#at this rate this show is going to end up as lost media in a few decades.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Did you see that german netflix is removing iZombie by the end of the month? Currently trying to panic rewatch it (and being devastated by my boi Drake again).

I didn't see that! >:( Rude!

I mean, I got physical/offline copies of izombie. But I have to ponder what the point of keeping @Netflix will be when it's mostly my 'quick and pre-subtitled izombie stills dispenser'

[chiriwritesstuff]

The New Girl in Tinseltown; Chapter 3 - Fake Smile

A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: It's the weekend after, and it's back to reality for Doll and Dieter. Of course, the public is loving their sudden nuptials, but what about the important people in Doll's inner circle? Will they believe her through her lies? Meanwhile, Dieter will stop at nothing to prove that what they have between the two of them is real...

Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut lite, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Dieter and his fucking paintbrush, A hell of a lot of dirty banter, is that yearning?, mentions of devious deeds by sleazy people in show business, we introduce a few more characters, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, Someone gets a name reveal, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 7.3K (it seems like I can just go on and on and on...)

Song Inspo: ‘Fake Smile’ - Ariana Grande

The first time you found yourself in hot water with the media, it was all because of a little misunderstanding.

A stupid one, yes, but in Hollywood, things like simple misunderstandings were paydirt in the world of the paparazzi. What was even more fucked up was the more stupid the situation, the more they ate it up, and the more money they could make from you making a complete ass of yourself. 

TMZ News Flash: Up and-coming starlet arrested for assault of a homeless woman, maintains that it was a misunderstanding-

It was a few months into your career, and you found yourself recovering from a harsh casting call that left you feeling defeated. With your cap pulled low and sunglasses shielding your eyes, you dodged the paparazzi lurking outside the building where the audition was being held. Being labeled Hollywood's newest darling had thrust you into the spotlight faster than you could prepare for, and it felt like everyone was just waiting for you to slip up. It was only a matter of time...

“Look, Alex,” you whisper into your phone, pulling your sweater tight around you, and looking at your surroundings nervously. “I’m not going to land every role I audition for, it was just a bad case of nerves… anyway, give Mum and Dad my love, I’m about to head into the next audition-“ you tell your sister, checking your watch as you hurriedly make your way towards your destination a few buildings down. “… I love you, too. Speak soon, alright? Tell Zoe I love her.” 

Lost in your thoughts and the frustration of the day, you hurried along the sidewalk, oblivious to the world around you, when, suddenly, you are accosted by a homeless woman, her cup outstretched, her plea for spare change hanging in the air.

"Some change?" she asks, her cup dangerously close to your face. "I'm cold and hungry-"

You reach into your purse, fumbling for some coins. "Here you go," you offer, dropping them into her cup without a second thought.  

Instead of the dull thud of the change hitting the bottom of the cup, you're met with the tell-tell sound of a tiny splash, the homeless woman's eyes widening in shock and tiny horror.

"What the fuck, lady?" she screams, looking at her ruined cup of coffee. "Just because I'm out here begging for money doesn't mean you can be an asshole about it!"

"Oh shit, I am so sorry... wait, let me just run to Starbucks and get you a new one-" you stammer, your eyes scanning for the nearest coffee shop. You pull your sunglasses down slightly, squinting as you spot a café on the corner.

The woman tsks at you, her expression shifting as she suddenly recognizes you. "Hey, aren't you that actress from that movie-"

Your heart sinks as you freeze, the knot in your throat tightening. "Uh, yeah, that's me," you admit, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. "I really didn't mean to, I thought the cup was empty-"

"No way!" she exclaims, her voice drawing attention as she gestures wildly. "You're one of those celebs with the paparazzi on your tail, aren't you? Hey, you there!" She points to a man hiding nearby with a camera, catching his attention. "She just dumped her change in my coffee cup!"

"No, please," you whisper urgently to the woman, ducking as the man approaches, camera poised. "I just lost them, please, I can't deal with-"

"Doll! Doll!" he shouts, snapping pictures rapidly as you try to shield yourself. "How'd the audition go? What movie was it for?"

"No comment," you respond curtly, raising your arms to block the shots, the homeless woman's protests growing louder in the background.

"She just tossed her coins in my cup, what a clueless bimbo!" she shouts, gripping your hand and pulling you closer. "Hey, where do you think you're going? You still owe me a coffee!"

"Please, I don't want to make a scene-" You struggle to break free, but in the chaos, your purse swings out, accidentally smacking the woman across the face as you tumble to the ground.

"You bitch!" she screams, clutching her cheek. "Did you see that? She attacked me-"

"No, it was an accident, I swear!" you plead, but your voice is drowned out by the relentless clicks of the cameras.

Later, at the police station on La Cienega.  

"Doll," your publicist murmurs as he guides you out the back entrance of the police station, shielding your face from the frenzy of paparazzi. With a protective arm around you, he ushers you into the waiting car, pushing aside the relentless onslaught of cameras.

Once safely inside the Lincoln Continental, you both exhale in relief as Nathan orders the driver to go, the sound of the engine drowning out the chaos outside.

"I warned you about this," Nathan sighs, glancing at his buzzing phone. "I told you things would get crazy after 'Little Star' hit theaters. You can't afford to be careless now. What were you thinking, getting yourself into a situation like that?"

"I don't know, Nate," you sigh, "... maybe I wasn't thinking," you admit, frustration evident in your voice. "How was I supposed to know that trying to do a good deed was going to backfire like this? It's not like I approached her, she took me by surprise!"

"But did you need to assault the poor woman?" he exclaims, his brow raised in disbelief.  

You give him a look, crossing your arms across your chest as you gaze outside the car window. 'I apologized, alright? It's not like she's the one suffering from all of this, I missed the audition, only because I thought I was doing her a favor! Fuck!"

Nathan shakes his head, his expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Look. I get it, but you're not just anyone anymore, Doll. Every move you make is under a microscope. We need damage control, fast... and maybe some media training while we're at it. It's like trying to tame a fucking feral cat or something-"

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Yeah, I know. We'll figure it out. But for now, let's just get out of here."

As the car pulls away from the chaos outside, you sink back into your seat, feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones. This was just the beginning of a long battle against public scrutiny, and you knew it was going to be a tough fight.

The next time you found yourself in the headlines for a scandal, it was when the tiny part of your mind decided that it was a good idea to get eloped with a man you barely even know.

Present Day. 8a - Meeting with your Publicist (Nathan 'The Shark' Smith)

WhatsApp Message from Dieter:  Are you there yet? Doll: Just parked. Sitting in my car outside of the studio. What are you doing up so early? I swear, you sleep like the dead. Dieter: Woke up to a cold bed. Maybe fuck the meeting with the Shark and come home. My cock misses you. I miss you.  Dieter: (Sends a picture of said cock, fully erect and the mushroom tip bright red and angry, with Dieter's face in a frown). Doll: I can't keep avoiding him, D. Plus, I have my screen test today. Your cock is just going to have to wait, sorry baby. Dieter: Could you just send me a photo of your tits at least?  

"What the fuck were you thinking, Doll?"

You roll your eyes as you flop onto your publicist's couch, crossing your arms around your chest. "Spare me the theatrics, Nathan. What's done is done, there's no point in dwelling in the past-"

"Do you have any idea just how much your little stunt is going to cost you? We were so close to landing Disney, and now I don't know how I'm going to convince them that you haven't lost your goddamn mind!" Nathan's voice reverberates through the room as he rips his glasses off his face.

"You pay me to protect you, to guide you down the right path, and you go and hook up with the first guy who winks at you? At a goddamn In-N-Out?! And let's not even talk about this sham of a marriage-"

"I was drunk, Nathan! I did what a normal person would have done if they drank as much as I did! And marrying Dieter isn't the end of the world! Maybe you need to loosen up a bit!"

"You don't even know him, Doll! This is as close to career suicide as it gets, and I'm not sure I want to try to salvage this mess!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. The damage is done! we just have to deal with it," you say defiantly, pulling out your phone.

"Maybe he roofied you or something," he mutters to himself, pacing back and forth. "If you want, we could take a drug test, maybe prove that somehow... he manipulated you into marrying him. Maybe, we could get the police involved, and you won't have to go through with this shit show! "

"There was no manipulation!" you retort, "these things happen all the damn time! how do you think these 24-hour drive-thru wedding chapels survive? I don't see the problem of two consenting adults agreeing to marry each other!"

"Have you seen what the news outlets have been saying about you? Half of them are already calling it a sham, while the other half thinks that you're knocked up!" he throws a stack of newspaper off his desk, the pages fluttering in the air as they land near where you sit. 

You reach for the top gossip magazine in the towering stack, and your heart sinks as you're greeted by a blown-up photo of you and Dieter in Marcus's convertible. Both of you have flushed faces, yet there's an undeniable spark of happiness in your eyes.  

Hollywood Sweetheart marries Hollywood Lothario Dieter Bravo at a Las Vegas Wedding Chapel after being caught having public sex at popular fast food spot In N Out...

You shake your head at that, tossing it back onto the table, not wanting to think of the implications and emotions behind the photo.  

"I don't give a damn about the news outlets!" you snap back, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Let them speculate all they want. I'm not going to let some gossip rags dictate my life."

Nathan sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Doll, you're playing with fire here. You're on the verge of ruining your career, and for what? A drunken mistake?"

"It's not just about that," you argue, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you. "There's more to it than you realize."

"Then enlighten me," Nathan challenges, his tone softer now, a hint of concern seeping through his frustration. "Help me understand why you're willing to risk everything for someone you barely know."

"It's like he sees through all the bullshit," you murmur to Nathan, a pang of melancholy coloring your words. "While everyone else is busy painting me as this flawless figure, Dieter's the one who looks beyond the facade. He's not afraid to acknowledge the messy, imperfect parts of me, the ones I try to keep hidden."

With a sigh, you retrieve a cigarette from your purse and light it, the smoke swirling around you in the dimly lit room. "He's seen and experienced things most people shy away from, yet he's still unapologetically himself. There's a raw honesty to him that I find... refreshing."

 He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe it's best to give it a few months, let people think it wasn't a mistake, and just..." His voice trails off, the unspoken suggestion hanging in the air.

"Why do you think I'm in this industry? I am good at what I do, and besides... I don't think it would be that hard, pretending to be with him. He's... different, like a completely different person when he's with me. He has this way of making me feel-"

"Objectified? Like a good little slut for daddy?"

"Understood, Nathan," you reply sharply, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. "He makes me feel seen," you add with a sigh, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your tone. "Do you think we could wrap this up? I've got a screen test to prepare for."

"You sound like you're smitten with something," he snarks, typing away at his computer. "I don't know what to tell you, Doll," Nathan says, his tone laden with concern. "I just can't see this ending well. Dieter's like a disease, spreading toxicity wherever he goes. It's only a matter of time before he poisons you too."

9a. Trailer. 

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in, Mrs. Dieter Bravo, in the flesh!"

You put on the best fake smile you could muster, pulling your shades off as you enter your trailer, your 'glam squad' already waiting to help you prep for your screen test. "Good morning to you too, ladies," you reply, taking a sip of your coffee. "Shall we get started?"

"That's it, Doll? you're not gonna give us the scoop?" Your hairstylist teases, "You're just going to pretend like you didn't do something so fucking insane like getting hitched in Vegas? To Dieter Bravo of all people? Are we nothing to you?!" she exclaims, taking you by the shoulders as she playfully shoves you onto her chair.  

"I don't know what else I could tell you besides that yes, I got married over the weekend, I mean, it was all over TMZ for everyone to see-"

"I have to ask," Sofia chimes in, giving you a sly smile as she looks at you through the mirror, combing your hair back into a low ponytail. "Is he as big as they say he is?"

"You know, a normal person would say congratulations to someone who just got married."

"I mean, why waste time with congratulations when we can get down to the nitty-gritty? The people don't give a shit about the pleasantries, we wanna know about the good stuff. So, Spill: is he packing or not?"

"Sorry, Sof, a lady doesn't fuck and tell," you say with a saccharine smile, rolling your eyes.

"I'm shocked, honestly," your PA slash childhood best friend Daisy muses, typing away on her phone as she settles on the chair next to yours. "I had no idea you were seeing Dieter before this past weekend," she says with a hint of what someone could perceive as suspicion. "I'm glued to your side 24-7. Surely, I would have noticed that you were fucking him. Dieter Bravo isn't known for being subtle."

"Just because I live under a microscope doesn't mean I don't know how to keep things on the down low, Daisy. I can have a relationship and keep it secret from the world, celebrities do it all the time."

"What I don't understand is if you were so hell-bent on keeping your relationship with Dieter under wraps in the first place, why have such a shitshow of a wedding?" Daisy challenges, throwing her phone on the workspace in front of you as she turns to look at you, an unimpressed look on her face. "Something doesn't add up."

"What are you trying to say, Dais?" 

"I'm saying, you were seen sucking face with Adam Patterson at Sundance not even two weeks ago, so I think I'm trying to say that you're full of shit," she retorts, her eyes narrowed as she stares you down.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb, Doll. I know everything about your life, I'm your best friend, for fucks sake! If you were with Dieter Bravo, I would've known. I live right next door to you!"

"Well, maybe I just wanted something that was mine, Daisy. Don't I deserve that?"

She scoffs incredulously. "Does Alex know?"

"Of course Alex knows, she's my sister!" you counter, hoping she doesn't catch the slight waver in your voice, your tell when you're not telling the whole truth.

"BUT I'M YOUR BEST FRIEND! I COME FIRST!"

You're taken aback by Daisy's sudden outburst, Sofia and Poppy exchanging uncomfortable glances as the tension escalates. 

"So that's what this is about, then? You're just pissed because you found out like everyone else on TMZ? I'm entitled to privacy, Daisy! I have secrets. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but a relationship involves two people, and we both agreed to keep it quiet-"

"Oh spare me with that self-righteous bullshit, Doll!" she spits, rising from her seat. "This isn't you! It's like I'm talking to a fucking stranger right now!" She pushes past you as she makes her way out of the trailer. "You can have your secrets, but just remember, I know the ones that COUNT, remember that."

"Dais, come on, I said I'm sorry!" you call out after her, feeling a pang of guilt as she flicks you off and slams the trailer door shut.

"That went well," Sofia observes dryly as she starts working on your hair again. You wince a little as she smooths out the strands, already dreading what might come next.

"Hey Sof, instead of the braid, do you think we could leave my hair down? Maybe add some curls and give it that messy-but-sexy vibe?" you suggest, hoping for a change from the usual routine.

"I mean, yeah, that could look really hot, but Nate told me we were going for a more virginal look-" Sofia begins, her hesitation evident.

"Seriously? My character's supposed to be around my age, not some naive teenager," you argue, feeling exasperated. "Surely she wouldn't still be a virgin."

"You know what? You're right," Sofia concedes, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Sometimes us girlies just have a tough time finding love, right? That doesn't mean we can't look hot in the process! Wow Doll, look at you, spicing it up a bit! Finally! Should I send my gratitude to your new beau?"

You recall the way Dieter looked at you during the gala, his fingers gently brushing your hair back as he smiled warmly. "I love it when you wear your hair like this," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "It's so sexy, it's more you, you know?"

"Yeah, maybe," you breathe, smiling. "He likes it when my hair is down, but I think I like it, too." 

Sofia nods in agreement, smiling at you through the mirror. "I think I like it, too. Look at you," she teases. "Little miss sweetheart, growing up."

Later, after the screen test.

"Are you out of your mind?" Nathan's screams reverberate through the confines of your car, causing you to wince as you pull out of the parking lot. "I specifically told you we were going for a girl-next-door vibe, and you show up looking like a slut?! I swear, the next time I see Dieter Bravo, I'm wringing his neck!"

