hip as he eagerly eases the zipper down before you slip the straps off your arms and let Javi guide the dress down so you can step out of it. He drapes it unseeingly over the armrest of the wicker chair while he stares hungrily at your form.

Arousal tangles into a tight coil at his center that has desire throbbing down into his loins at you having had nothing on underneath the dress, except for the red lace thong panties that always drive him wild. Combined with the seductive way you toss your hair out to cascade down your shoulders so that your bare breasts aren't draped by your luscious locks? It's all enough to have his urge sparking up into a positively primal frenzy.

Slowly, you step out of your heels and slide them aside before turning to slink up against him now so you can provocatively strip him slowly of his clothes.

Javi lets you, titillated by the worshipful way you undo each button, working his dress shirt off, then move on to unbuckle his belt, unfasten his trousers, and kneel to remove his boots for him before you strip him of everything and lean back to gaze up at his chiseled, nude form before you. His muscles are tense with anticipation, and the tendons in his thighs flex when you glide your hands up his legs before you nuzzle his hip.

Heat singes across his cheeks at how you look up at him with possessive allure in your scintillating eyes just as you wrap your hand around his throbbing shaft and lick the head of his cock.

You savor the salt on his skin, relishing the breathy way he groans and shivers at your oral havoc as you suck and toy your tongue over his sensitive tip. Seeing his fists remaining clenched at his sides turns you on even more – emboldening you, because it speaks volumes for how much self-control he's exerting in order to let you have your way. You can practically feel the way he's yearning to dominate you – to possess your pleasure by giving it to you with the ardor he's been smoldering with all day. It makes desire burn like a beacon in you to know how much he wants it, coupled with the pride of knowing he loves when you initiate and delight in the control.

It truly is taking everything he's got to not buckle under the urge to take over and dominate you.

But the sinful heaven of your mouth, and the luscious way you worship his throbbing cock is too decadent for him to go without. Not when you look so glorious in dominating him while on your knees, and finally take the length of him into your mouth and moan around it.

You take him as far as his shaft can go, and at the flutter of your gag reflex in the back of your mouth, Javi's hand instinctively cups your shoulder before his fingers card into your hair and tangle there. "Holy fuck, querida," he gravels out and tenses when you hollow out your cheeks around him, encouraging him to not withhold his pleasure. His eyes roll back when you move your other hand from his hip to instead cup his warm sac just as you stroke and suck him hard, causing his voice to crack as he hitches hoarsely, "Jesus fucking Christ—M'gonna come, b-baby—"

You take that moment to take him as far as he can go once more, and the tremor at the back of your throat as you swallow has Javi's fingers trembling as he grabs your shoulder and moans out in his raucous climax. He swears in mindless bliss as his cum fills your mouth and you prolong his pleasure with gusto – hands caressing around to hold him close by his hips while you indulge in the high of making him yours, while on your knees.

The minute his lusted-out haze fizzles enough to realize his hands are buried in the back of your hair while you're regaining your breath with your head resting against his abs as you keep you both stood in place, he passionately hauls you up and tosses you onto the bed before making short work of yanking your delectable red lace panties off to join the rest of his clothes.

You let out an airy gasp as you rush to settle farther up on the bed and Javier thwarts you by braceleting your ankle and yanking to glide you back down so he can hoist your legs apart before he buries his head between your thighs.

"Oh, Ja-Javi!" you hiccup out as he parts your drenched folds with a lascivious lick of his tongue that has you arching like an electric charge tingled through your pulsing heat. And when he engulfs your thrumming clit with his full lips, you cry out and writhe, feeling much to wound up already to be able to hold out for long to his wickedly divine oral talents.

He can feel it in how your thighs clench and your pelvis rocks against the bed while you worry hard on your lower lip with your blunt teeth to keep from whining. He hates when you deny yourself in order to prolong things on his account, so, he possessively nuzzles into your inner thigh, suckling on your delicate skin there, then gives the spot a nippy bite.

You gasp out in surprise and let out a moan from the needy ache that settles into your pussy, whimpering, "Javi!" before he starts to soothe the bite with his tongue.

"Quit trying to deny yourself, and let me make you come, malcriada," he husks in a pitch like melted velvet as he stares up at you with an intense gleam in his dark-brewed eyes, before adding in a low growl, "Get on your hands and knees for me."

To say that your brain swears that you could spontaneously combust if you were a piece of kindling instead of a tingling, needy mess under his provocative stare wouldn't do justice to how roaring hot Javier has you after his command, let alone how desperately eager you are to do as he says.

You somehow muster the strength in your quaking limbs to fidget up and roll onto your tight tummy before hoisting yourself up on shaking joints – trembling in exhilarating anticipation.

Seeing you with your knees spread apart, eagerly waiting for him to give you what he knows you need, panting breathily as you arch your lower back and peer lustfully over your shoulder at him, is pure glory to Javi.

His body burns with primal accomplishment, and his cock is rock-hard all over again as he unabashedly bows to lick you from clit to ass.

The sound you let out has desire pulsing in his center, spurring him on to drive you over the precipice of incandescent pleasure as your toes curl and your hands wring in the bedding while desperate little mewls and cries fall from your mouth, frame quivering under the mounting rise of your climax. When it hits from the lascivious way Javi twirls his tongue – plunging into your fluttering sheath before gliding it to grind wantonly over your clit, you wail, "Javi!" in a reedy voice before dissolving into inarticulate mewls while your orgasm coats his ravenous mouth.

He groans in accomplishment before he replaces his tongue with his fingers so he can swipe your intoxicating taste from his moustache, mouth and chin with his hand before languidly kissing a path up to the nape of your neck.

"Mmm, good girl. Feel good?" he coos against your ear after you practically melt and flatten onto the bed in a tremulous heap.

"Dios mío, Javier," you exhale girlishly and bashfully bury your face in the bedding while shielding behind your folded hand. "I can't stop shaking," is your mumbled snicker when he smugly nudges his way between your folded hand and the bed so he can nuzzle you in a dominant show of approval. You shift to curl into him and whisper, "You know how wild you make me when you talk like that."

He hums, drawling in a canela-rich purr, "Makes me feel the same way when you get all mandona, too. I don't think I could ever pick between them—"

"We'll never have to, galán," you croon and toss your leg over his hip before clinging to him as you enthusiastically roll him onto his back so you can straddle his lap, then lilt, "Not when I love how good we are together," before you grope your hands up his chest to caress his warm, stubbly cheeks as you silkily murmur, "Now, I'm going to ride you, naughty boy."

Javi lights up under you at that, and plants his palms to your hips as you undulate your core over him until his ramrod cock is notched at your entrance and you rut down on it.

You both get swept up in the throes of passion as you set the pace while Javi fucks up into you, murmuring decadently sweet and sultry things to each other. Yearning to trigger the devastating rapture you both have only been able to find with one another.

The soft pitter-patter of the light drizzle outside is drowned out by the sounds of you and Javi making love, too swept up in the carnal ecstasy that had been stoked between you for too long.

When you each reach bliss one final time and fall onto the covers together in sated exhaustion, there is only tranquility as you lullingly brush dreamy kisses along each other's lips before you tuck against him and doze off. Spent, Javier lethargically reaches the nightstand to switch the lamp off, then tugs the covers over you both before he rests his head on the pillow and drifts off right after he noses into the top of your mussed hair, content and serene with you in his arms.

It's all you've both been looking forward to. The effortless gravitation between you only getting stronger and pulling you back into harmonious balance.

Neither of you anticipate the tribulations that're just around the corner, ready to try pulling you apart once again.

No, for now, the reflection of everything you want – of the previously deferred plans you'd once shared – is the only thing you're looking ahead to.

________________

Read Chapter 43: Still

Spanish-English Glossary:

Mi amor = My love

Cristo amado = Christ beloved

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

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

Galán = Handsome gent

A bañarnos, mi cariñito = To bathe ourselves, my sweet little darling

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

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

No me mires así, mi amor = Don't look at me like that, my love

Mi tiernita = My tender little girl

Te presento mi jevo pronto = I'll introduce you to my boyfriend soon

Cafetera = Coffee kettle

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Tan controlador = So controlling (male)

Canela = Cinnamon

Provocadora = Provoker (female)

¡Que viva el amor y duren los encantos! Que el mundo se entere que nos amamos tanto, El amor es perfecto cuando se ama, Amor transparente más claro que el agua = Long live the love and the charms last! Let the world know that we love each other so much, Love is perfect when you love, Love transparent clearer than water

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

Chingona = Mexican slang for bad ass woman

Tan cellos = So jealous (female)

Jodón = Pain in the ass

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

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

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Avena = Oatmeal

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Panadería = Bakery

Buen provecho = Bon appetit

Mofongo relleno de camarones = A caribbean delicacy made of fried plantains smashed into a dome and covered with shrimp, usually in a creole tomato-based stewed sauce

Gatita = Little kitten

Crees que siendo mi jevo = [You] think that being my boyfriend

Nena = Girl

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Cuídate = Take care

Las [h]Adas = The Fairies, but in this case it's a play on words, since all three girls' names end in 'A', aka "The A-das"; hadas are fairies

Mandona = Bossy lady

Caserío = Public housing; housing project

Tecatos = Puerto Rican slang for drug addicts, specifically heroin users; also used to refer to shiftless good-for-nothing people

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

Puñeta = Puerto Rican slang for "Fucking"; very bad word; equivalent to "Fuck"

Cabrón = Asshole

Socio = Business partner

Ah pues bien, Señor Gatsby = Oh well fine, Mister Gatsby

Su jeva tiene estilo = Your girl has style

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Mi cariñito = My sweet little darlińg

Mi Valentín tan guapo = My super handsome Valentine

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Dios mío, Javier = My god, Javier

The song referenced and translated above is "Amor Perfecto" by El Gran Combo de Puerto Rico. And the "roleplay" reference Celina made in this chapter that got Javi hot and bothered is from the drabble, Partners.

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

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Steve Rogers x Reader ~ April Fool’s Day  [Shield Adventures]

A/N: I came up with this idea after April Fool’s Day, sadly, but I figured you guys won’t mind a belated fic! There will be more “Shield Adventures” stories to come in the future.

[My Marvel Masterlist] 

Word Count: 1967

“Steve!!!”

Before the Quinjet’s ramp has a chance to lower all the way onto the landing pad, (Y/n) is running straight into the aircraft, making a beeline for her husband clad in red, white, and blue. The man in question has to brace himself and the young woman all but throws herself into his embrace. 

“Hello to you too, (Y/n),” he chuckles softly. “As much as I’ve missed you, I am pretty sweaty right now. I wouldn’t exactly recommend hugging until I am out of the suit.”

(Y/n)’s head lifts away from the comfortable spot between the blond super soldier’s pectorals to flash a pout. She pulls away with hesitance, but Steve promises to make it up to her with cuddles on the couch, which immediately puts a smile on her face. 

“Oh yeah,” (Y/n) suddenly exclaims, “Tony told me he needs your shield. He mentioned something about upgrades and polishing it.”

“”Right now? Can’t it wait until after I settle down and finish up my mission reports?”

“I can drop it off with him. I have to head over to his lab anyway. Tony’s been working on a new design for my uniform that’ll give me more maneuverability when I move my arms around. It’s pretty neat.”

While (Y/n) continues to ramble on about the new upgrades, Steve cannot help but zone out. Rather than focusing on the conversation, his attention is on (Y/n). Ever since the beginning of their relationship, Steve has admired her ability to grow excited over every little aspect of life. Something as simple as improved mobility in a tactical garment normally does not elicit too much excitement, but with (Y/n), it is as if Christmas came early.

“Steveee,” she whines, stomping her foot all the while. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. You’re getting some awesome suit upgrades to let you flail around better on the field.”

His phrasing brings back her pout. With arms crossed in front of her chest, (Y/n) begins to explain in heavy detail about her telekinetic powers requiring calculated movements, not uncontrolled flailing. 

“Don’t worry,” Sam butts with a smirk as he makes his way down the ramp. “Steve flails just as much whenever he uses the shield. You should’ve seen him today. His arms looked like those weird balloons at the car dealerships each time he threw that frisbee of his.”

The couple, scandalized by the former airman’s remark, send him a glare and threaten to assign the least-favorable task come the next mission. 

“Anyway, I should get going.” Wrapping her arms around Steve, (Y/n) squeezes her husband once more in a tight embrace, only this time, her hands find their way to his shield as she pulls away from him. “I’ll see you tonight for those cuddles. Bye, Steve!!”

Steve finds himself shaking his head with amusement as he watches his beloved run off across the landing pad.

“Well…there’s no telling when I’m getting that back.”

“I got it!”

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, (Y/n) holds up the shield in triumph as she enters Tony’s lab. She nearly runs into DUM-E, but her quick reflexes, and the shield, save her just in time when the robot nearly hits her head with a fire extinguisher. Unfortunately, her safety comes at the cost of DUM-E’s mechanical arm, which is now bent and dented at a weird angle.

“I invite you to my lab, and here you are, breaking my stuff.”

“It’s fine! That’s what the shield is for,” she snickers, “And DUM-E has been broken since you made him. You have no one to blame but yourself for that one.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you come to me for a favor,” the man teases while holding up a large box. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Cap isn’t gonna be too happy in the morning.”

“He’ll be fine. You said the glue will come off with a bit of soap and water, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Tony eyes her warily. Despite his excitement to prank Steve, he will suffer the consequences if the blond super soldier finds out who lended a helping hand with the prank. He knows for a fact that (Y/n) will be left off easy for simply being married to him. Tony, on the other hand, will not. He already had a shaky start at the relationship when they first met to save New York. While their relationship has been mended since then and he and Steve are both friends and coworkers, pranking him feels like a line that should never be crossed. Especially when it involves his shield. “You better not mention my name. Tony played no part in your shenanigans, you hear me?” “Yes, sir,” (Y/n) replies as her hand comes up in mock salute. “Now, hand over the gems and glitter.”

The sun has long since set beyond the horizon. Disregarding this, Steve elects to keep the lights off in the bedroom as he lays on top of the duvet, his eyes close to just rest as he waits for (Y/n) to return from whatever it is she has occupied herself with after having run off with his shield. Being a man of his word, Steve has stayed awake in order to fulfill his promise of cuddles, yet he has no clue where his wife could be. “Maybe I should call her,” he mutters to himself once he realizes midnight is nearly creeping up. Yet, right as he decides to turn to grab his phone from the nightstand, the familiar sound of the bedroom door creaking open has him freeze.

Despite being shrouded in partial darkness thanks to the cloudy night sky keeping the moonlight from shining through the windows, (Y/n) carefully sneaks across the master bedroom. She carefully tiptoes with her uniform in one hand and the leather shield bag in the other. There is a soft clunk as she sets down the bag in its designated corner by Steve’s nightstand; the super soldier has grown paranoid of potential break-ins or emergency missions, so he has gotten into the habit of keeping the weapon within arms reach.