"I don't see how this is his fault, though. I told Sofie and Poppy about the edits, and they seemed to be on board," you retort defensively. "I have a mind of my own, Nate, no one is influencing me in my decisions, how many times do I have to tell you that?! I'm not some fucking doll you can play with!"

"Well, the Doll I knew before wouldn't be acting like this! It's like you were body snatched or something!"

"I'll have you know, Favreau loved the change, and thought it made sense for the character!"

"I don't give a damn what Favreau thinks!" Nathan snaps, his voice rising in frustration. "You're letting Dieter run your life, and it's ruining your career, Doll. I won't stand by and watch you throw everything away for some fling!"

"I'm hanging up now, Nathan," you declare firmly, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I don't need this right now."

Without waiting for a response, you end the call and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The weight of Nathan's words lingers, but you push them aside, focusing on the road ahead as you navigate through the winding streets back to Dieter's house.

As you navigate the winding roads back to the Hollywood Hills, the argument with Nathan still ringing in your ears, you can feel your frustration mounting. The car ride is tense, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Nathan's accusations replay in your mind, his anger leaving you feeling both defensive and conflicted. You glance at your reflection in the rearview mirror, taking in your appearance. Your outfit, chosen in haste, suddenly feels like a glaring mistake.

The sight of Dieter's house coming into view offers a small sense of relief. You pull into the driveway, noticing the moving boxes scattered across the lawn. The realization hits you that this is now your home, too.

Stepping out of the car, you're greeted by the chaos of movers bustling about, carrying boxes and furniture into the house. Dieter appears in the doorway, concern etched on his face as he approaches you.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, reaching out to touch your arm gently. "You look upset."

"Nathan," you sigh, shaking your head. "He's convinced that everything is your fault."

Dieter's expression darkens, his jaw tightening. "I'll have a word with him," he mutters, his tone laced with frustration.

You offer him a weak smile, appreciating his support. As you follow him into the house, the weight of the day's events begins to lift. You walk into the massive living room, a far cry from your own modest LA flat in Silver Lake. Your eyes widen as you take in your knickknacks amongst Dieter’s gothic decor, your collection of Sonny Angels and their smiling faces alongside Dieter’s collection of what you think are first editions of every Edgar Allen Poe book imaginable, in pristine condition, you might add. You chuckle at the juxtaposition, two very different personalities coming together that shouldn’t work in theory, but look harmonious together anyway. You can't help but smile at the sight, touched by Dieter's thoughtful gesture. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you turn to him, feeling a rush of gratitude and emotion that you can't quite place. "Dieter..."

"Do you like it?" He asks eagerly, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You find yourself sinking into the embrace, comforted by his warmth as he pulls you onto the sofa beside him. "I thought you might need a little sanctuary after your meeting with The Shark," he continues, shooting you a playful look. "Marcus did most of the unpacking, but I pitched in! It's like you've always been here, doesn't it feel like home?" His words touch you deeply, and you can't help but wonder if maybe there's some truth to the idea that you belong here with him, despite the unconventional circumstances of your marriage.

You sink into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. "I love it," you confess softly, snuggling closer to him as he strokes your hair. "It's cozy, it's... us." You pause, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice. "But what if someone sees through our little charade? What if they start asking questions again?"

"I'm glad you love it," he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "And trust me, with this setup, no one will doubt us for a second. It's like our little secret hideaway," he adds with a chuckle. "But hey, if anyone tries to interrogate you again, just send them my way. I'll handle them." He flashes you a reassuring smile, his eyes full of warmth.

"Hopefully it doesn't get to that point, but Nate surely thinks I'm close to killing my career," you say, a touch of worry creeping into your voice.

"So I'm guessing your meeting with Nathan didn't go too well then?"

"Oh, he accused you of drugging me at the gala and threatened to go to the police-" you tease, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm pretty sure he thinks that I've been body snatched or lobotomized-"

"No, you've made a pact with the devil, and now... it seems he's come to collect," he breathes into your ear, his fingers tracing a tantalizing path down to the waistband of your jeans, sending shivers down your spine as they caress your skin. You gasp as he unbuckles your jeans, sliding your zipper down slowly as his hands make their way to your center.

He hums in appreciation as his fingers graze the edge of your panties, a smirk playing on his lips as he feels how wet you are. "What do you say, Mrs. Bravo? Are you gonna let your husband take care of you?"

"... and just how are you planning to take care of me, D?" you moan as his fingers push your panties aside, squirming as they slowly start to part your folds.

"I can think of a few ways, but there's something specific I had in mind," Dieter says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued by his sudden excitement.

"I want to show you something," he announces, springing off the couch and grabbing your hand, pulling you to your feet.

Dieter leads you through the spacious home, his steps purposeful and eager. As you approach what seems to be a nondescript door, he turns to you with a smile that hints at anticipation. With a theatrical flourish, he swings the door open, revealing a room bathed in natural light, filled with the scent of paint and creativity.

"This is my sanctuary," he says softly, his eyes gleaming with pride as he gestures for you to enter.

Your heart flutters with excitement and curiosity as you step into the room. Your eyes widen at the sight before you—a massive canvas dominating one wall, covered in vibrant colors and intricate brushstrokes.

"It's breathtaking," you murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from the masterpiece before you.

Dieter steps beside you, his presence comforting yet electrifying. "I painted it for you," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're speechless, your heart pounding with a mixture of awe and gratitude. As you take in the details of the painting—a stunning array of orchids in hues of crimson, violet, and gold—you feel a warmth spreading through you.

"It's... it's incredible," you finally manage to say, your voice filled with emotion.

Dieter's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense yet tender. "I wanted to capture the essence of your beauty, the depth of your spirit," he explains softly. "Every stroke, every color—it's all for you."

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you reach out to touch the canvas, feeling the texture of the paint beneath your fingertips. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of his creation, you realize just how deeply he sees you, how much he understands.

"I don't know what to say," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

"You don't have to say anything," Dieter replies, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. "Just know that this painting is a reflection of my budding love for you, a testament to the beauty I see in you every day."

"When did you have the time to even paint this? This must have taken months-"

Dieter chuckles softly, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he watches your reaction to the painting.

"I've poured my heart and soul into this piece," he admits, his voice tinged with pride. "But it's not quite finished yet."

"What more could you possibly add? It looks perfect to me," you reply, admiring the intricate details of the painting.

"Have you heard of the artist Georgia O'Keeffe?" Dieter asks, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "She had a way of painting flowers up close and personal, in a style that some found suggestive."

"You mean the whole 'vagina flower' controversy?" you chuckle, recalling the scandal. "People always read too much into things. Sometimes a flower is just a flower."

"Yes, but you're more than just a beautiful flower to me," Dieter murmurs as he approaches you from behind, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt one by one.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine as you feel the warmth of his breath against your neck. You lean back into him, feeling his presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace. As your shirt falls to the ground, forgotten, you turn to face him, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

"Beautiful," he rasps, his hand blindly grabbing a clean paintbrush from his workstation. "What a fucking masterpiece you are, my darling girl."

He rests the paintbrush at the hollow of your neck, his gaze tracing a path down your body as he delicately sweeps it along your clavicle, then down to your sternum. The pressure is just right, sending a shiver down your spine and raising goosebumps across your skin.  

"I've painted many things in my life, but never on a canvas as perfect as you," he murmurs, a small smirk playing on his lips as he trails the brush along the curve of your breasts, flicking it teasingly against your nipple.

You let out a soft moan, your head tilting back as his mouth hovers over the sensitive tip. "Dieter," you plead, your eyes locking with his in desperation. "Please, paint me with your tongue."

Meanwhile, at the LAX baggage claim...

"Eddie! Focus!" Alex screams into her phone as she grabs her luggage at the carousel at LAX. "Do you think she would still be at her flat?"

"I would assume that since she's married the bloke, she would be living with him, surely, as her sister you would know this?" he croons, groaning.  

"Well, I thought she told me everything, but my obvious shock of her being bloody married should tell you why I'm even in LA in the first place! What if she's gotten into those drugs that this Bravo character is into? Did you hear about that rumor with the ferret?"

"Okay, point taken," Eddie replies, clearing his throat. "Tell me why you felt like it was necessary to book the first flight out of Heathrow for this again? Doesn't Daisy live next door to her flat? Why are you asking me when you could just ask her?"

"Ugh, don't even get me started on that twat," Alex moans, rolling her luggage, walking in circles anxiously. "I seriously think she's a lost cause, just mooching off of my poor sister who is too sweet to know better. Do you know that she pays for her flat? Doll already pays her a good salary, I don't see how she has to also pay for her rent-"

Eddie chuckles. "Is that bitterness I sense, my pearl? She is her best friend, it's not completely out of the ordinary. Besides, it's not like your sister didn't set us up with these sweet digs in the city, London isn't exactly cheap, baby. Don't be an ungrateful cunt, honey. Your ugliness is show-"

"Eddie! For fucks sake, focus!" Your sister cuts her boyfriend off, almost bumping into a family as she tries to navigate her way out of the LAX terminal. She winces as a group of tired eyes glare back at her, shrugging her shoulders and mouthing an apology as she walks past. "How in the hell am I going to find out where this Dieter lives? It's not like I could ask the first person I see if they know where Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo lives-"

"Actually," Eddie chuckles through the phone, "That's not a bad idea, Alex. Maybe you should head downtown and grab one of those 'Maps of the Stars' things and catch a ride on a tour bus. Don't they use those double-decker buses? It'll be like you're back in merry ol' London!"

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Do you have any better ideas?" he deadpans, the sounds of the latest football match blaring on the TV. "You could always give Daisy a ring, I'm sure she would love to chauffeur the princess' sister around Los Angeles like the entitled queen she thinks she is-"

"Oh, Piss off Eddie. I'll talk to you later. Say goodnight to Zoe for me, alright? and don't forget to take the trash out in the morning!" 

"I'm not going to tell your fucking dog goodnight, Alex. Just go find your stupid sister, give her a piece of your mind, have her give you some "sorry" money, and then come back home, you know how cranky I get when the laundry piles up-"

"GoodBYE, Eddie." Alex rolls her eyes as she hangs up on her boyfriend of seven years, muttering fucking asshole under her breath as she rifles through her purse for her ciggies. She takes a long drag as she looks out into the sunny sky of Los Angeles, a welcome change to the dreariness of London. She checks her phone once more, a photo of two smiling teenage girls smiling back at her.  

She smiles at the memory of the day when the photo was taken, the day of your adoption into her family after what happened before your abrupt removal from your family home.  "We're officially sisters, Baby Doll! You're finally free!" Alex exclaims, her arms around your shoulders as you laugh in glee "I'm so grateful for everything, Alex! For you and your family… taking me in after what happened at the chur-" She shakes out of the memory, checking the time. Taking another drag, she presses on your contact and takes a deep breath, the line trilling in her ear.  

The person you're trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone-

"Fucking hell, Doll," she groans, shoving her sunglasses onto her face as she turns to the man that is looking at his phone next to her. 

"Excuse me, Sir-"

"Those things will kill you, you know," the man replies, not bothering to look up from his screen. 

"Haha, yeah, listen- would it be easier to catch a cab, or is there some sort of rail system I could take into the city from here?" she asks, adjusting her tote bag on her shoulder.

"I could tell you, but I honestly don't care to," the man retorts, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. He pockets his phone into his pocket and walks away, shaking his head in annoyance. "Fucking tourists-"

"Oi! Go fuck yourself!" Alex screams back at the man, giving him the bird as he jumps into an Uber. Her eyes widen at the sight of a cherry red double-decker bus, 'Tour of the Stars!' emblazoned off the side of it.  

"Holy fuck, Eddie- you're a fucking genius!" she exclaims to herself, hurriedly pulling her luggage to the back of the line of excited tourists. "Who would have thought that bastard could think of something so brilliant?!"

"Do you think we'll get a glimpse of Doll now that she married Dieter Bravo?" a man asks his friend as they wait in line. "Did you see that video of the two of them at the In n Out? her tits looked so massive in his hands!"

"What a lucky bastard, right? I bet she's such a dirty girl under that sweet fucking exterior of hers, what I would do to be able to tap that!" his friend replies, chuckling at himself, smiling like he's said something so fucking profound. "Bravo must live in that sweet pussy of hers, she must taste so fucking sweet, maybe we should go up to his front door and ask to see if he was interested in a gang bang, it's not like he hasn't been caught in one before-"

"Oi!" Alex exclaims, her face red with frustration as she points at the group of men. "Watch your fucking mouth! That's my fucking sister you're talking about!"

"Yeah, and I'm the President of the United States," the man replies, sneering at her. "Doesn't your mommy teach you it's rude to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" he scoffs, high-fiving his friend. "If she was your sister, why are you in line for 'Tour of the Stars'? I know girls can be crazy, but you're living in la-la-land, lady!"

"Yeah? Well, I wanted to surprise her," Alex retorts, her demeanor growing flustered under the scrutiny of the group of men.

"Well, hate to break it to you, but I don't quite see the resemblance, sweetheart. Maybe if you got some plastic surgery, and I squint my eyes just right, maybe it could happen for you."

As they board the bus, Marty, the tour guide, announces enthusiastically, "Alright folks, buckle up! We're about to embark on a star-studded adventure, touring the homes of Hollywood's elite!"

The men who had been teasing Alex hoot and holler in excitement, egging Marty on with raucous cheers.

"We'll be swinging by Dieter Bravo's estate up in the Hills," Marty continues, adjusting his microphone. "It's one of the hottest properties in town, folks! Who knows, maybe we'll catch a glimpse of the man himself or even his famous wife! They just got married in Las Vegas over the weekend, how exciting, right?"

Alex rolls her eyes at the mention of Doll, already dreading the attention her sister's marriage attracts. But she stays silent, focusing on keeping her composure amid the rowdy crowd.

As the bus winds its way through the glamorous streets of Hollywood, Marty regales the passengers with tales of celebrity scandals and triumphs. An hour into the tour, they finally stop in front of a lavish mansion nestled among the hills.

"This is it, folks! The home of the one and only Dieter Bravo!" Marty announces, his voice filled with excitement.

Alex's heart skips a beat as she recognizes your BMW X4 behind the gates and manicured hedges. With a surge of adrenaline, she jumps to her feet, shouting over the din of the other passengers, "Stop the bus!"

"No can do, lady. Don't want to risk another lawsuit," Marty replies with a chuckle.

"But she's my sister! Please, just for a moment, I need to see her."

But Marty remains firm, his tone unwavering. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't make any exceptions. And even if she were your sister, why would you be on this tour bus?"

He glances at Alex skeptically, a furrow forming on his brow. "Seems like we're attracting all sorts of characters today," he muttered under his breath. "Crazier by the minute."

Feeling frustrated and desperate, Alex makes a split-second decision. "Oh, fuck this-" She lunges for the door handle and, without hesitation, jumps out of the bus.

"Hey!" Marty screams, the bus grinding to a halt. "Get back in here!" he yells as she slams onto the hot asphalt.  

"No, can't, shant!" she screams back at the bus, "I won't tell it was you if you just drive away, no harm no foul?"

"... good enough for me!" Marty yells back, motioning to the tour bus driver. "onto the next one!" 

The group of men who had teased her earlier chuckled. "Good luck finding your 'sister,'" one of them jeered sarcastically as the bus pulled away.

"Fuck, why do I keep putting myself through this?" Alex groans, wincing as she tries to steady herself, her scraped knees and wrists a testament to her rough landing. With determination in her stride, she approaches the gates, her heart pounding in her chest. Surprisingly, she finds them slightly ajar, allowing her to slip through the heavy iron. Wheeling her luggage along, she heads toward what she hopes is the front door and tentatively knocks. "Hello?"