“Ya’ know, if you were trying to be sneaky, you’d have to try harder.” Steve watches in amusement as his beloved jumps in the air like a spooked feline. A small chuckle escapes once he notices the sour look on her face. 

“Steve, you scared me! Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Well, someone was feeling clingy earlier today, so I promised cuddles, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Dropping the uniform to the floor in favor of physical affection, (Y/n) all but dives onto the bed, landing on top of her husband’s chest and successfully knocking the wind out of him. “Snuggle time!” Strong arms wrap around the smaller form sprawled across him. The cool spring breeze is nothing compared to the heat radiating from the super soldier’s body. The warmth has (Y/n) sighing in comfort, nuzzling her head against Steve’s pectorals with a hum of delight. “So, what kind of changes did Tony make?” “I dunno. Wasn’t paying attention.” “You weren’t paying attention to your partner in mischief?” “No,” she argues, “Sam is my partner in mischief. Tony just provides the money to fuel the chaos if he approves of it.”

“I knew you had looped Tony into your shenanigans.” “Shhh. It’s late. Go to bed, old man.” “You’re married to this old man,” Steve teases, pressing soft kisses along her neck. 

“Yup. And grandpas like you need sleep,” (Y/n) states with finality, leaving the blond super soldier to chuckle even more when he peers down to see her eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion. “Good night.”

“Good night, (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!!!” The woman in question freezes at the sound of her name being yelled from the other side of the compound. She woke up early to evade Steve, and to solidify her reason for disappearing, the young woman dragged Bucky and Sam to accompany her in an extensive training session.

“Ooooh, he sounds mad,” Sam remarks with a smirk. “What’d you do this time?”

“This time? Are you accusing me of always torturing my poor husband?” “Well,” Bucky joins in, “your ‘poor husband’ always uses that voice when he’s upset. I would know. He’s been doing that since the 40’s.”

Rather than answering, (Y/n) chooses to drag the two men in front of her to hide behind them right as the double doors slam open. The two veterans in the gym are unable to contain their laughter once they realize the reason for the blond super soldier’s anger. In his hands is a shield covered with red, white, and blue glitter with rhinestones covering the star in the center. 

“Goin’ to a party or something, Cap?” Sam manages to wheeze out between choked breaths. “Star spangled man with a plan? More like a sparkly spangled man with a plan!”

Steve sends Sam an unamused glare. He does not need to look hard to find his wife, given that Sam is hunched over in an attempt to catch his breath from laughing too hard. Words are not needed as he glances back and forth between the bedazzled shield and (Y/n). “Hi, Steve.” “Are you going to explain yourself, (Y/n)?”

“Happy April Fool’s Day?”

Without speaking, Steve gestures for (Y/n) to make her way to his side. But instead of listening to his silent request, she chooses to simply peek out from behind Bucky’s metal arm. Her eyes stay trained on her husband, waiting for any sudden movements so that she can panic react accordingly. 

“It was just a fun little prank, Steve. No need to get upset.” “Upset? (Y/n), my shield is covered in glitter and jewels. How am I supposed to get them all off in time for the next mission?” “But Tony said the gl-” A hand slaps itself over her mouth as soon as the woman realizes her mistake. Unfortunately for her, it is too late to take back what she had said. Steve heard her loud and clear; the blond super soldier sets down his newly-bedazzled shield by the entrance in favor of using both arms to cross them over his chest. Authority oozes from his stance as he raises an eyebrow, waiting for (Y/n) to speak up. “Tony said what exactly?” (Y/n) mumbles the answer meekly, but the only person who can hear her is the two men acting as human shields, and being the cheeky person he is, Bucky shoves her towards his best friend. A gasp can be heard at the sudden betrayal. “I’m not actually mad,” Steve admits softly when he realizes (Y/n) is actually worried. “I know you were just having a bit of fun. I know you well enough to know that if you were the mastermind behind a prank, there won’t be any permanent damage.” “Tony promised that the glue he bought should wash right off with soap, water, and a bit of scrubbing.” With a quick kiss pressed to (Y/n)’s forehead, Steve picks up his shield and turns around to leave.

“Thank you. But don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with this without some form of punishment. The next mission we have, you’re benched.” “What??” “Love you, sweetheart!” Steve exits the room just as quickly as he had initially entered it, stomping away with purpose as he enters the elevator and instructs FRIDAY to lead him to a certain genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; as (Y/n), Bucky, and Sam resume their training, they choose to ignore the distant shouting from the floor above.

The End

[couthbbg]

What You Like

Kris Letang/Erik Karlsson • Rating: E • Ch: 1/2 • 12k

What could Karlsson possibly want, showing up at Kris's hotel room at one in the morning after a blow out loss? Surely nothing good.

Read on Ao3

Finally finished my kriserik fic! It's a BDSM AU, the first in a series of fics. This fic is finished, second chapter will be posted soon. Preview under the cut!

“Tanger!” an unfortunately familiar voice calls, somehow much too loud even muffled through the door. “I can hear you in there. Let me in!”

Of course, Kris thinks. There’s not a single soul on the team he’d want less at his door at one o’clock in the morning, after that shit show of a game no less. Just at the sound of that voice, Kris feels his poorly buried anger bubble up again, prickling at his skin. Three goals against, three goals against with this three-time Norris trophy winner on the ice, and now he wants to show up here, at Kris’s room, in the middle of the night? He must be drunk, Kris thinks, stalking to the door. He must have a fucking death wish.

Kris yanks the door open, hard, though the automatic mechanism at its hinges makes the gesture less dramatic than he was going for.

Karlsson smirks like he can tell. “Hello,” he says far too happily. He should be miserable. He should be groveling. Kris opens his mouth to let Karl know exactly where he can stick his good cheer, but before Kris gets the words out, his overtired brain finally registers the scene in front of him—Karlsson in sweatpants and an inside-out t-shirt, a suitcase propped by his side and a garment bag slung over his shoulder. Karlsson, with all his things. At Kris’s door. At one in the morning.

“Absolutely not,” Kris says flatly, shutting the door in Karl’s face. Or he would have, if it weren’t for that fucking mechanism slowing it down, giving Karl enough time to wedge the side of his shoe against the bottom of the door. Karl doesn’t try to open the door more, just slides over so he’s still visible.

“A pipe burst in my room,” he says, something odd in his voice, maybe disbelief or humor, the exact opposite of the fury Kris would be feeling if that happened to him.

Even foggy and exhausted, Kris can follow that explanation to its likely conclusion. The huff of laughter he lets out is anything but amused. “You’re not staying with me,” he says. “Go find Sid.” Team captain, team dom—Sid’s the resident fixer, the solver of problems, even maddening, smug Swedish problems, smirking at Kris like this is funny. Like it’s not one in the morning, and they didn’t just get their asses handed to them by the Blues.  

“Ah,” says Karl, his smirk widening, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I tried his room first, but. He’s a bit busy.” Karl has the audacity to wink at Kris, as though Sid’s getting up to something exciting and indulgent, instead of the much more likely scenario. Given that Sid’s sub was on the ice for another three of the eight goals against them tonight, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he might be up to. And Sid’s not like Kris. He doesn’t revel in the punishment aspect of being a dom. Kris knows for a fact that Sid’s not enjoying whatever’s going on in his room at this hour any more than Geno is, and the fact that Karl is winking about it just makes the ire in Kris’s blood boil that much hotter.

“Find someone else,” Kris grits out. “I don’t share. It’s in my contract,” he adds and then tugs again at the door, hard enough that it must hurt Karl’s foot, still propping it open.

“It won’t be for the whole night,” Karl goes on, apparently unmoved by the vitriol in Kris’s voice. “They’re getting another room for me, it’s just not ready yet. Just thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five.” Then, unbelievably, Karlsson gets an elbow into the crack of the door and starts to pry it open.

“So wait in the lobby.” But Kris’s counteroffer goes unheard.

For one wild moment, as Karlsson genuinely wiggles to squeeze himself through the gap and into the room, Kris feels like he might actually physically stop him. There's a familiar thrum under Kris's skin, his hands twitching with the need to grip Karl’s arm and twist it. They’re the same height, and Karl is strong. Kris would need to use his whole body to shove Karl out, or maybe, against something, the closed door, or a wall. Kris would shove him, and Karl’s head would thunk against the wall, except he’d like that, probably, would smirk at Kris about it, and then he’d—

Kris snaps back to himself just in time to see Karl hanging his garment bag up in the closet, making himself right at home. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed Kris’s short bout of insanity. He just sits at end of the other queen bed, the remote somehow already in his hand.

“Are you watching this?” Karl asks, then doesn’t wait for answer, just flips through channels faster than he could possibly keep up with.

Read the rest on Ao3

[pilot-posting]

🔞 "Asynchrosis" Pt.2

hehe it’s been like an hour since i finished the first little bit but oh my god i am losing it

“Medical leave”

i stared at the ceiling in the trauma center, my legs bouncing lightly up and down unconsciously. i looked pretty out of place, most patients wore clothes similar to hospital garments from earth, but i was wearing my body glove, a simple black skin-tight body suit. the nurses had tried to get me to change out of it but i wouldn’t let them, protesting aggressively about how it made me feel comfortable. thinking about the tantrum made me cringe at myself but i shook my head and stared up at the ceiling. i had other things to be embarrassed about.

i had just been given “the talk”, my lieutenant pulled me aside the day after i had been admitted to medical leave. he sat me down in a locked office and explained to me my predicament.

“Listen, Emerson, it’s not unusual or even necessarily bad for pilots to grow attached to their mechs, Class-X mechs are arguably designed to make that happen…”

i wasn’t listening, there was just so much static behind my eyes. the night before i was pulled out of my Haratora-Zed by a concerned Class-I pilot while in deep synchrosis, in plain english, i was fucked up. i felt so angry with him for a little while… why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut, why’d he have to poke me. i don’t blame him as much now, he was doing his job, but still…

“Your mech, The Nagarrond?” my head snapped up to listen at the mention of her— i mean it, whatever.

“yes sir?”

“are you even aware how quickly you reached pique synchrosis?” i stared at him and shook my head no, i was lying, i had been training myself to fall quicker and quicker,

“22 minutes, you were in your mech for 22 minutes before synchrosis was complete. that’s record lows, and also terribly uncharted waters…” his voice faded off for me again. Nagarrond, my mech, has a specially designed interior, it was originally made for the feminine frame but, it was given a masculine attachment between the legs, to accommodate my… yeah.

“Pilot, we’re more worried for you than anything, alright?” i nodded, taking this comment as the end of the conversation and stood up,

“may i return to my quarters sir?” he looked a little beside himself but he nodded, i quickly walked down the hallway to get to the elevator, praying no one else was joining me, i could feel the crotch of my body suit getting tighter…

the way a class-x works is pretty simple to explain, pilots are pumped full of sensory enhancers through these fun little mechanical ports they put into you, before you put your body suit on, they cover you in a siphoning substance, basically so that the suit will vacuum seal itself to your skin… sometimes you do it yourself, but normally you have other crew help you. recruits to the program have a pretty typical track record of sexual misconduct during this period, as the gel is applied, hands wander and, protocol falls apart. but once you get into the mech, i assure you, you will never yearn for hands again.

once entering, your body suit will be pressurized by the mech grabbing and tightening around your body, this will cause the siphoning liquid to rapidly leave through the neck, finalizing the body suit equipment, then the mech will attach various prongs to the neural link halo implant around the upper half of your head, causing you to gain eye sight, and a informational HUD, including power levels, estimation on “time until release” (how soon you’re likely to cum), incoming messages and orders, some of which are automated meaning the mech is basically just using you as a power source, and some of which will request your direct input, alongside this you also get various fun “settings” you can neurologically activate.

after the halo insertion, then begins the output interfacing. in crude language since they somehow manage to make it boring during training, if you have a dick, it puts you into an industrial grade, personalized, and neurologically tuned vibrating, squeezing, and sucking fleshlight, which is constantly self lubricated. if you have a pussy, it attaches a pump to your clit which will constantly suck on it, and occasionally spray it with water to rehydrate, alongside this pump a scan of your interior is taken, and a studded self positioning dildo will extend to your ideal length and angle, and then always pump into you at the right speed. both body types are penetrated with anal vibrators which run on personalized cycles to stimulate your anal g spot as well as they can. most pilots will cum up to 4 times during calibration alone, causing the suit to provide appropriate sustenance through a pair of ports which are surgically implanted into your neck.

as the elevator door started to close i couldn’t help it, i leaned against the back wall and reached down to my girl-bulge, rubbing it through the bodysuit~ my tip tented against the rubbery material which hugged my skin, i could only imagine how bad this would hurt for a girl with a bigger dick… but i didn’t have that problem. i whimpered to myself as the door finally finished closing, i collapsed to a cross legged position, leaning forward as to rub my bulge across my calves, i humped at it desperately, growing frustrated with myself. it was the first day in months i didn’t have any stimulus enhancers, every stroke and hump felt unsatisfying? despite how much i whimpered at them. before i knew it i had to get back to standing, as i saw the floor number rapidly approaching mine. as i got myself up i made myself look professional, aka i yanked my girldick between my legs and just prayed it would get a little softer…

i rushed back into the trauma unit and past the receptionist, into the quarters, locking myself in my room and collapsing against the door, the cool blue lights were flickering on from the motion detection as i just stared down at my humiliating girl dick, i shook my head rapidly for a second to try and get my mind off it before undoing the body suits binding and tossing it on my bed.

i grabbed my holo phone and went for the shower… i had some sketchy websites to look at.

[squeakadeeks]

I'm on my knees BEGGING for an Austin Powers cosplay from you holy shit you would make it insane!!! Side question: My biggest issue I have with sewing is deciding which fabric I should use for specific projects/pieces. Trying to find an answer on that online is not easy as usually tutorials just say like "With your fabric, do X" without saying which fabric to look for 😭How do you personally choose your fabric when doing your cosplays? Do you have a cheat-sheet of like what to look for?

I'm about to have a micro-lull in projects so who knows! maybe now is the time for Austin Powers.

To tell true, my strategy for choosing fabrics is kind of a goofy one. if you look at everything i've made, you'll notice that I tend to use a lot of the same fabrics repeatedly. Microsuede, mystique spandex, pleather, stretch twill/sateen, stretch denim, and matte satins. I dont have a lot of access to fabric stores anymore where I can go in person choose it based on inspection, so instead I take what I know and work with it! So I tend to either choose projects based on a fabric that I'm familiar with, or I take the design and make it compatible with one I like. for example on Thistle, i'm sure using something like taffeta, dupioni, or velvet wouldve worked for his design, but I chose microsuede because I like it and I leaned into properties it has like a textured appearance and stiffness.