Growing impatient, Alex begins to pound on the door. "Hey, I know you're in there! Open the damn door!" she screams, frustration evident in her voice. As the door suddenly swings open, she's met with the sight of a handsome man, his annoyance matching her own.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Oh—" Alex gasped, clearly flustered and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sir," She glanced back at the map, her eyes darting around her surroundings. "I thought this was the residence of Dieter Bravo. I must be mistaken—"

"Listen, lady, are you in need of medical assistance? Do you need me to call the rehab center that you clearly looked like you escaped from?"

"I beg your pardon?" Alex snaps, her frustration evident in her clenched fists as she strides back up to the man in front of her, her patience wearing thin. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to deal with this arrogant jerk. It's such a shame such a beautiful man like him is such a tool, she thinks to herself through her annoyance.

"Look, I've just had a grueling flight from Heathrow after a massive row with my boyfriend. He can't fathom why I needed to fly thousands of miles to LA to see my sister, who's apparently decided to get married by some Elvis impersonator on a whim. Clearly, she's lost her mind, and I've come all the way here to figure out just what the hell has gotten into her! So, if you're not Doll—"

"You're Doll's sister?" Marcus asks incredulously, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, I'm Doll's sister. What does it look like?"

Marcus scoffs, his eyes disbelieving as they roam over her figure, his smirk growing wider. "Sure, if you're her sister, then I'm the queen of England."

"What is that supposed to mean, you prick?"

"Listen, don't get me wrong, you are a gorgeous woman, but I don't see the family resemblance."

"She's my adoptive sister, you moron!"

"That's what they all say, sweetheart."

"OH!" Your voice pierces the silence of the mansion, both Alex and Marcus startled by the sudden outburst. "Fuck Dieter, just like THAT!"

"Oh bugger this!" Alex exclaims, pushing Marcus aside as she storms through the mansion. "For fucks sake! Christabella!" she shouts, opening up every door she comes across. "BELLA! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" She shouts, making her way towards Dieter's studio. "BELLA! I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!"

"Hey!" Marcus shouts back at Alex, his composure barely hanging on by a thread. "You can't just enter someone's private property, I could have you arrested!"

"Yeah, well just call my lawyer, then. He is on my sister's payroll, after all!" she sing-songs, making her way up to the door leading to Dieter's studio. "BELLA!" she shouts as she opens the door, gasping at the sudden sight of the both of you stark naked on the floor, with Dieter railing you from behind. You scream at the sudden intrusion, scrambling to cover yourself.

"Dieter," Marcus huffs, "I am so sorry, she just came storming in, saying that shes-"

"Alex!" you squeak, "What are you doing here?"

Dieter looks back at the angry face of your sister, his own expression shifting to confusion. "Who the hell are you?"

"Christa-fuck-abella Martin," Alex seethes, "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"... and who the hell is Christabella?" Dieter asks out loud, rolling himself on the floor in exhaustion.

You grimace as your sister rolls her eyes, throwing Dieter's discarded robe at the both of you. "Please don't tell me you married my sister in that hell hole and you don't even know her real name, mate."

Taglist:@yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte

@drewharrisonwriter@missladym1981@amyispxnk@thespookywookies@stevie75

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings@daydream-believer19@survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @gobaaby-blog-blog

[tittiedshrek]

I made the mistake of looking at Twitter to catch up on the whole WBD/HBO Max situation and one thing that particularly pissed me off were the considerable amount of people going "oh well, x show didn't have an audience/sucked anyway so who cares".

Ignoring that shows like Infinity Train were some of the top rated and most streamed shows on their platform, it's such a disrespectful way of looking at this situation and it also misses the entire point of why animation fans like me are upset.

All of the shows that WBD/HBO Max are pulling are a product of months - if not years - of writing, storyboarding, animating, voice acting, editing, etc. These shows were made by a whole team of talented, hard-working professionals who gave it their all to tell their story in the best way that they can, and a lot of them had to continue working even through a global pandemic while all live action projects were halted. That's years of hard work all yoinked completely off the service, their entire art portfolio made completely inaccessible to view, and an entire section of high-quality shows featuring great representation, storytelling, and animation that kids will never be able to access.

All art has value - yes, even the shows you don't like. This isn't about your personal preferences, this is about the imporance of media preservation and the fact that your favorite streaming-exclusive show today can be pulled and entirely erased from the public eye tomorrow; it's about the lack of respect for the creators of these shows - who weren't even told that their shows were being pulled - and the lack of respect for fans of these shows, who now have no legal way of rewatching or financially supporting their favorite works; and it's about the clear and distinct lack of respect for the animation medium from giant corporations like WBD and Netflix, and how they would be more than happy to continue to underpay, overwork, and screw over young and inspiring talents while convincing the public that it's a "dream job".

It doesn't matter that you didn't watch or you didn't like the shows that are being removed from HBO Max. Content has become more disposable with the rise of streaming, and the creators of these IPs don't even own the rights to them; they're owned by giant corporations who care more about the profit margins they'll make in the short-term. A lot of these shows may end up becoming lost forever, and that's the problem here.

[pitifulwolves]

Baby girl

Just a lil sneak peek for the fic I’m writing ☺️

Current rating: General (will change when the fic is finished)

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Rise of the Beasts

Relationships: Noah Diaz/Mirage (Transformers)

Characters: Noah Diaz (Transformers), Mirage (Transformers), Kris Diaz (Transformers)

Additional tags: “Accidental” Flirting, Mirage doesn't understand humans as well as he thinks, Flirting, Pet Names, Misunderstandings, feelings are reciprocated don't worry, Feelings Realisation, Light Angst, Other tags to be added, Rise of the Beasts spoilers

Words: 900+ (will change once posted in full)

Mirage was pretty well adapted to human interactions, from pop culture references to general personal relationships, in his eyes he has it pretty down pat.

Of course, in reality, the cybertronian couldn’t know everything, after all, movies and music could only teach him so much.

This, unfortunately, meant that some things got lost in social translation, and what Mirage expected to be universal- was not.

Mirage had recently fallen into the knowledge of pet names and nicknames amongst humans and interpreted it as a general show of affection between two people.

The memo he missed, however? Was the distinct difference between platonic and romantic pet names.

And that's how they ended up in their current situation.

Noah had just finished replacing Mirage's front bumper, the Autobot having practically ripped it off while out running a cop car during the last of his and Noah's escapades (the G.O.Es hadn't been too pleased about having to cover that little incident up).

Noah looked over Mirage’s freshly repaired front, checking to make sure everything looked right and sleek. He tilted his head to one side, mentally praising himself a little before asking “How’s that feel Raj’? Not outta place or anything?”

“Feels good man! You know you're getting pretty good at fixin’ me up, hell maybe even as good as our medics!” mirage stated, taking a moment to shift into his cybertronian form, stretching out his joints, letting out a much too casual and perky “Thanks for the repair baby girl”

“Woah- what did you jus- what did you just say?” Noah's eyes were wide at Mirage’s words, his face flushing as he spluttered over his words.

“What? Am I not allowed to thank my bro for fixing me up?” Mirage gave him a quizzical, clearly not catching onto the cause of Noah's flustered state.

“What- I never said that- you just called me ‘baby girl’ man, where did that come from?” Noah pointed out, hoping Mirage would realise his ‘slip up’.

“Well we're bros, right? It's, y’know, a nickname” Mirage explained with a small shrug “I don't get what the big deal is”

Noah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose

“Pet name, Raj’, what you just called me, was a pet name”

“Okay, so? What's the difference? Aren't they both like, human affection things?”

“Technically yeah but- that one? That one’s usually saved for partners Raj’” Noah half laughed.

Noah looked up, eyebrows immediately furrowing at the look of hurt comes over Mirage's face, his voice having a small static crack as he asked

“What- so we’re not partners?”

“Hey- no, thats not what I meant-“

“No, I get it man, it’s cool” Mirage scoffed, ready to turn away from the brunette.

“Mirage- man listen-” 

“Noah, it’s fine, really-“


“Raj’ I didn’t mean that kind of partner!”

Mirage’s shoulders decompressed a little at Noahs words.

“Well what did you mean then?” Mirage asked, arms creaking as they folded over his metal frame.

“I mean like- that kinda shit is for people who are dating man- you know, that kind of partner” Noah’s eyes had shifted towards the ground now, an odd pang of pain going through him as the words left his mouth.

But of course, they weren’t like that, they were just. Work friends.

Mirage gave a small ‘oh’ his voice unusually small, sounding almost disappointed.

“Hey, we’re still bros, Raj’” Noah spoke, giving a halfhearted smile.

“Yeah, bros” Mirage echoed, his voice barely above a whisper, optics trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Noah. 

The atmosphere in the garage had shifted dramatically, a weight now hanging heavy in the air, and both of them knew it, but only one knew why.

As much as Mirage didn’t grasp all human shows of affection well, he was still very aware of his own feelings for Noah.

Gauging how Noah felt on the other hand, was a much more demanding task.

The banter they had, in humans, it could easily be brushed off as friendly, and nothing more than a joke, but Mirage held the hope that maybe, just maybe it was more than that to Noah.

Since their little, incident, Noah had been a little off around Mirage, no longer throwing back witty replies to Mirages teasing, only giving short acknowledgements of the Autobots words.

Even their late night drives became less and less frequent, and Noah was only found in the garage if he had to be there. Kris was the first to notice this. 



“So, what’s goin’ on with you and Mirage?” He asked through a mouthful of cereal, not even looking up at his brother as he spoke.

Noah’s eyebrows furrowed a little, tending to some near on burnt pancakes sitting on his plate, attempting to make them more appetising with a dousing of maple syrup.

"What do you mean? Everything's good with me n' Raj'" he responded, his tone just he slightest bit too defensive

"That why he's been moping alone in the garage?" Kris countered, finally looking up at

Noah, eyebrow raised questioningly.

Noah huffed out a sigh "It's grown up stuff Kris, nothing you need to worry your little head about, yeah?"

Kris rolled his eyes at Noahs response 
"whatever, you should still talk to him though, he won't stop listening to that stupid backstreet boys song" 

Noah rubbed a hand over his face, sighing yet again before nodding
"Yeah… Alright, I'll talk to him tonight"

@rottedmolarx

[packet-of-staples]

Major Spoilers for AA ahead btw.

I just wanna talk about how fucked of a situation Angela is also put in because of the Escape from Arcadia publicity stunt. She was being strung along by Vivian to make her more money, she thought she was helping save someone's life, someone who she comes to really care for in the end. Only to find out she had been manipulated into turning Trevor's life upside down for the sake of ratings, basically the opposite of what she was trying to do.

And it's hard to wish she had never done it because she thought he was going to die! Her options, unbeknownst to her were, let this guy possibly die and live with the guilt of that or Traumatise Trevor and unknowingly give her evil boss more money. Like?? What a shitty position to be put it even if you didnt initially know it.

Not to mention the stress of having to hack into her job's technology and the possibility of getting into major trouble. She could have been caught at any time and fired. Walton OWNS her apartment guys. Kendra or Javert could have caught her at any time, fired her and she would have lost her income and probably her home. Then what would have happened? Would Vivian have just chosen a new employee to take her place to continue """"helping"""" Trevor?

Not to mention that Angela is never going to trust any authority saying they'll help her again after number 6. She trusted them! She was relying on them the guide her through this, following their orders (mostly) because she thought they were also trying to help Trevor. No. 6 was the only other person to she could confide in through the ordeal, everyone else around her aside from Trevor were basically enemies. She shit talked Vivian to No 6 so often and told them all of her plans and just god GOD!!! How awful is that, the one person you trusted to guide you was guiding you right into their claws.

Then for Vivian to turn around and blame Angela for the parts that got out of control. That never would have happened if you had left Trevor alone or you know, canceled the show?

Also there I very much doubt she would ever be able to find a job in her field again, being the person who 'betrayed' Walton Media helped an Arcadian escape Arcadia. It's a good thing she did win the lawsuit and started Solano Hills Productions with Trevor.

It just goes to show that Walton Media and Vivian dont limit their exploitation to those inside the dome, they're willing to ruin the lives of their employees and those outside of Arcadia too.

Anyway I hope Vivian ends up paying for both Angela and Trevor's therapy ❤.

[h-c-u]

Painfully healing

Summary: After you got assaulted, your dad's best friend takes care of you when your parents have to leave for a weekend.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

W/C: 5.1k

Rating: +18 (there is no sex in this one, but I still feel like it needs to be categorized as such), age gap

TWs: Depression, Very Detailed Self-Harm, Blood, Cutting, Scars, Unnamed ED. Talks about: rape.

A/N: Guys. This one is dark. Seriously. If you don't feel comfortable with any of the topics mentioned in TWs, please skip it. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Masterlist | List of tags

- Oh, wow! You look awesome, Y/n! – those were the first words you heard from Aaron’s mouth when you opened the door for him. You wanted to run to him, to hide under his jacket, to break down with his strong arms around you, but none of it was showing on your face.

- Thanks! I was kind of on the fence with this one... But a lot of my friends shaved their heads recently, so I guess I'm just basic for following a trend. - you played it down, but there was something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher. You smiled gently, making sure that your cheeks rose up and made the smile lines in the corners of your eyes, so it would look more genuine.

- The dinner is ready! Come on in, before it gets cold! - your mother's head peeked out from the kitchen. - Hi Aaron, good to see you again. - she gave the man a warm smile, before going back to the kitchen.

When you were walking down the hallway, you felt a soft touch on your lower back. You were far past caring about how you looked or what you were wearing, but you couldn't help but notice the contrast in between you and Aaron. He was still in his suit, and even after a whole day of work, there wasn't even one wrinkle on his jacket and shirt, while you were in your galaxy-patterned sweatpants that hung loosely around your hips, held only by a piece of string, and a ratty old t-shirt with a logo of a band that was once your favorite. It was a step up from all the blacks and greys you were wearing for the past month. At least that's what you wanted your parents to think, because the thought of you getting better was making them happy, and you didn't want them to worry even more than they already did.

You thought you saw your father freeze for a second when he realized how close you allowed his best friend to get to you, while for the last month, you had trouble getting a carton of milk from his hand, but he didn't say anything, hoping it was a sign of progress.

- The dinner looks lovely, Peggy... - Aaron complimented your mother’s cooking skills when all of you were seated at the table. Nobody commented on the fact that you were sitting with your feet on your chair and with your chin resting on your knee, even though you knew your mother definitely would bite your head off if you did that just a few months ago. But everything was different now.

- Thank you, but don't just look at it! Let's eat! - you faked a light chuckle at your mother's words and reached for the mashed potatoes because they were the closest to you. The portion you put on your plate was small, but you spread it out to make it look bigger. You didn't plan on eating because you weren't sure if you could even keep anything down. You knew you could get away with it if you made it look like you ate something. And if by the end of the meal, the food was covering less of a plate than at the beginning - your parents would leave you be.

Everyone kept the conversation light for your sake, but if you had to be honest - you were so detached from everything, that you could have talked about anything on autopilot and not even realize what exactly you were saying.

Aaron kept his hand on the back of your chair, letting his thumb brush over your shoulder blades from time to time, and it was the only thing you were able to focus on.

After dinner, you helped your dad with the dirty dishes, while your mum and Aaron were talking in the dining room. You were lost in your own thoughts, and that meant you weren't paying enough attention to what was happening around you. So when your dad accidentally got too close and your shoulders touched, you immediately jumped away and dropped the pot you were holding in your hands.

For a moment there was nothing, but pure panic and fear painted on your face, and you did your best to contain it as quickly as possible, but your dad noticed, even though you didn't want him to, because he did nothing wrong.

- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... - you said in a calm voice, bending down to get the pot, but before you did, your dad intercepted.

- It's ok, it's all right I can finish up here. - you rarely saw your father this broken, and it hurt to know that you were a cause of his pain.

- I will get better... - you added, trying to give him some hope before you left the kitchen.

- I know, honey... I know. - out of instinct he wanted to hug you, but he stopped himself mid-gesture and let his arms fall down, giving you an apologetic look. In response, you gave him a weak smile and left the room. You knew it would be proper to go back to the dining table, but you just couldn't...

So, you went upstairs and curled into a ball right outside of anyone's view. You couldn't bring yourself to go to your room yet, so you stayed where you were. You knew that your parents’ suitcases were already in the car so they wouldn't have to get them from their bedroom, and you would be left alone, at least for a while.

- Thank you for doing this again, Aaron... - you heard your father's muffled voice.

- It's honestly no problem. I didn't have any plans and she's not ready to be alone yet, so I'm more than happy to help.

- She is getting better though... - you smiled at your mother's words, glad that your deception was working. There was a short moment of silence, and she eventually continued. - You know where everything is, I've prepared fresh towels for you in the guest bathroom. We will be back tomorrow around noon unless the funeral will run longer or we'll be needed around the house, but in that case - I'll let you know.

- I can stay till Monday morning, so it's honestly fine. Take as long as you need, Peggy... She was your sister, and you need to process that properly. - there was another moment of silence. - And don't worry, I'll take good care of Y/n, I promise. - you could hear them getting up from the table and moving to the hallway, closer to you, but still out of sight.

- I know... If anything happens, no matter how small... - you heard the shuffling of the clothes, and a pair of heels moving against the floor.

- I'll call. - Aaron assured. - Have a safe drive.

- Thank you again. - the door opened, closed, and then there was silence, but for the first time in a while it wasn't aggressively clawing at your ears. - I know you're here. Come to the kitchen. - he said in a soft, yet commanding tone, and you didn't have a choice but follow. You didn't put any weight on your heels, so your steps were not audible, and yet he still was able to tell even with his back turned to you, that you were there.

You heard your parent's car leaving the garage, just as Aaron wrapped his big hands around your hips and plopped you on the kitchen counter. He was the only person you still felt safe around, and it made you feel guilty because your parents did nothing wrong and you didn't blame them for anything. And yet you still couldn't be with them in the same room for longer periods of time.

- You're not eating again. - it wasn't a question, and you knew there was no sense in lying to him. Even when you were a teenager, he was able to notice things that eluded your parents. - You were supposed to call me if that happened. - his tone of voice was stern, while he took strawberries out of the fridge and started de-stemming them.

- It's been only two... three days... - you mumbled under your nose, trying to minimalize the issue. - And I'm drinking this time... - he didn't make any comments, just reached for a peach from a fruit bowl and started peeling it. Technically he didn't have to, but he knew you didn't like the fuzzy skin. He eventually cut everything into bite-size pieces.

- And the hair...? - he asked. You only sighed and looked down, while he was putting the board and knife in the sink. He came closer to you, so now he was standing in between your thighs, and gently ran his fingers down your arms until he stopped at your wrists, which he turned up, fully expecting to see fresh marks on at least one of your chopping board tattoos, but there were no new additions. You had them done after your scars from high school finally healed. It took some time, but now he understood why you chose to emphasize the signs of the trauma on your body instead of putting it behind you, and now he was even able to find the joke amusing. He brought both of your wrists to his mouth and placed a small kiss on each of them. - The hair. - he repeated himself and you finally looked up.

- I couldn't stand them touching my neck, my cheeks, getting in my eyes... Every time they did, I could feel one of them tightening their grip on them and yanking my head. So I shaved it. - you eventually explained, trying to avert your gaze, but his hand was right under your chin, stopping you from turning away.

- Did it help? - he simply asked. He wasn't judging, didn't make any comments, just looked at you, studying your face intensely and putting his years as a profiler to good use. You nodded, and he gently run his thumb over your lips. - Open up. - you instantly followed his instructions, fully expecting him to put his finger there for you to suck on, but instead, with his other hand he put a strawberry on your extended tongue. - You need sustenance. - he simply said, and you couldn't even be mad that he tricked you like that, so you slowly started chewing on a piece of strawberry and the taste of it viciously attacked your taste buds. After a few days of nothing but water, even the sweet and mild taste of one of your favorite fruits was intense. Under his stern gaze, you finally swallowed, and he hummed, glad to see that you weren't fighting him on this one. - Again... - you obediently opened your mouth again and he placed another piece of fruit there, this time peach, but before he had the chance to take his hand away, you moved your head forward, closing your lips around two of his fingers licking and sucking them clean without breaking eye contact. He gently smiled and pulled his hand out of your mouth with a loud pop, allowing you to chew again. And as soon as you swallowed, he was there with another piece, feeding you by hand until the small bowl was empty. It wasn't much, but it was just enough not to upset your stomach, and your brain didn't even register it as eating, because of the way the food ended up in your mouth.

You gently grabbed the front of his white shirt and pulled him closer, so you could smush your face against his chest and wrap your arms around his body, snaking your hands under his jacket.

Before the rape, you were a very physical person. Always sitting on someone's lap, hugging people left and right, holding hands with your friends, and laying your head on their thighs... And that need to touch, to be held was still there. But it was overwhelmed by fear, even when it came to family and friends; that broken trust, unfortunately, traveled to them by proximity, but Aaron was an exception...

He was the one whom you called right after, who stayed on the line even when you couldn't say a single word, who asked his co-worker to trace your phone, who got to you in record time, and who kicked the door to the room you were locked in, fully prepared to kill anyone who dared to stand in between the two of you.

He saved you...

He put his jacket over your shoulders and pulled you so close, that you couldn't focus on anything else but him. He was the one who reported the incident, he was the one who held your hand while you were answering questions to the police and who punched the campus cop who dared to suggest that you wanted it. He was the one who rode in the ambulance with you, and he almost bit the nurse’s head off when she suggested that you might want to be alone for the rape kit. You didn't... And your fingernails digging into his writs were saying such. You needed someone familiar in the room because, without him, your mind would break beyond repair. So, when the young policewoman took pictures of your naked, abused body, and the flash blinded you for a split second so you couldn't see Aaron’s warm, chocolate eyes, you instantly went to the floor, but somehow, he managed to catch you before you fell over completely.

And when he tried to pass you to your mother when she finally arrived at the hospital, you clung to him for dear life, and you didn't let go until you passed out from exhaustion hours later. Your parents didn't ask any questions, explaining your behavior to themselves with the fact that it was because Aaron was almost always in your life, and he could actually do something to protect you because of his job... That's why you felt safe with him, and not with them. It hurt them, but in the end, they were glad you had at least someone around whom you could lower your guard, and that it was someone as trustworthy as your father's best friend.

Even now, almost three months after the rape, he was still the only person who could freely touch you, hug you, run his hands over your back, and you welcomed it with such desperation, that it almost scared you. You needed touch, his touch, to ground you in reality, and you hated being so dependent on him, even though your body and mind were already his.

- It's ok... - he whispered against your temple and placed a soft kiss there. - Do you want to go to bed? - he asked and when you nodded, he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your room. He gently put you on the permanently unmade bed, but you didn't let go of him. - I want to change into something more comfortable, Darling... I'm gonna go get my bag and I will be right back. - he said, but you still didn’t move.

- Please don't go... I have your t-shirt under the pillow, that should be enough... - you said quietly in an almost broken voice, and he just sighed.

- Sure, why the hell not... - he caved in and quickly undressed, folded his clothes, placed them on your dresser, and put on the shirt you must have stolen from him some time ago because he didn’t remember giving you this specific one.

He got in the bed behind you and pulled you even closer, so you were able to soak in the touch you so desperately needed. He buried his face in your neck, smushing his nose against your skin. One of his arms snaked in between your forearm and your torso, and his big hand rested on your abdomen, covering it almost completely; his other arm found its way under your head, and when you rested it on his bicep, he bent it in the elbow, so he could run his fingers over you fresh buzzcut. He intertwined his bare legs with yours, and when you pulled them closer to your chest - he followed, not breaking contact even for a second.

It was so easy to fall asleep with him completely wrapped around your body, but you still resisted it a little, wanting to soak in his closeness.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, something felt... wrong. You knew what all too well, but with Aaron so close, doing anything about it would be too risky. You could omit some facts, and not tell him everything, but if he asked specifically - you would be a goner. What you could do, was go take a shower and try to scrub that sensation off your skin, even though experience told you that it would be pointless. But damn if you weren't willing to try...

So you slithered out of Aaron’s embrace, trying your best not to wake him up, but he still did...

- Y/n...? Everything ok...? - he asked, his mind still fogged by Morpheus's sand.

- Everything's fine... I'm just gonna take a shower... - you whispered and forced the corners of your lips to move up, but that only made him realize that not everything was fine, and that alone immediately jolted him awake.

- I'm going with you... - he simply stated, and the look on your face must have been more revealing than you thought it was because he didn't see fear... You weren't afraid that he would do something, you were embarrassed. And when you realized that he knew more, the muscles in your thighs tensed involuntarily. Anyone else would have missed it, but not him. Not when his subconsciousness was trained to analyze and profile anything and anyone around him.

He shifted his head to the side as if he wanted to say, "Oh no, you did not...", and you instantly crossed your arms on your chest, bit your lip, and looked up, trying to stop the tears that were dangerously close from entering your eyes. Your body was telling the story you wanted to keep hidden, but when Aaron got closer to you and kneeled in front of you, you couldn't keep even the crumbs of composure that you had left. You didn't protest when he pulled on the string of your sweatpants, but when he hooked his thumbs around the waistband, you were no longer able to hold back tears.

He pulled the pants down, and when he saw the state of your thighs, his jaw clenched. He didn't make any comments, but for once his face was saying more than any words ever could. He was angry, but not at you... At himself. Because he didn't see it earlier. He was so absorbed by your wrists because that's what you were familiar with, that he didn't even think about other ways. He rested his forehead on your abdomen, put his hands on your waist, and pulled you closer. You could tell that he was trying to compose himself, trying to hold back the tears, to fight this wretched feeling of helplessness...

He eventually sat on his heels and started tracing every line you've made over the last two months with gentle kisses... Some of them were already long healed, but few were fresh, still scabbed even, but none of the cuts was deep enough to cause any serious damage; you had enough experience to avoid that. And for you, it was never about hating or killing yourself... It was about regaining control over your body and how it reacted, just to feel like yourself again, but you weren't sure which was worse.

- You were supposed to call me... - he whispered against your skin, still hiding his face from you. - Day or night, doesn't matter... I would have answered, I would have... - he choked on his words and wrapped his arms around your thighs. He couldn't say that he would have come, that he could have helped you, calm you down, because logically he knew he could have been on a case on the other side of the country...

- There is nothing you could have done... - you whispered, gently running your fingers through his hair. - Because it's not about you... It's about me. - he looked up at you and you could see wetness around his eyes glistening in the faint light of the moon. - The pain... It's freeing. It puts me back in my body because I'm the one doing things to it. I'm the cause of it, I'm the one making myself bleed, I'm the one in control... - you explained and ran your fingers through his hair again. You could see him processing the new information, but it didn't help with the helplessness of not being able to help you.

- Show me. - it wasn't a request. You needed a moment to register what he just said, but after a moment of silence and a few too-quick blink, you eventually moved to your desk where you kept your special box. You wanted to say no, to plead with him, but... That feeling that initially woke you up was still there, bubbling under your skin, and it was stronger than shame.

You sat on your bed and opened the box. Because it was never about serious harm, you were always prepared and as safe as possible. You pulled out a thin disposable surgical towel and put it on your sheet. Then you disinfected your hands, and the steel hand of a scalpel and put in on the towel, while Aaron watched diligently what you were doing. He half expected you to pull out a razor from your wallet, so to say he was surprised would have been an understatement, but he didn't make any comments. You also got a fresh gauze and drenched it in disinfectant, only to run it over the skin on your right thigh. Next, you took out a fresh blade and attached it to the metal handle, and you could finally get started.

You gently pressed the sharp blade to the previously unmarked patch of skin and without hesitation, you cut yourself. You knew at what angle this specific blade had to be, how much pressure to put, and how quickly to move the scalpel for the cut to be just the right depth to heal by itself and not need stitches. And as soon as the blade pierced your skin, you exhaled loudly and a massive amount of pressure left your body like a weight lifted from your shoulders, and the relief of it made you close your eyes and tilt your head back; the feeling was almost biblical...

When you opened your eyes again, you saw Aaron's eyes drilling into you, but by now, you were used to him reading you, so you just looked down again and chose another patch of skin, far away from the first cut, because you knew that they would heal quicker if they were further apart. You made another cut and once again, the almost orgasmic relief took over your body, forcing a very quiet whine from between your lips...

You wanted to make another cut, but Aaron wrapped his fingers around your wrist and straightened his leg, so it was parallel to yours.

- Do me. - another non-request

- Aaron, no... You don't need it. And it will actually hurt you... - this time you had to plead because it would be pointless for either of you.

- Nothing could hurt me more than seeing you hurt yourself... Now, I can either do it myself and fuck it up, because I don't know what I'm doing, or you can do it for me. It's your choice. - you froze. You honestly didn't know what was worse - actually inflicting pain on the most important person in your life, or watching him potentially injuring himself...

- I'll do it. - you eventually whispered. You still needed a moment to allow your brain to catch up to your words, but you ended up moving the surgical towel so it was closer to his thigh so you could see better what you would be doing.

- The exact same places as you did on your leg. - your eyes shot back to his, but he was serious, and you started to worry. There were more safe areas, especially the one closer to the inside of the thigh, but it wasn't a request. He wanted to show you something and make sure you understood it.

- Flex your muscles... - you requested and as soon as he did, you gently run your fingers over the areas you just cut on your own leg. You determined the exact placement of his veins and an artery. You of course didn't plan on going anywhere below fascia, but you still wanted to be as cautious as possible. - Relax... - he did as you told, and you gently pinched his skin, roughly determining how thick it was in those places, and how deeply you could go without any risks. By now you knew his body well, but not on that level; this was completely new for both of you.

You detached the blade you used to cut yourself from the handle and dropped it into a small metal tin with all the other ones. And then you repeated the preparation process, disinfecting everything that needed to be disinfected and attaching a fresh blade to the scalpel. For a short moment, you were toying with the idea of asking him to shave his thigh, because the healing process could be worse for him if he didn’t, but you got the feeling that it wasn't something he would say yes to right now.

Before you put the blade to his skin, you looked him in the eyes again, hoping that he would stop you, but there was nothing but determination there. So, you looked back down, with your finger traced the path you were about to follow with the scalpel, and made a quick cut. It was long, but a bit shallower than yours, because you weren't used to cutting thicker skin.

He stayed still, not even flinching at the pain he must have felt but seeing the droplets of fresh blood gathering on the edges of the cut ripped something from your chest and crushed it right in front of you. You wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but his stern look told you it wouldn't be wise.

- Again. - he said quietly, his voice much softer than you expected it to be in a moment like this. And you did... You moved your hand closer to his inner thigh and made another swift cut, this time curving it a little, following the shape of the muscle.

You didn't even realize that you started crying; only when you saw your tear falling down dangerously close to the fresh cut, you moved your head away. You quickly wiped the rest of the tears with the back of your left hand, taking a fresh gauze in your right and drying the drop before it had the chance to contaminate the cut.