But that being said, even if you help yourself by working with a more limited scope of fabrics, how do you choose between fabric A and fabric B for an application? Typically what influences how a fabric behaves is its weight (ie is this a super light fabric that blows in the breeze, or something heavy like what you might find on a couch), its drape (will this fabric hang straight down or be stiff and fold more like paper), and its finish (is this something shiny and reflective, or matte? does it have a texture, or a totally smooth surface?).

in general if you want something fitted and structured like a crisp jacket, bodice, or a skirt that holds its shape, you tend to want heavier, stiffer fabrics. if you want something to look soft and flowy, then lighter, more draping fabrics are best. (thers also the mechanical issue that if you're working on something big like say a ballgown, if you chose a heavy fabric, you will need to account for the scaling weight. making a short skirt vs a long skirt out of a heavy fabric will have very different outcomes.) it's hard to give specific advice about fabrics in general, since each project has its own specific needs and each project can be made with any variety of fabrics, but will result in different appearances in the overall garment.

BUT i do have a mini word of wisdom, which is if you have a fabric in mind but you're not sure it will work, you can always try looking up like....."matte satin dresses", or "suede jackets" and see if you can find any examples of the fabric you're thinking of being used in the garment you want to make (or in general) to check if it gives the look you want. you can even go backwards and look up like...."prince costume" and try to identify common fabrics that usually come up for that garment style.

[bytes-and-blessings]

Smuggling Hope - Inklings Challenge 2023

So I signed up to do a little writing challenge this year called the @inklings-challenge! Which you can read more about here: https://inklings-challenge.tumblr.com/about Basically, I've had story ideas in my head for as long as I can remember. Now I finally found something to give me a kick in the pants to write. Maybe this is the first draft to the first chapter of my first novel ever. Maybe I never touch this story again. Who knows? not me.... But without further ado, welcome to the first installment of what I currently call "The Beacon Universe" (Actual name TBD) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Nia Twig woke up at the wheel her ship to the sound of a proximity alarm.

BEEP EEP EEP!

There was message from an incoming ship.

“This is gate border checkpoint Theta-Sigma-Alpha-5, please prepare for boarding with your itinerary, ship registration, and passenger manifest. Failure to cooperate with border patrol will be reported to Zytharian authorities and may result in fines or arrest. Thank you, and Glory to the Emperor.”

Nia groaned and scrambled out of her pilots chair to prepare for the inspection. As she walked through the ship she stashed away a box of stuff from back home and placed it under her bed, with a menstrual garment and some pain pills on top to keep any searchers from touching it. Looking around the area, there was a torn piece of paper that she though she had drunkenly thrown in the incinerator months ago:

The oath and way of the Beacons are as THE LORD once declared: “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lamp stand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shin-”

Nia was interrupted in her distracted readings by the ship’s alarm system again:

~~~~~WARNING ~~~~ AIRLOCK ENGAGED ~~~~ INTRUDER ALERT~~~~~

“Computer! Stall’em!” She yelled out. The ship’s AI wasn’t anything fancy, but it could pretend to have just enough dysfunction to slow down anyone trying to board. (Or with any luck, kill anyone in a rush via asphyxiation so she could claim it was an accident. Technology sucks, right?)

She stuffed the paper in her pocked and climbed down to the hold. At the bottom, she reached behind the ladder and flipped a leaver.

A few of the crates started to lower into a hidden compartment beneath.

“Come on, come on, move you stupid thing” Nia slammed her foot against the floor.

Suddenly the mechanism squeaked to a halt.

She could hear the boarder ship’s airlock finish connecting to The Night’s Reverie. She’d have to greet the Inspector at any minute, or else the rest of his people’s fleet would show up and blow them both out of the sky.

She dove below the boxes, and started to hunt around. In the tangled mess of wires, there was a stray piece of jerky stuck between the gears. Nia couldn’t quite reach through the gap to catch it.

BANG BANG BANG

Someone was knocking on the other end of the airlock doors, trying to gain entry. If she didn’t let them it, it was going to be a firefight, but if the fuzz caught sight was what was in these crates, well, she’d have bigger problems.

The Captain pulled out a lighter with the symbol of a white bird in flight carved into it.

A small flame springs out with a flick of the flint, she barely has a moment to enjoy the feeling of the flames dancing in her control before she shoots it to knock the jerky out of place. She immediately threw the lighter up onto the main deck, then turned herself into a small flame and landed on the deck as the boxes almost crash into their compartment, crushing the area where she had just been an instant ago. The false floor slid over the contraband as the captain punched in the code to open the airlock for her unwanted guests.

“Still not going to be a Beacon, but Uncle’s old lighter trick is handy in a pinch.” She thought to herself as she punched the intercom button to speak to the visitor waiting in the airlock. “This is the Captain of the ship speaking, who is there?”

A posh voice responded, “Captain Glory Ashwell, are you in there? This is Inspector Zimri Klerk, of the His Greatness’s Most Noble and Important Hyperlane Border Inspections Agency. I am here to proceed with a random inspection of your ship. I assume you have your paperwork in order and are ready for inspection, Captain?” a

From the voice, Nia expected someone much taller on the other side of the airlock. Instead standing there was an short and fat man in a faded but finely pressed dress uniform. He stood proud before her not a piece of his balding silver hair was out of place. His mustache was curled perfectly at the ends, looking at it was almost like looking at a second pair of eyes. At his left side he held a bright red cane with the Empire dragon snarling at it’s head, like forgotten Celtic letterhead come to life. In his right hand he somehow managed to hold both a clipboard and a lit cigar.

Nia cleared her throat, and then addressed the man. “Ah yes Sir, as you can see here on my manifest, my ship, The Kobold is just on a routine courier run to the middle systems of the Empire. If we could make this quick, my clients are very important people with urgent business, Captain. They’ve waited long enough for these goods.”

“Very well Captain. Let’s keep this quick shall we.” He took a puff of the cigar and stormed past her onto the ship.

It may have been the longest inspection she had lived through in her entire life.

He poked in the flight room.

He tapped his cane all around her living quarters.

He crawled under the sink.

He licked the dust between the crates.

He even accidentally knocked out a fake wall Nia didn’t know the ship had.

By the end of it, he looked less like a man to her, and more like some cross between a relentless hound dog, and a relentless hound dog breathing tobacco smoke from his lungs. An evil, fire-breathing dog of war armed with a clipboard of wrath and health code violations.

Finally, it was almost over. Inspector Zimiri stood right next to the holds ladder and put away his pen.

“Well, everything looks fine here, as long as you don’t have any rebel contraband under here then I’ll be on my way.”

With a single motion, he flipped the hidden switch with his cane and stepped aside to reveal the contraband crates.

A moment pasted, then a second as the crates were slowly lifted by the traitorous mechanism. Neither person seamed to move or breath for a second. Finally Nia let out a long sigh, and pulled out a wad of bills from her inner coat pocket.

She faked a smile, and tried to approach the Inspector congenially,“Look here friend, there’s nothing harmful here. It’s just some luxury goods I need to keep extra protected for a client in Casino Monte. Some rich dude wants camping supplies to reenact some ancient survivalist U-tuber. Bear Gorillas or something? I don’t know man, can’t we just figure this out? It’s not like it’s weapons or anything, you know, right?” She said, holding out the bribe money.

The Inspector let out a deep sigh. He leaned his cane against the wall. Then he removed his glasses and began to methodically clean them. For a moment Nia could swear he tapped a button on his jacket. The little man straighten up to glare at her. The cigar smoke began to fog up his glasses once more and reflect the dim light of the ship. The Captain began to back away from the twin burning suns staring at her from his glasses.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

He walked over and opened the first crate to find a stack of water bottles, blankets, and food with single stuffed goose sat on top of the pile of goods.

“We both know that there’s no way a ship of this size has the fuel to get to the destination on your manifest.” He waved the faked papers in the air, “You’re more likely to drop out of the hyperlane somewhere above the Miser-Cordia system. Right where his Greatness’s Military has currently blockaded a group of those traitorous followers of the Beacon’s Path and the foolish civilians roped up in their little games. Do you think I didn’t realize from the moment your little star skipper left the hyperbridge that figured out that you were carrying the most dangerous weapon known to man inside?”

He dropped the cigar and waved the stuffed goose in the air, as if demonstrating his point.

“My good captain, it appears to me that you are smuggling hope.”

Nia whipped out her pistol and pointed it at him. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you are. And I don’t care. As I was saying, I’m not smuggling weapons, or drugs, or slaves, or any of the other fucked up shit that all of your friends turn a blind eye to every day for a couple of creds. So unless your sanctimonious pride and your thin wallet is more important than your life, maybe grow some brains out of that mustache. I’m not a Rebel. I just see a demand and I fill it. I don’t care about your stupid wars, buddy. This is just business. Just take your cut of creds like every other self serving sleaze bag in the galaxy, and let me go.” She insisted, probably too firmly. But Nia didn’t care, her pulse was in her throat and she could feel fire aching at her fingertips for the first time in years. This was about to go south, fast.

Still brandishing her pistol, Nia took in the sight of the little inspector. She had to keep her gun arm pointed down at an awkward angle to place the muzzle beneath his nose. When he wasn’t running around her ship, it was easier to see that this man only reached her shoulder. His mustache barely twitched at the sensation of cold metal. He dropped the goose back into it’s box. With it fell the clipboard. His fingers twitched for the cigar that had once been in his hand. Suddenly, the man before her wasn’t a robotic inspector of a dictator anymore. The cold glare in his eyes had softened into something still determined, but also seemingly defeated. Like the last blue flame of a dying fire. He reached down to pick up the cigar again.

“I have to say, I am quite disappointed in you, Miss Philomena Bryne.” He said, letting the smoke blow into Nia’s face. He grabbed onto a pin on his lapel, and broke it. Nia could see a few ripped wires leaving what she could now see had been a wiretap. “We both know you don’t need that toy to turn me to ash, so let’s drop the pretense, hm?”

“That’s not my name, that girl is dead. Who are you, and how do you know her?” She backed off, but kept the pistol high.

“Ah my mistake Captain,” He said, reaching up to scratch his lip. “Here I was, under the impression that I had caught up with a great Beacon of Old: A mythical group of people who could take flight in the stars without a ship, a Peace Keeper, a great Defender of the innocent, a living flame in the galaxy’s eternal night. I thought I was tracking a relic of a forgotten era of Crusades and Caped Heroes; one who was stuck in a universe that has progressed beyond, or perhaps, sunken below religion. And now l see that I have found a jaded business woman looking to profit off another’s misfortune, no? I had hoped that anyone with your flame, who could incurs such wrath of my employees and countrymen, could be nothing less than a saint. But if it’s business you want, then it’s business you’ll get I suppose. You can come out now, my dear.”

Zimiri Klerk tapped his cigar against the wall of the ship, and out of the embers emerged a young girl who could almost have been Philomena's cousin. But her hair soon changed from fire red to pale blonde. She was even shorter and thinner than the man next to her. Nia quickly realized that this was most likely the Inspector’s daughter. Her eyes were the same jet engine blue as his, and just as sharp.

“I will make a deal with you Captain. Get my daughter out of reach of the Empire's ashy dogs, and anyone else who would make her a living weapon. Then consider your bribe to be paid. Now I must go, my colleges will be looking for me. I’ll buy you what time I can. Good luck, my dear.” Then Zimiri Klerk walked to door of the Night’s Reverie.

“And remember Captain, even if you do not think of yourself a hero, to my daughter, and all of those people trapped on Miser-Cordia, you are the last light of hope.”

[rose-from-ashes]

PSSSST HI HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIEND!!! slides over this character building question for vyn, cei, and vukmir! if they existed as npcs in the game that give a quest (or a quest chain maybe?), what would it be? and would there be a special item you get for completing it?

THANK YOUUU

Vyn:

He gives a quest chain asking you to infiltrate someplace, possibly Ishgard, Ul'dah, Eulmore, or Garlemald in order to seek and rescue unfairly prosecuted or imprisoned individuals and such inside, giving them a safe out where he would not be able to due to his distinct appearance and reputation as a ruffian/warrior/beast/danger. Basically an underground railroad situation. He feels awful about being unable to save those people directly, and joining with someone less prominent would allow him to at least bring those people into an area he can actually defend. Mechanically, this would be dialogue, fetch quest, and sneaking quest heavy. He wants you to avoid combat, because he'd rather do the combat himself.

The special item would be a glamor garment or weapon from him of your choice, and repeating events would allow you to get the full set. Once you attain the full set, there would be a bonus quest wherein you get to speak to the people you've helped along the way, similar to the level 80 dark knight quest.

His npc name on first interaction until he introduces himself would be "Tall Stranger". The questline would be called "Cries in the Dark" and begin with a quest named "Hidden Injustice".

Cei:

They give a quest chain where you help them for various experiments by gathering components or doing tasks, similar to the post arr urianger quest chain with the extreme trials. Just like with that questline, finishing it unlocks the ability to turn in components from the content of that questline in return for high quality equipment. There is a daily limit.

Their npc name until they introduce themself would be "Unnerving Garlean" and the first quest would be called "Hardware Requirements". This quest could exist in a theoretical pre-destruction Garlemald or Mare Lamentorum post-Endwalker. You would also meet their adoptive mother Herse at some point, if it takes place in Mare Lamentorum.

Vukmir:

His quest/questline (either a very long quest or a questline with the same length just split between multiple smaller quests) and involve following a series of echo flashbacks in the Thirteenth following the Contramemoria from his perspective. At first he appears as a shadowy, vague figure, the vision distorted by centuries, but throughout it, he would grow more and more clear, until the player sees him in full just before the Calamity. Finally, we would see his Voidsent form after in the form of a statue that the visions lead us to with a description of his deeds as a Voidsent below, describing how he remained a great ruler afterwards, but eventually slipped into the Source, and has not been seen by his followers since, though spectres remain to guide them. The special item would be a statuette of him holding his sword high in defiance of his impending doom. The quest/questline would be called "Shadows of the Lost King".

[direwombat]

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer. 🤍 + your choice of ship

comin' out with another prompt fill because i needed to finish something. so. here's syb getting into yet another vehicle accident, but this time jakey is there to lend a hand. tw: car accident, brief mention of decapitation (not related to the car accident) rating: T | word count: approx 1.4k

With Eli dead, most of the Militia had fled south into the safety of the Valley. Without their leader, they had no guidance, and after word had spread that Sybille had severed Eli’s head from his body to take back to Jacob as a trophy, the majority didn’t want to press their luck. 

Everyone knew she was a killer. They just never thought that they’d be on the receiving end of her wrath. 

Those who stayed -- those who were the dangerous amount of angry and stupid -- had mostly scattered to the wind. They operate in small groups, ill-equipped and uncoordinated. They lack the supplies, ammunition, and experience that made Eli as successful as he was. The Chosen have done well to smoke out and quash rebellion where it rises. 

For the most part. 

But, like a cancer, the disease of Sin only seems to spread, and so long as it remains, the Project’s work is never done.

Sybille had volunteered to take point in the convoy headed towards Joseph’s compound. The trucks are loaded with an assortment of processed materials from the lumber mill, and a fresh batch of newly trained soldiers to protect the island. 

The drive itself takes longer than anticipated. They’d been forced to detour after finding a rockslide blocking the road, and then again after scouts radioed saying they’d spotted suspicious Militia activity down the alternative route. So here they are, on option three, taking the long, scenic way to cross into the Henbane before heading to Joseph. But, that hiccup aside, once they were on their way, the drive had been relatively quiet. 

Or, at least it was until a deafening BOOM rings out and Sybille’s rear wheels are suddenly lifted off the ground, flipping the truck and sending her rolling across the asphalt. The airbag deploys, but not before she bangs her head against the steering wheel, plunging her vision into darkness. 

She comes to with the odd sense of deja vu. 

Buckled into her seat, she dangles, helplessly, upside down. A high pitched ringing pierces her skull before it slowly fades. Only, rather than hearing the soft, murmuring of Joseph Seed singing Amazing Grace, all she hears is gunfire and shouting. Blood drips down her face, stinging her eyes, and the potent stench of gasoline burns her nose. Yet, it isn’t until the smell of smoke joins it that she snaps out of her daze. 

The truck is on fire. 

She needs to get the fuck out. 

Now. 

Gritting her teeth through the pain erupting all over her body, Sybille pushes against the airbag to deflate it. She tests the door, pulling against the interior handle, but it won’t budge -- not even when she throws her weight against it. Changing tactics, her focus shifts to the cracked window instead. The impact of the crash had weakened the glass, and while it’ll take some effort, she’s fairly certain she can break through. She  slips her right arm free of her jacket and uses the garment to pad her elbow. Clasping her bloody hands together, she bashes against the window with all the strength she can muster. 

After a few blows, it shatters completely. Tiny shards of glass scatter like diamonds over the road. 

She’s fussing with her seatbelt, the locking mechanism cracked and jammed, as a rush of heat envelops her. The air grows heavy and thick with smoke. Her eyes water and she tugs harder at the polyester sash across her chest. “Fuckin’ -- c’mon!” she hisses to herself before giving up in frustration and pulling the knife from her thigh holster. 

Through the din of combat she distantly hears Jacob, who’d been in the truck behind her, calling out for her. 

“I’m here!” she calls back, furiously sawing her way through the belt. “I’m --” she pauses to cough, the smoke burning her lungs and eyes, “I’m okay!” 

The belt across her chest frays and snaps. The one over her lap soon follows. Her stomach lurches as she begins to fall and she hunches her shoulders to protect her neck. Only, instead of landing on the ground, she remains stuck where she is, her ass off the seat, but with her leg pinned between pieces of crushed metal. She gives it a tug, trying to pull it free, but all she does is cry out in pain at the sensation of her leg being crushed. 

Her heart races in her chest, her breath, already shallow, strains even more. 

She’s trapped. 

The truck is on fire, and she’s trapped. 

Panic rises and she calls Jacob’s name. 

Gunfire continues to ring out, and she shrieks for him again when something explodes dangerously close by. The ground shakes. Sweat and blood pours down her brow, dripping onto what used to be the ceiling of the truck. Frantically, she pushes at the metal pinning her leg in place, first with her hands then with her free foot, desperate  to free herself from the burning death-trap. “Jacob!” she cries again, only this time it devolves into a series of coughs that she can’t seem to stop. 

Over the roaring flames and her own panic, she nearly misses it, but there’s a bellowing cry of “Cover me!” followed by sustained gunfire. 

Moments later, there’s the high pitched groan of metal scraping against metal. Suddenly the door she’d been unable to move flies open. The rush of fresh air is a reprieve from the suffocating smoke. Jacob stumbles back as he nearly rips the door off its hinges and he shields his face from the rush of smoke escaping the cab. But he only falters for that single moment, quickly composing himself and rushing in to help free her. 

“‘S m’leg. Stuck,” she hisses, wrapping her arms around his neck, simply grateful that, at the very least, she gets to hold him before the flames carry her to Hell. 

He shushes her with a quiet, “Hey, hey, hey.” He pulls her arms from his neck and pushes her hands to her chest. “I’m gonna get’cha outta here, okay?” He ducks down to investigate where her leg is stuck. His fingers wrap around the metal and he pulls. The shift in pressure forces a grunt from her, one that’s bitten back behind clenched teeth. 

“Shit,” Jacob curses when he can’t get it to budge. He turns to look at her. His eyes are wide, but his brow is furrowed in fierce determination. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, I promise.” 

Sybille coughs a laugh. “I ain’t --” another cough, “--goin’ nowhere.” 

It pains her to let him go, but she trusts him. Trusts that he’ll do as he says. Trusts that he’ll set her free. Just like he did before. 

He returns a short moment later with a crowbar in hand, crawling into the overturned cab and wedging it between the pieces of metal. “It’s gonna hurt like Hell, but when I start prying, you start pulling.” 

“Heard,” she pants, already bracing herself for the pain.

The metal groans as Jacob leverages his weight with the crowbar, pushing the metal apart just enough for her foot to finally slip free. She lands on the ground in an inelegant pile of limbs and what little wind she had in her lungs is pushed out with a low oof. 

Jacob is quick to scoop her into his arms, dragging her free from the burning wreckage. He pulls her to her feet, the two shambling hurriedly back towards the remaining convoy trucks. The doors are flung open, the Chosen using them as makeshift cover while they volley shots further down the road and into the treeline. He half-carries her around and the two collapse to the ground. Jacob’s back leans against the rear bumper and Sybille rests curled up in his lap. 

Her trembling fingers clutch tightly at his field jacket and his arms wrap tightly around her. A large, warm hand comes to cradle the back of her head and he pulls her close to press his lips to the top of her head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” he says, rocking her gently. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay, honey.” He repeats the words over and over, reassuring himself just as much as he is her. 