- Do you understand now...? - he asked quietly, and you nodded, trying to hold back tears. - Good. Because every time I will find a fresh one on your body, you will be recreating it on mine. And from now on I will be checking regularly. Are we clear...? - you nodded again, trying your best to calm yourself down. He hated making you cry, but he also knew you well enough to realize that it was the fastest and most efficient way to stop you from harming yourself. You needed to realize what it was like to be on the other end of it, no matter how good and cathartic it felt in the moment. He also knew that now, every time you would even think about self-harming, the image of two fresh cuts on his thigh would immediately pop up in your head.

Still with tears in your eyes and without saying a word you cleaned all four cuts you made, and you even gently wrapped them with a fresh bandage, which wasn't something you usually did, but you didn't want any risks tonight... When you were done with the wounds, you put everything away in the box, and the box back in the desk And even though the possibility of you taking it out again was next to none, the knowledge that it was there, just in case, was still comforting.

And then you were back in bed, under the covers, basking in Aaron's body heat.

- I'm sorry I forced you to do this... - he whispered, when you grabbed the material of his shirt with both hands, and he wrapped himself around you, allowing you to hide in the cocoon made from him. - I don't regret it, and I would have done it again, but I am truly sorry that I forced you to experience that feeling. - he could never lie to you... Not even about something like this.

You were quietly sobbing into his chest. Was it healthy? No. Would a therapist hearing about this situation told you to run far away from him? Definitely. But did it work...? In its own twisted way, it did.

- I love you, Aaron... - you said quietly, clenching your fists even more. He run one of his hands over your buzzcut and you leaned into the touch almost like a cat.

- I love you too... - he pulled you closer and let you cry into the material of his shirt until you fell asleep in his arms... But he didn't join you, he couldn't. The guilt and anger he felt were so overwhelming that he didn't know what to do with them. And even though you were safe in his arms right now, the knowledge that the monsters who did this to you were still alive was eating him from the inside. Sure, they were in prison, he made sure of that, but he was seriously considering abusing his power and influence to make them meet their maker. The worst thing was it wasn't the first time he thought about it... He had come up with four possible ways to kill them, and all of them left his hands squeaky clean, that's why it was so tempting.

But if he ever did the things, he thought about doing, he would no longer be a good man.

And you deserved a good man.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

[foreverlogical]

We have been seeing numerous stories in the media about how people support Donald Trump because he did such a great job with the economy. Obviously, people can believe whatever they want about the world, but it is worth reminding people what the world actually looked like when Trump left office (kicking and screaming) and Biden stepped into the White House.

Trump’s Legacy: Mass Unemployment

The economy had largely shut down in the spring of 2020 because of the pandemic. It was still very far from fully reopening at the point of the transition.

In January of 2021, the unemployment rate was 6.4 percent, up from 3.5 percent before the pandemic hit at the start of the year. A more striking figure than the unemployment rate was the employment rate, the percentage of the population that was working. This had fallen from 61.1 percent to 57.4 percent, a level that was lower than the low point of the Great Recession.

The number of people employed in January of 2021 was nearly 8 million people below what it had been before the pandemic. We see the same story if we look at the measure of jobs in the Bureau of Labor Statistics establishment survey. The number of jobs was down by more than 9.4 million from the pre-pandemic level.

We were also not on a clear path toward regaining these jobs rapidly. The economy actually lost 268,000 jobs in December of 2020. The average rate of job creation in the last three months of the Trump administration was just 163,000.

What the World Looked Like When Donald Trump Left Office

In the fourth quarter of 2020 the economy was still being shaped in a very big way by the pandemic. Most of the closures mandated at the start of the pandemic had been lifted, but most people were not conducting their lives as if the pandemic had gone away. We can see this very clearly in the consumption data.

Source: Bureau of Economic Analysis and author’s calculations.

The figure above shows the falloff in consumption between the fourth quarter of 2019 and the fourth quarter of 2020 in some of the areas hardest hit by the pandemic. While overall consumption was down just 0.8 percent, there has been an enormous shift from services to goods.

Inflation-adjusted spending at restaurants was down by 21.5 percent, and much of this spending went for picking up food rather than sit-down meals. Spending at bars was down 47.7 percent. Spending at hotels and motels was down by 43.8 percent as people had hugely cut back travel. Air travel was down 52.4 percent.

Spending on football games, baseball games, and sports events was down by 68.3 percent. Spending on live concerts and other entertainment was down a bit less, at 67.4 percent. And movie going was down 92.7 percent.

The Story of Cheap Gas

Donald Trump and his supporters have often boasted about the cheap gas we had when he was in office. This is true. Gas prices did fall below $2.00 a gallon in the spring of 2020 when the economy was largely shut down, although they had risen above $2.30 a gallon by the time Trump left office. The cause of low prices was hardly a secret, demand in the U.S. and around the world had collapsed. In the fourth quarter of 2020 gas consumption was still 12.5 percent below where it had been before the pandemic.

In fact, gas prices likely would have been even lower in this period if not for Trump’s actions, which he boasted about at the time. Trump claimed to have worked a deal with Russia and OPEC to slash production and keep gas prices from falling further. The sharp cutbacks in production were a major factor in the high prices when the economy began to normalize after President Biden came into office since oil production cannot be instantly restarted.

The End of the Trump Economy Was a Sad Story

Donald Trump handed President Biden an incredibly damaged economy at the start of 2021. People can rightfully say that the problems were due to the pandemic, not Trump’s mismanagement, but the impact of the pandemic did not end on January 21. The problems associated with the pandemic were the main reason the United States, like every other wealthy country, suffered a major bout of inflation in 2021 and 2022.

It is often said that people don’t care about causes, they just care about results. This is entirely plausible, but the results in the last year of the Trump administration were truly horrible by almost any measure.

It may be the case that people are more willing to forgive Trump for the damage the pandemic did to the economy than Biden, but that is not an explanation based on the reality in people’s lives, or “lived experience” to use the fashionable term.

That would mean that for some reason people recognize and forgive Trump for the difficult circumstances he faced as a result of the pandemic, but they don’t with Biden. It would be worth asking why that could be the case.    

[tomorrowusa]

Bad news for Republicans: violent crime is down across most of the US.

Donald Trump and far right media want people to believe there is a massive crime wave sparked by hordes of bloodthirsty migrants charging in waves across the southern border. In fact, the spike in crime which began with Trump's botched response to the COVID-19 pandemic is over.

To hear the latest version of Donald Trump’s “American carnage” narrative of a country lost without him, you would think law-abiding citizens are cowering in their homes or stockpiling weapons to deal with a massive crime wave that’s due to illegal border crossings caused by various nations emptying their prisons and by leftist “Soros-funded” prosecutors gleefully opening our own penitentiaries. The idea of an ongoing crime wave is incorporated into all sorts of MAGA rhetoric, including claims that prosecutors pursuing cases against Trump in New York, Atlanta, Florida, and Washington, D.C., should instead be frantically trying and jailing predators who are cavorting on the streets. The alleged threat of murderous “animals” who entered the country illegally has been crystalized by Republican agitprop about the tragic death of Georgia nursing student Laken Riley, who was murdered while jogging, allegedly by an undocumented Venezuelan migrant. But graphic, horrifying anecdotal evidence does not an actual crime wave make. And the more we learn about what’s actually happening in our major cities, the clearer it is that the surge in violent crime that did occur during the COVID-19 pandemic continues to subside. The COVID crime surge largely ended in 2022. Then the incidence of murder and other violent crimes dropped significantly in 2023, according to preliminary federal data, as CNN recently reported:

Fact check: Trump falsely claims US crime stats are only going up. Most went down last year, including massive drop in murder

To the degree that migrants are involved in criminal activity can now be attributed to Trump's blockage of border security legislation in the House by his spineless minions on Capitol Hill.

Bipartisan border deal hits legislative wall as Republicans say they will block bill

Republicans are now officially the owners of border chaos – not the solution to it.

Back to the featured article...

[W]hen a long upward trend in crime during the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s — a true crime wave — finally came to an end, then dramatically reversed. The current numbers are beginning to show that we’re more than likely in a long period of stable (and, by past standards, relatively low) crime rates that were briefly interrupted by the many dislocations the pandemic caused in American life (and police effectiveness). So the myth of a deadly threat to Americans stemming from liberal policies on the border and in the justice system is mostly just that. Perceptions of public safety, of course, aren’t always in line with objective reality, and violent crime is horrifying even if it’s not as prevalent as law-and-order demagogues suggest. An October 2023 Gallup survey that coincided with growing evidence of dropping crime rates showed 77 percent of Americans agreed there was “more crime” in the country than in the previous year.

Spectacular crime stories are always going to grab headlines. If it bleeds, it leads has been one of the mainstays of American journalism for centuries. You'll never see a headline in the NY Post like Murder Rate Plummets!.

One thing that is often overlooked is that the "long upward trend in crime during the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s" mentioned in the article came to an end in the 1990s during the Clinton administration.

For ideological reasons, Democrats have been too restrained about publicizing their own law and order successes. As with the 1990s, another drop in crime is taking place under a Democratic administration – despite GOP attempts to exploit individual incidents of crime.

Donald Trump himself is a "one man crime wave".

[harkeepitreal]

I have no faith left in this show. I feel used, manipulated and lied to by the Writers, Actors and Alexi.

First the writers say they are not breaking up Chenford what do they do break them up. Then we find out through an interview that Melissa did that Eric was pushing them to break up and he has been pushing it for awhile. Yet here is some one who the whole time has been all about Chenford and their relationship, now he wanted them to split up. Let's not even get started on the lies Alexi told about how they are supposed to be endgame, and we are doing their relationship justice, how they will face obstacles etc...screw all of you. How can you do this to the fans that you are supposed to "love?" So when do we get the I am sorry it went this way, but there is a chance for things to change interview from Alexi? Where are you hiding? Why don't you do the interview/apology/groveling in person? That way you can get the ear full you deserve. You asshole.

This was the best relationship on the show and you blew it up for what ratings? I am DONE!!!! I don't even believe Mel when she said that there is a nice Chenford scene in the season finale. I call BS

They gave this slow burn for 5 seasons only to rip it away. I just am DONE!!!! You lost a fan yesterday/today and I am sure I am not the only one. I may watch again once they are back together. I did that with Olicity on Arrow I still to this day have not watched the end of season 4 or season 5. I will do the same with the Rookie. If at all. Since I feel the way I do. I really hope that the fandom is letting Alexi, the writers have it on social media. Because they deserve it. Not so much for breaking them up (which they said they were not going to do). But for lying, manipulating and using us to get their ratings up. If we as a fandom own this relationship then why did you destroy it? You know what we wanted.

When Hallmark did the same thing on When Calls the Heart after they killed Jack off in season 5 and did not tell fans that the actor was leaving the show. They made us wait 5 years for Jack and Elizabeth to get married then an episode later they killed him off. I felt the same way and I didn't caught up on the show for 3 years. Because I was so hurt that I was lied to, manipulated, and used. Still don't watch it since it has gotten dumb.

I don't want to see them date other people. If they were supposed to be a strong couple Tim should be leaning on Lucy for what he is going through. No the writers are being lazy and doing a cop out a break up. FU all!!!

I personally do not see them getting back together at all this season if at all period. If they do it will be a long way off like next season if there is a 7th season.

SO PISSED!!! Thanks for ruining our show and our favorite couple.

[my-mt-heart]

Hi MT, maybe you or one of your followers are able to answer that. If a big acc with a social media manager or team, posts something, are they tracking their gain in followers or traffic directly? Sometimes they react immediately (like Valhalla last week), sometimes they continue as if nothing has happened.

Are they only checking if they got more followers or are they also checking if they lost a bunch and gained new ones? Again, it's about the Valhalla account who lost quite a few Carylers but gained ultimately more followers with Antis.

The official TWD account posted about friendship bracelets and 2/3 in the replies has M or R profile pics making fun of Caryl/Carol.

At this point, no one can tell me that's their strategy because obviously, it's out of control.

Why is no one reacting?

Depends on a lot of factors (type of company, account, follower count, engagement rate etc). Based on the types of posts TWDU accounts have, they're not really trying to "grow" their following. The companies behind the accounts already have a strong presence and big following.

Based on their posts, the social media accounts seem like they aren't meant to generate followers, but rather warm up the audience they have by encouraging engagement and promoting whichever show is coming up.

Different spinoffs means the core audience of the flagship show has been fragmented into 3 pieces.

*Caryl fans *Maggie and Negan fans *Richonne fans

Each group has their own distinct marketing strategy and all the strategies are going in opposite directions because all the fans are unique. Because TOWL just ended and we're heading into TBOC, the overlap is jarring. TBOC has had virtually no marketing through official channels, and it looks like they're currently promoting TOWL merch, so TBOC fans are getting whiplash.

Whoever is handling the SM is either recycling a strategy that no longer works after 2022 because of everything that happened with the original spinoff, or they're genuinely unaware of fandom dynamics and don't realize that they cannot afford to lose faith with TBOC's core audience, which... they kinda just did? Whatever the case is, it's baffling.

You can't please both audiences. Because one audience cheers when Carol is erased and Caryl is invalidated as a ship while TBOC's core audience want to raise Carol up and want Caryl's relationship to transition into the romance they've earned.

AMC/TWDU should be catering to the needs of the most reliable fanbases for each show, not just TWD community in general for every show because that won't give them numbers. In this case, we're talking about a Carol and Daryl show, so the audience most likely to keep tuning in are Carol and Daryl fans. The focus should be getting all of them on board which means being aware of shared desires as well as possible triggers. Pushing the friendship narrative is a big one at the moment because of how forceful it is. It's telling us how we, Daryl and Carol fans, are "supposed to" view their relationship instead of leaving room for what we, Daryl and Carol fans investing in a Daryl and Carol show, want it to be.

Like I said before, the SM engagement isn't the most reliable at the moment because a lot of fans are in survival mode. For some, that means deflecting to something more positive and for others, that means avoiding potentially harmful environments altogether and that post definitely generated a harmful environment where fighting was likely to break out.

The whole point of promoting a show is to build hype. If a significant portion of their target audience is feeling distressed, frustrated, or wary, they're doing it wrong. If their promotion is getting mixed reactions and/or attracting a conflicting market, they're doing it wrong.

(Credit to @indigoraysoflight for helping me with this post)

[kiara-ish]

IDOL SOLDIER

Chapter 1

Words: 5k+

Summary: The world is changing yet again. People are turning into flesh biting monsters and with all backs to the walls, every second is a war between life and death. You expected a lot in life but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to meet Kim Seokjin in the middle of an apocalypse.

Pairing: Enlisted Soldier!Seokjin x fem!Reader

Genre: Dystopia | Romance

Rating: series rating - 18+ | chapter rating - 16+

Series Warnings: blood, gore, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of sexual harrasment, deaths, graphic descriptions, suggestive themes.

Author's Note: This was initially supposed to be a long oneshot but after scrapping my drafts multiple times, I decided to break it into parts for easy reading and smooth writing too. Also, if I blinded you with that horrible cover, I'm really sorry me and graphics don't go well together. I'll fix it whenever I can.

m.list | next ->

Dystopia always was my favourite trope to write. There was something about hopelessness that always had me taking up the pen. I always supposed it was something rather mundane and humane – to be curious of misery and despair. Until one day when the television that I sometimes left on in the evenings when I felt extraordinarily lonely caught my attention.

"...the rapid growth of the virus Z-24 is shocking. The constant spike in the number of affected is fearsome especially because the medium of transfer is yet to be discovered. What is spreading even more terror is the worsening condition of those infected, they have shown signs of insanity and as the specialists have named it – the zombie syndrome. It is becoming very difficult to reassure the crowd of grieving and worried families outside the hospitals and quarantine. Today, we have with us…"

With the said attention having the span matching that of a goldfish, I was distracted by a ping of notification on my phone and zoned out the news. In hindsight, my listening or not listening to the news wouldn't have made much of a difference. But it might have made me prepare better, it might have allowed me to ponder more on zombie syndrome than Kim Seokjin's nearing end of military service.