She nuzzles at the underside of his jaw, and he pulls away just enough to lift his hands to cradle her face. His thumb, rough and calloused swipes over her cheekbone, smearing blood and grime against her skin more than he wipes it away. “You’re okay?” he says again, this time as a question. 

Sybille nods, leaning into his touch. “I’m okay,” she says, pulling him in for a kiss. “I’m okay.”

[justforbooks]

Roberto Cavalli

Italian fashion designer who used exotic animal prints, embossed leather and distressed denim to create his flamboyant clothes

As Italian fashion went global in the later 20th century, it diverged into two schools: the sensuous, soft in silhouette and touch, and the boldly sexual, flamboyant to the eye. The first, and lasting, head of the sexy school was Roberto Cavalli, who has died aged 83.

The material bases for both schools were the nation’s specialist textiles and leather firms: for Cavalli, they delivered figured and lamé leathers, garments printed after sewing so that no seams interrupted a design, and many fabrics with his emphatic prints. These featured animal-skin motifs, Renaissance and Baroque brocades, or, natural-world details derived from his digital photographs.

His aesthetic was hectic, blingy, and sold across classes and cultures: those from palazzos could don it ironically, while those for whom it was streetwear appreciated Cavalli’s celebration of blatant heterosexuality.

From the late 1990s, he expanded worldwide through clothes, shoes and accessories for women, men and children to homewares, perfume, a credit card, and cafes – in his native Florence, he bought the exclusive Caffè Giacosa and Cavalli’ed it.

He sailed the Mediterranean in his purple yacht, and was mobbed in his Manhattan store, but his emotional core locale remained Florence. His mother, Marcella, was the daughter of a painter, Giuseppe Rossi; his father, Giorgio Cavalli, a mining engineer, was shot in 1944 with 91 other civilians by German soldiers in reprisal for a partisan attack.

Postwar, Marcella scrambled by as a coal dealer, then as a dressmaker who hand painted her creations. The boy’s childhood was hard – he stuttered – but after much pleading, he studied at Florence’s Istituto d’Arte (1957-60), although never sat his final examination.

Instead, he earned money. His mother’s painted dresses inspired him to widen the idea to a mechanical process. He travelled to study Como’s many high-end textile firms, and began to print ready-to-wear sweaters for Mariuccia Mandelli of Krizia, who shared his fancy for simulated wild-beast pelts, and then for Hermès. Soon he had a studio, employees, a longed-for Ferrari and enough money to impress the banker father of Silvanella Giannoni; Cavalli claimed it was to win her hand he had achieved so much this young. They married in 1964, and had two children, Tommaso and Cristina, before divorcing in 1974.

Cavalli’s breakthrough to his own clientele came in 1969, when he gatecrashed a party for the shoe designer Mario Valentino, and mentioned to him that he could print on leather. He couldn’t, but the next day worked out a technique using supple glove kid, and returned with samples. Cavalli showed his new wares, sewn into garments, at the Paris Salon du Prêt-à-Porter in 1970. People gawped, but did not buy.

What did sell was his next inspiration. At that time, only brutal wear and laundering faded, abraded and distressed denim – the big industry that would become stone- and sand-washing, bleaching and shredding denim had not been invented – and any embellishments were crude. Cavalli ordered a container of dirty worn-out jeans from a US prison, and washed, cut and patchworked the pieces with leather and printed textiles for a collection shown in the Pitti Palace in 1972. The arte povera materials had been collaged with Italian craft skill and an artist’s eye, and appealed to the well-heeled in the last phase of Boho-hippy-rock-chick chic.

Cavalli went retail with his designs through boutiques, opening the first, Limbo, in St Tropez, and built up an international following. As a high-living celebrity, and a divorcee with loud enthusiasm for beautiful women, he was a judge at the 1977 Miss Universe pageant, where he did not vote for Miss Austria, Eva Düringer, 18, to win, as he wanted her for himself. After finishing her education, she followed him to Florence, where they married in 1980; she became his model, business manager, and mother of Robert, Rachele and Daniele. They divorced in 2010.

Cavalli retained close control of the manufacture of his clothes, proud of the skills used, and disapproved of licensing deals and production off-shoring in Italian fashion as it internationalised at the end of the 70s. He resented the 80s fashion preference for what he called “minimalism”, but was more accurately a temporary supremacy for the sensuous school, exemplified by Giorgio Armani’s unstructured tailoring for women, plus a desire to moderate overt sexiness.

The Cavalli label retained clients – rock doesn’t give up on its own – yet he stopped showing his collection, and in 1993 intended to close the factory and beg union help to re-employ its workers.

He was persuaded to a comeback show at Milan Fashion Week, and attributed his triumphant second career afterwards to his inspiration to add Lycra to denim to create stretch jeans. (Not a new idea – Irene Sharaff had denim experimentally woven with Lycra for the dancers’ jeans in West Side Story, 1961.) Cavalli personally distressed a pair, printed a snake entwining a leg, and displayed them on the perfect rear of his favourite model, Naomi Campbell.

During Cavalli’s years of retreat, Gianni Versace had taken over much of the remaining custom for Italian-originated sexiness, but Versace designs, especially his prints, had a mad Roman emperor stridency never seen in the work of Cavalli, whose leopards and tigers were for cuddling and stroking, not gladiatorial combat.

Even before Versace’s death in 1997, Cavalli was in the ascendant again, in demand on red carpets, on stage on Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera, and on screen – a giraffe-skin print – on Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City: he opened boutiques and cafes around the world for his sex-is-fun, Latin-culture-orientated, clothes that suited the mood of excess is success. He was the first Italian designer to create a collection for H&M, a sell-out in 2007. His company closed in 2014, but was relaunched a year later, with little input from Cavalli himself.

In 2002, tax police inspected Cavalli’s extravagant house and estate outside Florence, including the purple helicopter he piloted, and charged him with evasion for claiming expenses for the property as work premises rather than a private home. Cavalli was found guilty and sentenced to 14 months jail, but a superior court annulled the verdict.

A son, called Giorgio after his father, was born to his partner, Sandra Nilsson, a model, in 2023. She and his six children survive him.

🔔 Roberto Cavalli, designer, born 15 November 1940; died 12 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[synnthamonsugar]

*puts a water gun to your head and smiles sweetly* Crow/Amanda

It's my unwavering belief that proper Crow/Amanda MUST involve ship repair and maintenance. Do YOU want ME to write/draw something outside my usual body of work? Asks are open!

“It’s all ours,” Amanda Holliday beams, gloved hands on her hips, as she regards the abandoned jumpship. A true specimen of retro engineering locked in time by the desiccated atmosphere of 10 Pallas, they've been called out by its owner, who asks for nothing in payment except its removal. 

“If we can get it to move,” Crow reminds. “Do you really think we can?”

“No ship’s bested us yet.” A determined smile spreads across her face as she opens the hood. "I don't intend for her to be the first!"

Crow approaches, already assessing the motor. Everything he knows about ship repair he learned from Amanda — an impromptu boot camp she insisted on after he almost blew up the Accipiter bringing it to jump-speed without sufficient coolant. So too had he gotten all his gear from her: the toolbelt and safety goggles and mechanic's jumpsuit all rummaged from her workshop. The heavy canvas garment is a smidge short on him and bears Holliday in red embroidery across the breast pocket. Somehow, the signs it's hers makes him cherish it even more. 

"Looks pretty good, considering how long it's been here," he says, leaning into the engine bay. Amanda is already chest-deep into the compartment, fiddling around with … he can't see past the parts in front of him. "Maybe a little corrosion on the rotors."

"Stators," Amanda corrects.

"Stators, right." 

"Gimme the wrench, would'ya? Blue handle," she specifies, and Crow rummages through the toolbox to find it. Hands it to her, their gloved fingertips brushing as he passes it off. 

While she works on that, he tasks himself with cleaning rust, checking wiring against schematics sent to Glint, and sweeping out a long-abandoned bird's nest in the turbine. Hours of pleasantly monotonous work pass. Amanda eventually emerges, smudged in more grease than usual, and climbs into the cockpit to run system tests. Finds the power shot.

Crow rotates sternward, locating the fuel cell. Disengages the lock, and pulls the handle — nothing. He gives the block a second yank, two-handed this time, and still cannot move it.

"We might have a little problem," Crow hedges, and Amanda wanders out back. "The cell's stuck. Like, stuck-stuck."

"Ah, for the love of—" Amanda mumbles, bracing herself against the ship with one leg, and giving it a pull. She doesn't unseat it, but manages to budge it slightly. 

"Maybe if we both pull. . ." Crow approaches behind Amanda, "May I?"

Amanda nods. There's no way not to press against as he wraps his chest around shoulders, gripping the pull on either side of her hands. She counts down, three-two-one, and they heave together. The flex of her muscular triceps against his sinuous arms flusters him enough that he has to remind himself to hold on —

There's a heavy mechanical clack as it slides from the receptacle, both giving a long exhale of relief. 

When they finally replace it and finish diagnostics, the ship starts easily. Amanda excitedly springs from the cabin, practically jumping into Crow's arms with jubilation. "We did it!" She exclaims, as he swings her around in a hug. 

"I'm so happy I could –" she looks into his eyes, and flicks her gaze away with a rosy blush. "Well, I could kiss y–"

He presses his lips to her forehead in a quick, sweet kiss. "I could too."