Apart from the regulation of wearing masks and sanitizing, there wasn't much havoc about the virus so people took it as seriously as they did coronavirus – scared but reassured that it will be fine sooner or later. So like every other patient citizen, I lost my shit when a lockdown was declared simultaneously with a message from my manager announcing the reduction of the travel allowance because of the change in mode of work.

Going off the texts, my social media was flooded with video clips, hazy, distraught – almost like an illegally filmed video. I knew what they would show but did not want to experience the same fervent panic from the night before. I scrolled past most videos until my clumsy fingers accidentally let go of the phone and in the eager grasp of catching it, a video started playing.

A vlogger was speaking in a broken, hushed voice. His words were unclear nor did I have the motivation to be keener in my observation. He was showing pitch darkness and it intrigued me. So instead of scrolling past like I intended, I stayed and tried to scrutinize the scene but to no help — it was all dark.

"Did you hear that?"

The vlogger's voice was suddenly clearer but his question threw me off. It was unnerving. There was an unfamiliar tremor in his voice that made me feel the same fear as him. The dark screen was suddenly not still and the silhouette of a door came into view.

"The sound came from right outside. Should I open the door to see?"

Of course he shouldn't. There could be found some ten thousand horror movies that would tell him that he should not. But he did anyway. There was no foreboding creek as the door opened, some fragments of street light in the distance that looked more ominous than reassuring. It was still silent, eerily like it was a warm summer evening in the countryside where people had nothing to worry about let alone flesh biting horrors.

"There is nothing here. To appreciate my bravery don't be shy in sending gifts and whatever your heart desires at–"

It was so quick I almost missed it and had I been successful at missing it, maybe my heart would be saved.

It wasn't a grand howl and attack. It was just a blink of darkness moving, covering the lights in the distance with the shadow and as the lights became visible again, it was obvious that something had moved. There was no foreshadowing, ominously sidelining; in a wink there was a rustle of clothes and the clang of the camera falling to the floor. It was pitch darkness but the vlogger had left no stone turned in choosing his recording mic.

As the mic stayed on around his mouth, the squelching of blood resonated loudly as the infected tore his neck probably, its heavy breathing and teeth biting into flesh with a small ripping sound like that of soft muslin. A second too late, the man started gurgling on his blood. He had no time to scream, no chance to run. The gushing of blood as the infected but around until it was done was so loud that I threw my phone away without a care in the world. Yet the only sound that reached me was the low, deep gurgle of blood and the throaty groan of the infected.

No amount of gory movies and books would have prepared me for that video and the silence that rang through the apartment after that prevailed for a very long time with the only noises being my gasps and puking. The clip went viral and everyone went crazy; traffic in the streets for miles as everyone tried to flee the city, flight tickets skyrocketed and the ruckus continued. I couldn't afford the tickets and I had nowhere else to go so I tried to order as much grocery as I could while trying to hold off the anxiety of living through yet another possible pandemic.

More clips started surfacing but I watched none of it, staying off the internet unless it was for work until finally hell couldn't be contained and the internet was shut down in the whole city. The government couldn't do shit for the virus yet so they ensured what they liked best – quiet. Work was close to impossible and salaries were further reduced regardless of the increasing bills.

In all the chaos of possibly a zombie apocalypse in construction and intense inflation, there was bound for things to go wrong — very, very wrong.

--

Ripping off the fabric of a shirt from the backpack, I tied it around the long scratch on my arm. Darkness blurred my vision every time I exhaled and every inhale burned my lungs. Looking around, I realised I had run into the woods, which explained the itchy scratches everywhere on my body. But there was nowhere else to go and if I navigated in the right direction, I would arrive at the isolated military camp, which was a hopeful ray of my survival.

It wasn't supposed to happen; I was supposed to move south to downtown, where there could be a shit ton of infected but more chances of communication too. But the streets looked awfully empty as I walked and sprinted carefully. There were occasional abandoned cars that looked good as new but I did not dare peek in. Last thing I would want was an investigation after all the ruckus clears off, that too for petty theft. The cramp in my stomach was occasionally wrenching my insides but the adrenaline kept me going.

Humans are cute. Hold their hand, caress their scars and give them a warm seat and they'll think they are home. The empty roads, the quiet and the chilly breeze that brushed through my sweaty, filthy skin felt like a cold shower after enduring a heatwave. I got too comfortable so it was only right that I would get plowed to the street.

It was all in a split second. One second I was running and the next a heavy weight crashed to my side, effectively pushing me to the ground and scraping my exposed skin against the rough asphalt. But before I could cry out or even look at the force, there was a putrid stench scorching my nostrils and a growl above me.

There was a squelch of flesh being torn apart and a scream escaped my parched throat, a hoarse but disturbingly loud sound. I felt like I was floating just like I always imagined death to be except something was wrong. There was no pain. I wasn't pathetically thrashing in sheer agony of having my flesh bitten off and the infected person above me was not moving.

Lightheaded, I finally looked, really looked. Blood never looked so relieving. The makeshift spear on my hand was protruding through the neck of the infected and cold blood dripped down the puncture wound. The infected person, what looked like a young man, had his eyes stuck on me but they were vacant of any semblance of life. They were bloodshot and pupils dilated, looking like they would pop out of their sockets any moment. His body weight was crushing me and I couldn't breathe with my already throbbing head.

Pushing off the body, I rolled away, breathing in the open air. But before a complete breath, my body instinctively flipped and with wretched gags that shook my whole body, I puked again. At this point I wasn't sure what I was throwing up, probably my dying organs. The putrid stench was stronger and my gags worsened.

In the midst of that, I heard it this time. Shuffling, wheezing and groaning, footsteps. How did I forget my own scream? How was I not expecting it? My throat hurt and so did my entire body. I wanted to scream and cry with helplessness. But I knew I needed to move. I needed to get the fuck back up.

Because I might not be the main character in the whole story, but I was the main character in mine.

That's how I ended up running in a random direction, then more random directions doing anything to escape the footsteps. Every time I saw the slightest of shifts in my periphery, I changed directions. My makeshift spear remained digging into an infected person's throat and taking out any other knife would take time. I wanted to ram my head into a tree trunk for leaving behind the spear but I had to run then.

At one point, the road was deserted. The woods ran through one side and empty fields through another. There was no house around and nothing objectively obstructive of view. So I stopped but adrenaline was heavy so I stumbled to the ground and rolled on my back. Breathing. Just breathing.

The sky was clear but dusk was approaching. I didn't even want to think what would happen after nightfall so I kept breathing like it was a task. It was so silent that my head got louder again. I was hyper aware of my being, from my aching legs to my throbbing head and sinking heart. I couldn't close my eyes. Every time I gave in to the darkness, I saw a pair of bloodshot protruding eyes first, then a sensation – a cold liquid dripping down my arm and then finally, a knife lodged into a man's throat and the handle of that knife was held by-

I opened my eyes with as much life I had in me to the bright sky, unnerving quiet and my own heavy breathing. There was a nagging thought in my head that I wanted to throttle and bury but it came up again and again. To evade it, I sat up.

I took out a knife from my backpack, knowing that it wouldn't be half as useful as my spear but it was something better than nothing. I held it firmly but did not stand up. I couldn't. My legs were weak and hurt like a bitch. I had always contemplated how quickly things could go wrong but my estimation wasn't even close to what it was happening in reality. I remember basking in the warmth of my airy apartment and listening to music, laughing with my friends on call about how I was finally on the same land as BTS. But then suddenly it was chaos and now I had blood on my hands, filthy but it wasn't my own.

There was a cackling, a giggle around me and goosebumps lined my skin. I looked around for a moment when a realization hit me. It hit me so hard that I began sprinting again. Running towards the woods aimlessly, I ignored the burning of my soles and the scratches of small thin branches tearing my skin. All the while I kept thinking back to that sound.

It was me. I was laughing. I couldn't suppress the thought anymore. I was going insane.

--

Aimlessly wandering through the woods, I finally tried to breathe a little better. Stumbling through the huge trees and trying my best to navigate towards the setting sun, where a military camp should stand tall, I tried to ignore the burning pain that was spreading through my whole body.

The forest wasn't too thick. One couldn't see the other side at one glance but it wasn't complete wilderness. There were some rare trees marked by the government and some sections were fenced with wires. But all the big trees and growing tangled bines yet not one fruit caught my eye. No matter how much the infected scared me and no matter how much my whole body throbbed with a dull ache constantly, I couldn't ignore my cramped stomach and my dry mouth. But I couldn't drop my gait, not before nightfall.

The setting sun was like a halo in the distance and staring at it, as I moved forward, I felt a serenity take over me. There was nothing that was as hopeful as that constant ball of brightness in the desolate quiet of the woods, in a city filled with sick people.

So lost in the blinding light of the sun, I couldn't control my feet as they stepped on a dry branch on the ground and a loud creak echoed through the forest. The echoing felt like nature was mocking me, really laughing at me, pointing and saying, 'look at her, what a dumb bitch.'

Looking around me, I tried to confirm that nothing was going to jump on me at the next second. At least my back wouldn't be to the wall if something did pop up. At most, it would delay my navigation — or that's what I tried to assure myself. I was doing a fine job at it too, taking slow steps further towards the direction of the setting sun until I noticed it.

At some distance, there was a man walking towards my direction. He wasn't stumbling and that gave me hope that it could be another survivor. It couldn't be me all alone. But I didn't want to call out loud and attract attention. So I leaned against a thick tree, away from his sight, just the sound of his footsteps nearing me. The footsteps were steady, not haphazard. They felt conscious and they were closer than ever before.

I held my breath as I heard the footsteps just on the other side of the tree. I could see his shoes standing still. Peeking out a little more, I caught sight of him, looking straight ahead. His side profile looked completely untouched and with his completely fine posture, I was sure by then that he was indeed uninfected. A strange ray of joy sparked through me. He looked very alert and upright, probably because of the sound I made.

So I finally decided to step out from behind the bark. A step and then another until I was beside him. But he still didn't notice me, so I tried to reach out a hand and tap his shoulder. My shaking hands reached out and it was almost at his shoulder blade when I heard his breathing. He was breathing heavily which wasn't abnormal but it was followed by a deep gurgling sound – a growl.

In a beat I was ducking behind the tree again, only in time to catch his head turn in my direction; a knife was sticking out of his other eye, the sight making bile rise to my throat again as a scream threatened to erupt but at the distance he was in, one wrong move and I wouldn't be able to scream ever again. His other eye looked around keenly, heavy breathing and that same eerie gurgling groan as if he was choking on his own blood.

A few moments passed like that with me holding my breath, as he stood motionless. But after what felt like an eternity, he began walking again. Steady footsteps moving past the tree had me finally exhaling. But I couldn't waste any more time, it was already darkening. I had to get somewhere at least.

I took off in a sprint, the desire to put a distance between the infected and myself overwhelming my senses. Ducking below branches and jumping over roots, I let the air rage war on my skin as the surroundings changed to a blur. Even in all that overwhelming stimulation, I could feel it before I saw it. There was someone sprinting behind me. It was not a human. It had a protruding knife from its eye.

I wanted to scream out loud or at least cry in despair. But in lieu of all the mockery I made of characters in dystopian fictions at their obnoxious and unrealistic behaviour, even my mind was working on autopilot and instead of screaming or crying, I pushed my legs to run faster, letting the subdued animalistic urge of survival take over my senses, until I could see nothing but the peeking glimpses of the road at the distance.

My feet met the asphalt again and I let myself blink, feeling the water dripping down my cheeks. I couldn't perceive anything other than my own shoes hitting the road, slowing down with each fall to a jog then a walk and then a standstill.

I looked around the deserted road, panting. My vision was even more blurry than before but I couldn't miss the sight of a military barricade in the distance. This was the path to the military camp, where there should be people that can help me. The sun had dropped below the horizon but the bright halo remained and that too was slowly dimming.

I couldn't brush off the fact that there were probably infected around so I took quick strides to the path opposite the military barricade. A big white arrow was drawn on the road and it made me increase my pace. Soon enough a building came in my sight but it was still far and no matter how much I sped up, it felt far like a mirage.

"Help!"

I stumbled to a stop. There was a looming fear that I was going insane but I was sure I heard someone scream for help. It was coming from the darkening forest. My heart thudded loudly in my chest as I stared at the darkness.

"Help me please!"

I heard it distinct this time and closer than before. There was indeed another person. But I couldn't forget the infected person I encountered before. With the loud shouting from this person asking for help, he would definitely be following the source too. There was a person asking for help and there was an infected person probably tailing the sound.

I've never counted myself as a great person and that wasn't due to humility. I was never a great person. I always prioritized myself first and when the situation had come to a literal man-eating-man situation, I saw nothing wrong in it.

So I sprinted towards the building, ignoring the calls for help, the sound ringing in my ears like a siren.

"Help!"

"Help, please, someone!"

"HELP!"

--

It wasn't a military camp. It didn't look like one at least. It was a huge building, fenced with a huge metal gate, but empty. Deserted. Not one person was around. But I didn't want to lose hope, they could have locked themselves in somewhere.

The gate was open thankfully, so I tried to push myself in through that but ended up opening it slightly wider than before albeit soundlessly. It was dark, the halo of the sun gone. The sky was just minutes away from darkening to a void.

With quiet footsteps I walked towards the only door in sight. It was huge but opened even with a gentle push, no creaking. The place was quiet. With the staircases and the multiple hallways, it looked like the barracks. But no lights were on and nothing was in sight. There was a chill running down my spine as I slowly stepped towards the first hallway to the left.

The long, narrow passage gave way to another big door. The door was closed but through the big glasses on the door, I could well see the inside. I could barely conceal my cry when I saw numerous infected people stumbling around in what looked like the cafeteria. There was food spilled on the ground and they all looked like chefs but a few were wearing military boots too.

My last hope drowned. I could only visualise letting an infected person tear into me. The pain would be immense but it won't last too long. Muffled sobs uncontrollably poured out of me as I stared at the people inside walking around like monsters of the night, waiting for one little sound, then they would tear them down to dust.

I was subconsciously staring at the young soldier who had a huge chunk of his forearm missing. He was young, might have even enlisted recently. His buzz cut looked newly shaped. It made my heart lurch in agony. I couldn't falter the ringing of my ears, the only sound enthralling my eardrums was the cry for help that I ignored. When I closed my eyes to blink I saw a man with a knife sticking out of his throat, a knife that I stabbed him with. It was so terrifying that I wanted to never close my eyes again.

The young soldier's eyes met mine all of a sudden and I took a step back. His eyes remained on mine when I moved further and further back until I began sprinting in the opposite direction. The adrenaline got the best of me and forsaking the sense of directions, I ran up the staircase. The sound of my shoes hitting the floor hurt my own ears. I had no idea where I was running to but I couldn't stop.

Not until I was suddenly pulled back inside a room and thrown against the wall with a heavy body up against me and a hand on my mouth interrupting the scream that I was about to let out. It was dark but I could make out a tall silhouette gently closing the door with one hand while still holding me against the wall.

Tears flowed out my eyes as I heard a familiar groaning right outside the door. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed myself to the wall as if it would just suck me in and free me from the wall but the stranger looked unshaken, his hand remained firm on my mouth and eyes on the door. A moment or two passed like that with me holding my breath and a loud drumming of heartbeat in my ears before abnormal footsteps slowly moved past the door and somewhere further down the hall.

The stranger still showed no intent of moving and there were hundreds of thoughts running through me but I let him wait for another minute or so before he moved and let me collapse to the floor like a heap of messy laundry. I couldn't control my trembling body, letting everything over the past weeks finally take their toll on me. I couldn't even look up and catch the stranger step back until he was on the opposite wall where he slid down to the floor too.

"Are you hurt somewhere?"

There was a gentle familiarity in his voice that made my stomach clench uncomfortably. I had no idea how much time had passed since I stopped crying.

"Just some scratches."

He suddenly looked alert and stood up. It took me a few seconds to comprehend his reaction so I was quick to clear the misunderstanding, "Not by the infected people. Just tree branches. I ran through the woods."

There was a sigh heard in the room and I watched his silhouette move to the small window with the blinds down. His shoulders were broad and his physique looked intimidating from my position on the ground but it strangely did not throw me off. There was something about him that felt unnaturally familiar. I didn't know how.

He parted the blinds and let more light flood in before turning to face me. I blinked at him for a moment, my head couldn't process what was going on. The familiar kind eyes, the high nose bridge and the pouty lips were all features of one person I recognised like the back of my hand; someone I had spent years fangirling over. I couldn't mistake that countenance, never. But the only sigh of misery that left me was the consequences I was seeing him in.

I wasn't ready to meet Kim Seokjin in the middle of an apocalypse.

There was utter silence in the room, only our breathing and probably my drumming heart. He had returned to his seat at the opposite wall while I remained fixated to my side. I had so many questions, so many things to say but moving my lips felt like a task. I had nothing on me that would get me going now that the adrenaline had run out. So we remained in an exhausting silence.

"Is the road clear?" he whispered.

"Barely. The woods are not clear so I doubt the road will stay safe too long."

He didn't reply and I couldn't resist the urge so I asked him, "How are you here?"

"I was supposed to be discharged the next day when all this happened. I was in my room packing up when I heard some commotion downstairs."

I didn't need to know what commotions nor did he feel it to be said. Silence prevailed when I couldn't come up with a reply but there was something shifting in me. I was breathing a little easier.

"I'm not going to be here anymore though."

I watched him stand up and move to the bed in the corner and there was a slightly coarse sound of a wrapper being torn, of a small protein bar when it was brought before my eyes. I looked up at Jin who held the bar in front of me, another small water bottle with some water in it.

I was confused. Why was he showing it to me? Was he giving it to me? He couldn't be that stupid. Who would share food and water in this scarcity? I kept staring at the protein bar letting my mouth water and my stomach groan loudly. But I didn't take it from his hand.

It must have been frustrating for him because he suddenly dropped to the floor right in front of me and shoved the bar in my hand and placed the water bottle before me. When my limp hand finally fisted around the bar, he brought my hand to my mouth and shoved it in.

I could have cried as the taste of the melting bar sent a few shudders to my body and I was gobbling it up in less than a few seconds.

"I'm sorry I'm usually more gentle. But I can't be patient right now."

Mouth full with the last bite of the bar, I reached for the water bottle watching him with keen eyes as he continued, "I can only give you this much. I'll leave tomorrow."

The water flowing down my burning throat sent another round of shudders down my body and my eyes closed in bliss. I saved a few sips for later and let the embarrassing sound of my stomach groaning be heard before I processed his words.

"To where? It's hell out there."

"My brothers. They are in the main camp."

I didn't agree with him wholeheartedly but I understood him. The moment my brain registered that it was Kim Seokjin, my mind went to the other six members. The exhaustion had gotten overwhelming and the thought had left me. Hearing it from him was a different feeling. He was the eldest, his sense of responsibility had to be peaking.

I had no idea when I fell asleep but when I woke up it was day again. Lights poured in through the windows with the blinds pushed up. A rustle of fabric made me jump up to a stand still when I remembered I wasn't alone.

Jin was walking around the room, randomly checking drawers and tables. I felt my thoughts to be more organised than last night so I could finally process a lot of things; first being the fact that I wasn't dead or infected yet and I somehow met Kim Seokjin and the second, he is ethereal.

He looked like an angel with the sun beaming on his face, as he looked out. What were the odds of me ending up with him of all people? But before I could further contemplate the odds, he turned to me with a small grimace for a smile but I swooned nonetheless.

"Slept well? You should keep your guards up now. I'll get going."

It all came back to me in an instant. He did talk about leaving to look for the other members and I didn't remember what I replied back.

"Have you been outside? It's hell."

"I know, you've told me before."

"How do you plan to make it there?"

He looked at me with his backpack in hand, "I'm not sure. I don't have much with me, just some scraps for snacks and a bottle of water or two."

I couldn't help the quake of my body when I recalled the infected people I had encountered on my way. At least I had a knife, it looked like he was charging in without anything.

I noticed my own backpack lying abandoned so I picked it up and took out one of the knives from in there.

"There you go," I held it out to him as he continued staring with an unreadable expression, "you will need some kind of protection. I suppose you happen to not have a gun, right?"

He stared at the knife for a moment and I was about to take it back, afraid of his widening eyes but instead he suddenly spoke up, "Guns! There are guns here somewhere-"

"In this room?"

"No, maybe in the gym."

I had no idea what to do with this piece of information so I waited for his mind to continue turning the gears.

"I'm going to try and look for one before I leave."

He didn't wait for any affirmation from my side, immediately moving towards the door when an uncomfortable feeling began sinking in my stomach. He was really leaving like that. Hand on the doorknob, he was about to pull it open when I was pulling his arm back.

Wide eyed he stared as if I had grown two heads, "what are you doing?"

"I'll go with you."

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Judd Legum and Tesnim Zekeria at Popular Information:

In the 2024 presidential election, one of the central attacks that Trump and his political allies are levying against Biden is that Biden is responsible for a "migrant crime" wave. The argument was summarized by Trump in a March 22 video:

[[A] real bloodbath is occurring right now under crooked Joe. It’s Biden’s Border Bloodbath. There’s never been anything like that. Every day, Joe Biden is setting loose thousands of unvetted, unscreened, military-age men into the United States from parts unknown… We had the safest border in history. Now we have the worst border probably in the history of the world. Every day innocent citizens are being killed, stabbed, shot, raped, and murdered because of Biden migrant crime. It’s a new word, a new term. It’s migrant crime, but we call it Biden migrant crime cause he’s responsible for it 100%... When I’m your president, we’re going to end this disgrace, and we’re going to stop Biden’s Border Bloodbath. It is a bloodbath indeed, and we’re going to get it stopped.]

The Republican National Committee (RNC) has launched a website dedicated to the issue, BidenBloodbath.com. "History will remember Biden for his destruction, chaos, and failure. Lives of everyday Americans have been shattered as a direct result of Biden’s open border policies — and he doesn’t care," the RNC claims on the homepage. "We have to stand up and stop Biden before he destroys our nation. The cost of doing nothing is measured in the lives lost to the… crime wave washing across America."

This message has been amplified by the right-wing media. Fox News' Jesse Watters, who hosts the network's top-rated primetime show, offered this commentary on April 12:

[Migrant crime is quickly becoming one of the largest issues affecting the American people. Communities all across the United States are being terrorized by violent illegals, while Biden rolls out the red carpet for them with his open border policies, but Donald Trump is pledging to take care of the problem and keep our citizens safe when Republicans get back in power]

There are violent crimes committed by undocumented migrants, which are traumatic for the victims, their families, and their communities. That is why the accusation that Biden is responsible for a surge in violent crime by undocumented migrants is so politically potent. There are disturbing anecdotes of crimes that make powerful fodder for attacks during a political campaign. People, understandably, want to feel safe.  But is there evidence that, since Biden took office, there has been a surge in violent crime by undocumented migrants? 

[...]

The national crime decline

If there is no migrant crime wave at the border, perhaps it will show up in other areas of the country. The data does not support that claim either.  Nationwide, homicide and violent crime dramatically declined in 2023. According to the latest FBI’s Quarterly Uniform Crime report, which was released in March, homicides were down 13% in 2023 compared to 2022. Meanwhile, violent crime and property crime dipped 6% and 4% respectively. This data is preliminary and based on reports submitted by 15,199 of 19,152 law enforcement agencies across the country, reflecting “about 82% of the U.S. population.” (The FBI will release a more complete analysis for 2023 in the fall.) 

[...] The fact that we are not seeing evidence of a migrant crime surge is consistent with historical data that shows migrants, even undocumented migrants, are less likely to commit crimes than native-born Americans. A peer-reviewed 2020 study, which used data from the Texas Department of Public Safety from 2012 to 2018, "found a lower felony arrest rate for immigrants in the U.S. illegally compared to legal immigrants and native-born U.S. citizens and no evidence of increasing criminality among immigrants." An upcoming study by a researcher at the libertarian Cato Institute similarly found that "undocumented migrants in Texas were about 26% less likely to be convicted of homicide than native-born Americans over the decade of 2013-22." It appears, however, that Republican messaging around the issue is having an impact. Despite the data, most people believe crime is up. A Gallup poll in November 2023 found that 77% of Americans “believe there is more crime in the U.S. than a year ago.” 

Popular Information debunks the right-wing myth of a "migrant crime" wave. Such fact-free propaganda has been spewed out by the likes of Donald Trump and other conservative media outlets.

[tea-earl-grey]

there's something so dismal about how so much of tv fandom's energy nowadays seems to go towards trying to prove to big corporations that their show is good enough to save. like whenever a new episode or series comes out it's "remember to watch it all in 24 hours or it won't get renewed!" "play it on repeat for a month or else it'll become another piece of lost media!" "don't stop talking and posting about it during the hiatus or else this season that's already in production might not air!" "if this tag trends on twitter for long enough we might get eight episodes instead of six!!!" it feels less like we're enjoying a show that so many people worked hard on and more like we're trying to create rituals to please the gods (which replace gods with The Algorithm and you're not far off).

like i haven't even been involved in fandom for that long but even just seven or so years ago if a show did well enough that it was nominated for awards and trending on twitter and having well attended comic con panels then it would be renewed for at least a season or two. and back then being renewed for another season meant "we're for sure going to get a new season next year!" with almost no possibility of cancelation. and even shows that did just okay ratings wise would easily get 5+ seasons.

and it was more fun. when i was watching Doctor Who or Arrowverse or whatever in 2014 i could enjoy and critique the media itself instead of constantly being nervous about whether the next season will be cashed in for nostalgia bait or have its episode count cut or be postponed for three years or just outright canceled because it was slightly less popular than last year. like the fandom would still stress out over potential bad narrative choices or whatever but we would also get excited about the future.

maybe it's just my own perceptions but i just tend to find myself favoring fandoms for shows (or at least eras, i'm looking at you Doctor Who) that have been completed. i like Good Omens and Our Flag Means Death and Strange New Worlds and Percy Jackson and the Olympians and the latest Doctor Who era but i just find it hard to get invested when there's so much anxiety around if there will be a future to those shows and so much of the fandom activity revolves around that anxiety. and then as a result when the show does end for good (whether through cancelation or design) the fandom starts to fade away too because so much of it was based on the temptation of The Future.

and i'm also quick to admit that production in pre-streaming era shows had their own problems (once popular shows running for 15 seasons and jumping the shark just because it's a cash cow, tampered down diversity in the interest of "popular appeal", the whole quantity over quality issue, etc) but at least the fandoms were more optimistic and focused on the story itself instead of just being angry about the eternal potential of cancelation or outright deletion.

(also there are obviously much larger issues to the streaming model re: residuals and everything else brought up during the wga and sag strikes but that's all been said much more coherently so i'm just speaking from my own perspective as a fan. and even then there's still definite overlap between the fandom anxiety over renewal and the real world economic anxiety for people involved with production over "will we have a job/be paid". it's far too early to tell but i really hope the strikes will help to solve this problem.)

[theinfinitedivides]

this is so random but i would love to hear your opinion on mydramalist as a fellow asian drama lover. because it’s obviously well known as a reliable wiki of sorts in dramaland but i beg to differ. (the only plus i feel being the summary and cast list for info)

i mean, i’ve not seen a single comsec w more than two brain cells as a whole? there’s always complaints about female leads rooted from misogyny, they are never happy about story progression, and i just find so many of them kinda dumb sorry lol. like zero media literacy to be found, insufferable arguments, etc. the star ratings are rly just given to popular dramas w high profile actors too.

and i personally find it disheartening that so many ppl end up referring to mdl when considering dramas because so many gems are then lost and not given appreciation.

anon. anon anon anon if you know the way i sat straight the f*ck up when i saw the notification and then read through this ask bc yes. yes to everything here that is exactly it. almost three fourths of what i've watched this year was either 1. not received well by the general MDL crowd (Moon in the Day. where is the taste brethren to not like MITD and not even for reasons that actually make sense), 2. received well but had a good chunk of people bitching in the comment section, or 3. received well but had the main point of the show (and its relevant characterization) go over their heads. (The Worst of Evil aka TWOE comment section, i am f*cking looking at you. i can count on one hand the number of people who understood what that show was supposed to be about) the one fourth that managed to escape was bc the toxicity did not reach the comment section and everyone was pretty f*cking civil. alas if only it could be like that all of the time

case in point for the ratings example, since we've already briefly tackled the lack of media literacy—j-dramas on MDL are notoriously rated much, much lower than either k- or c-dramas. half of the time that's bc there are less users watching (and rating) them therefore the average is lower but the other half it's bc people simply do not understand good media when they see it. don't get me wrong there's some freaky ass sh*t in the j-drama world that i would not touch with a Grinch level pole but to see MDLers out here talking about how slow j-dramas are and that nothing's happening. have you considered that you are either watching the wrong genre or you shouldn't be watching j-dramas in the first place bc their entire setup and general narrative framing arcs are not your style. have you even thought about that for six seconds or are you too busy expecting it to read like a typical tropey rom-com k-drama with your trending oppas. (no hate on my tropey rom-coms with [most of] said oppas, i need them when i don't want to think i just want to see sh*t on my screen and scream about hot people and the Hand Umbrellas in the Rain and the Back Hold when the male lead catches the female lead before she falls and you have the fifteen second focus on their faces just looking at each other)

and the misogyny. oh God do not get me started on the dichotomy that was the Cult, as we affectionatly called ourselves, on the feeds while THEE sageuk of the year My Dearest was airing (beloved show [that i still need to finish. JangChae i'm sorry ily life hates me like the mf it is 😭], beloved commentary on the feeds. they saw the vision on the feeds) vs the sh*tshow that was the landmine field of the comment section (the takes i saw on Gil Chae, Eun Ae AND Ryang Eum respectively.......... the misogyny wasn't enough we had to add the homophobia into the mix. buy one get one free deal fr fr). you mad man. that sh*t was insane there was a point i banned myself from scrolling farther than the cast section until the show finished airing. i kid you not on average they didn't have even half a braincell. maybe a quarter of a quarter of one. f*cked up just say you are not decent people and go

this is not to say that all of MDL is like this. i have gotten tuned into absolute masterpieces of content (and have tuned others, amen) bc of a comment comparing a show i'm watching to another one or a review being posted in the feeds about a film with less than 500 people interested. i have reconsidered my choice to not watch something after having spirited discussions in private messages discussing the pros and cons of the premise and whether they managed to get it done without f*cking sh*t up. i still contribute semi-regularly by adding relatively unknown actors and crew members to the database so they can get the credit due them. if you know where to look, you can get some good sh*t out of that place. problem is most users who are new to both the site and East/Southeast Asian cinema as a whole don't know where to look, and the cycle continues, and the ratings continue to be skewed/bloated and no one pays attention to the plot, if there even is any to pay attention to.

tl;dr: begging people to not let MDL be the be all end all for their drama recs a la 'well MDL doesn't like it so i won't watch it'. babe we have said MDLers complaining about how the ratings on Viki are too high but in my entire time watching dramas i've found that in the past two to three years the Viki ratings are making more sense than the MDL ones. sit with that for a sec. when you're done branch out and see the world (literally and cinematically), i promise you will be a better person for it

[volleypearlfan]

Follow up to cringe culture essay: animated film edition

My post about cringe culture, fandoms, and kids media, which you can read here, briefly mentioned how outsiders mock animation fans for using animated kids shows to say that animation is for everyone. I want to follow up on that point.

I had the displeasure of seeing an awful post on my Twitter timeline that went “the ‘animation IS cinema’ people always pick the dweebiest movies to make their argument. Just post Beavis and Butt-Head Do America guys, nobody would disagree” Wow okay mr edgelord. You sound like a stereotypical Disney Channel bully.

The ‘animation is cinema’ image comes from The Mitchells vs the Machines, which is a family-friendly movie that many hold up as a good example of an animated movie, and how animation is for everyone. This gets mocked by outsiders (usually snooty Letterboxd types) who think that this movie uses the “Grubhub art style” or some BS like that. As you can see, people who act like that think animation is only for children, and plug their ears and go LALALA when you bring up good animated kids’ films with mass appeal. Whether you like it or not, animation always has and always will be cinema.

This brings us to another problem: a lack of mainstream adult animated films. Thanks to the stigma that animation is only for children, we never get mass-marketed animated movies for adults these days, and any movies that ARE for adults are only shown at art house theaters. Sausage Party was a mass-marketed adult movie, but it alienated its audience with its crass humor and kiddie appearance (Silly Rabbit, CGI animation is for kids! /s)

I feel like if adult animated films were marketed more, they would reach a wider audience. As much as I love Mitchells and most of Pixar’s output, animation fans should definitely check out movies specifically aimed at adults. Expand your palate a bit. It’s okay to watch kids stuff, and it’s okay if you only like kids stuff, but adult animation needs to be appreciated more, since it suffers a stigma that it’s all low-brow, poorly animated, offensive comedy.

ADULT ANIMATED FILMS TO CHECK OUT:

Beavis and Butthead Do America (as well as Beavis and Butthead Do the Universe) - These are more teen movies then adult movies, and they are low brow, but they do it (badumtsh) in the best possible way

Heavy Metal (1981)

Watership Down*

Fantastic Planet

Akira

Ghost in the Shell

Perfect Blue

Paprika

The End of Evangelion

Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer

Princess Mononoke*

Princess (2006 danish movie)

The Plague Dogs

Entergalactic

The works of Ralph Bakshi

I Lost My Body

The Spine of Night

Pink Floyd - The Wall

The Prince of Egypt*

*these are technically aimed at kids, but I mean it when I say that they deserve higher ratings and feel more adult than family-friendly

Feel free to add more suggestions

EDIT: Bringing this back because Twitter is hating on animation once again, and acting like snobs by saying that Puss in Boots is bad. ANIMATION AIMED AT CHILDREN IS STILL CINEMA. CHILDRENS ≠ BAD. I hate Letterboxd bros

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 37: Everything

I’m back-back-back, back again~! 🥴 Pedro’s hosting SNL, dominating media, claiming 2023 as his year, and I’m over here ready for some more Heat, baby 😁

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: 19,500+

Summary: You’ve been each other's safe harbor, so when the spectacular circumstances that lead to the end of the Cali cartel's influence oust everything you have Javi had been looking forward to, can your gravitation survive the fallout of events?

Warnings: Javier Peña being the our flawed AF king. Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of unprotected sex. Mentions of hurt/comfort, resentments, toxic coping mechanisms, heartbreak and hidden motives. Descriptions of pining, light dom/sub play, cum play, size kink, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to triggering events, vindictive behavior, foreboding threats, and emotional trauma. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Sub!Reader, Wrathful!Javi. 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 36: Pésame

Chapter 37: Everything

After the capture of Miguel Rodríguez, things seemingly fall into place, as if they'd always been planned that way.

You go into work the next day and hear about how Chepe Santacruz surrendered to the authorities and was taken into custody to La Picota, and by the following afternoon, after a purported massacre at a Norte del Valle ranch, Pacho Herrera is arrested at a church without incident.

All four Cali godfathers were in prison. By all appearances, the Cali cartel had been subdued and their operation had been halted.

Javier doesn't tell you anything to make you think otherwise.

Instead, he spends these days seemingly finalizing work on the case, but in reality, he and his agents are gearing up resources for the tracking and capture of a missing asset:

Guillermo Pallomari. The Cali cartel accountant. The only person left alive – and on the lam, who could decode the ledger and unravel Cali's web of influence – and hopefully keep all four godfathers locked up for real.

You know about Javier's plan to locate and secure the man into DEA custody, but you don't know why he seems so intent to do so without the assistance of CNP, nor why he's so sure he has to get Pallomari to ensure the government doesn't go through with the surrender deal after all. At one point, you'd assumed he would eventually tell you everything that transpired that day – the sequence of events that had left him feeling so demoralized after what should've been a celebrated success. But then days go by and he doesn't detail a thing.

Really, there's no true opportunity for you both to sit with everything and discuss it. Not with how busy you both are. Passing like two ships in the night. Only when you're in each other's arms are you figuratively at port, and even then, you relish the time making love and wanting to get lost in each other. During the mornings, you'd give each other brief updates on where you both were at work. Javi used the time to check in on you about things back in Medellín while you both got ready for the day. He'd assure you things were going fine on his end, and you wouldn't push him.

It was your chance to share a quick, unguarded moment – not to do a deep dive.

Javi wasn't really lamenting that. Not when he wanted to bury his feelings and tend to yours as best as he could.

It'd been easy for Javi to bury the details of what happened the day they'd caught Miguel Rodríguez, and while he sensed you hoped he would eventually tell you, he had chosen to obfuscate. To let you believe he'd moved on from it and discussing it now would only drudge the self-loathing and acrimony back up.

His ability to keep that to himself was made all the much easier by the fact you were trying to cage your own feelings up as well. Things were still raw for you, but you'd had to deal with your grief the best way you knew how – by bottling it up, and compartmentalizing it into the deepest, most secluded shelf within yourself. It was a necessity for you to do so.

Combined with the swiftly approaching deadline of Ellis leaving with Anita and her family to Puerto Rico, all of the upheaval of preparing for the departure at work, fiscal bureaucratic responsibilities needing your attention, and the obligations you have to deal with regarding your grandmother's estate, you simply have no room to let the sorrow take hold of you for long. Even when the realtor calls to let you know the apartment you'd loved was no longer available, you hadn't let the pang of sadness stew in you for more than a few seconds before you thanked her for the update and said you'd be in contact once you were ready to look at more places.

You'd mentioned it to him, but Javier had nodded and changed subjects. Choosing to treat everything not part of 'the now' as something neither of you should dwell on.

He chooses to act like he hadn't crumbled before you and needed your grace to stitch him back together, and when he quickly redirects away from himself and his work to ask about you and yours? Or when he scoffs at your mentioning of his "takedown of Cali" being the talk of the embassy, you don't take umbrage, especially with the latter. You know him well, and figure he's deflecting because boastful accolades make him cringe, and he'd rather take the shine off of himself and focus on your success.

After all, you have your own milestones to celebrate these days.

The pilot program has been a success, and with the close of this first round, you are touted by the ambassador for achieving such a formidable goal – and under budget. It's such a lauded achievement, that your department gets the proposed funding to add headcount and expand operations for the next fiscal year. And when you walk into the conference room for the big bi-annual interagency head of department meeting this very morning, you are surprised by the series of claps you receive when you come through the door.

Everyone congratulates you, shakes your hand, and share varying well-wishes for more to come for your department. The Mil Group and Centra Spike fellas especially shower you with cheers, and you are smiling irreverently as they propose a big happy hour get-together to celebrate for real when Javier comes into the room – in his dark gray suit and with the blue and gold-striped tie you'd steamed the wrinkles out of for him this morning – hair already tousled from him running his fingers through it in pent-up stress.

It's times like this you wish you could go to him and kiss the frown off his handsome face. But, instead, you all sit once the ambassador enters.

You can't help notice how Javi goes out of his way to sit closest to the door, and avoids Crosby's gaze. He swivels his nonchalantly about the table before connecting with yours briefly to then force himself to look down at his watch busily.

He's so tense. You internally frown, wondering if something big is about to go down at this meeting, which would explain why he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else—

The ambassador calls your name, and when you snap your attention to the head of the long, oval conference table, he smiles. "—Fantastic work, as always. State Department is so pleased, they're already trying to poach you from here! I hope if anyone over there tries to snake their way to you with a direct offer, you'll kindly tell them to buzz off," he jovially remarks and jokes, earning a few wry chuckles from around the table. He then directs his gaze over at Javier as he drawls, "And, as you all know, congrats are in order for Agent Peña and his team. Without his tenacity in capturing the Rodríguez brothers, the rest of the Cali leadership wouldn't have folded up shop. Great work."

Everyone claps to that, including you, and Javi tries his best not to squirm under the terse praise, forcing a half smile to the people sitting closest to him that pat him on the shoulders. You know he hates this, but there's something in his dark coffee-brewed eyes that is almost pained by the acknowledgement. But as quick as it was given, so was the attention diverted away to other bureaucratical topics.

By the end of the meeting, you intend to weave over to him and suggest having a one-on-one in your office, but the ambassador comes over and thwarts you. Once he's finished regaling you with some of the positive comments he'd received from heads in DOS, you look back and see Javier is long gone from the room.

This morning, he'd mentioned spending the day meeting with his guys in order to go over tactics for the Pallomari case, so you decide to risk the impropriety of going up to see him without an appointment as an excuse. Instead, you enter the DEA department with a to-go tray carrier with four coffees and a couple of creamers, stirrers and packets of sugar nestled in the center. However, when you find the secluded meeting room they tend to use for these hush-hush sessions, only Stoddard, Feistl and Van Ness are in it.

"Hey, fellas! I come bearing caffeinated bliss," you chime congenially as you enter, smiling brightly when they look up from the mess of papers and files strewn over the table and gawk at the coffee cups as you set them down on an uncluttered corner. "Where's your fearless leader?" you jibe as you hand Stoddard his cup.

"He stepped out for a quick call," Stoddard answers and eagerly preps his coffee with the cream and sugar he likes. He sips from his cup and practically swoons before he tells the other agents, "You guys, if you haven't had the director's coffee, you've been missing out."

The two junior agents are dressed casually, wearing jeans, sneakers, and well-worn t-shirts under very busy-looking patterned button down short-sleeved shirts. You don't see how Feistl ogles your hourglass shape as you're carefully removing the cups from the carrier to hand one to his partner before handing the other to him.

"It's not my coffee, but yes – it's excellent, and I wanted to give you my congrats on your successes, and show my appreciation by bringing you guys a little pick-me-up," you sardonically lilt as you hold out the tray with the creamers and sugars after you've removed the remaining cup meant for Javi.

"Thanks!" Chris gives you his most winning smile as he plucks a creamer and two sugar packets, along with a wooden stirrer, from the tray. His features are covered in dark stubble, and the Hard Rock Café t-shirt he has on under his garish palm-leaf print button down looks rumpled, like it'd been on the floor rather than in a drawer before he'd pulled it on that morning.

Dan politely takes the tray from you so you can hold the remaining cup in both hands less awkwardly, nodding his thanks and doing everything to not look at your cleavage thanks to his tall stature that gave him a perfect view down your sage-colored crepe V-neck blouse, even from his vantage point on the opposite side of the table. And when he pivots to place the tray down on a storage cabinet, his geometric-print button down shifts to reveal more of his shirt, and you notice the logo on it.

"Oh! Is that the Red Hot Chili Peppers?" you inquire, smiling wryly when he balks before looking down at his Blood Sugar Sex Magik shirt like he's just realized what he had on.

"You know 'em?" the tall man inquires with a charmed little smirk pulling at his pouty-pink lips, eyeing you now as if impressed.

"I mean, don't let the stuffy outfit fool you, agent. I have many a band shirt in my collection as well," you jibe and wink at him. "I saw them live once. Right before I came down here. I've been meaning to get that album," is your affable remark as you put a hand on your hip and continue in light conversation – expanding on the concerts and music festivals you've both been to, not noticing the amused glower Chris is shooting his partner at being able to chat you up like he's secretly wanted to for a while.

You do notice how Stoddard glances at the door behind you, and before you can turn, Javi is drawling, "Are you trying to poach my agents into the next round of your pilot, director?"

Raising your brows innocently, you turn and scoff, "Poach them? Never. No, in good time, you'll all be unable to avoid my department, and will fall in line just like everyone else."

Stoddard chortles into his coffee cup while Chris grins behind his hand and Dan flattens out his lips comically at your audaciousness.

Javier just grunts and gives you a challenging look, so you hold out the coffee cup and smile angelically as you chime, "I bring coffee as a show of good will. I'm gonna need it to convince you to let us on-board the rest of your staff before the year ends."

He accepts the cup and has to fight the impulse to pull you close so he can plant a kiss on your goading, rouged lips. Instead, he nods his thanks before inquiring, "Actually, got a minute? I wanted to go over something mentioned during the meeting earlier."

"Of course," you remark before turning and giving each of the men a smile goodbye. "Good luck, boys!"

While the three men remain in the conference room and exchange varying degrees of amusement – including Chris elbowing Dan and bouncing his brows crassly at him while Stoddard shuts the conference door, Javier gestures for you to walk ahead of him in the hall as he directs you to a different room just off from his office. It's a small room with horizontal blinds giving privacy in a department with a lot of vestibule-styled conference spaces. It looks like it's been outfitted to be a make-shift audio equipment surveillance room, so the lights were low-lit when he flicked them on, and there were two swivel chairs tucked into place by the retrofitted work station.

As soon as he shuts the door, Javi plops the coffee cup down on the counter and pulls you into his arms before kissing you with all the bottled-up passion he'd been stowing since seeing you earlier.

Gasping a giggle, you pull back to saucily whisper, "Javier! This is much too risky—"

"I don't give a shit," he retorts gruffly and picks you up so he can whisk you to sit on the countertop, shoving a swivel chair out of the way so he can stand between your parted thighs. You swoon, feeling so aroused and titillated by his possessiveness, as well as his masculine scent and the heat of his body pressing up against you. "Been dying to kiss you," Javi husks as he paws his touch from your waist up to cup your face before burying his hands in your hair and tilting your features up so he can press salacious kisses over your cheeks, jaw, and neck while you pull him into you and stifle a breathy sound of delight. "Looking so fucking sexy, showing all of us up earlier," he husks after teasingly flicking his tongue along your bottom lip after you exhale needily. "Making my guys lust after you—"

You hiccup a scoffed sound before pulling back and giving him a sassy smile. "Oh my god, you're so ridiculous," you scathe sardonically and affectionately wipe your lipstick prints from his mouth. "Tan celoso—"

"Goddamn right, I am," Javi grouses in that gravelly pitch that makes you ache between your thighs for him. "You don't see the way they look at you," he murmurs heatedly, pursing his lips when you tenderly caress the back of his neck and hum amusedly. "I'm serious—"

"I don't care how they look at me. I only belong to you, querido," is your silky murmur, eyes sultry as you teasingly nuzzle his cheek. "Now, I don't want to keep you. I just came up to see why you were so grumpy," is your soft musing as he rests his forehead to yours and encircles your waist. "I know all the attention annoys you."

"…Just could do without the bullshit, is all," he rumbles in an even tone before shaking his terse mood off. "Thanks for the coffee and smooches, preciosa," is his purr now before he presses a doting kiss to the top of your hairline.

"Well, I didn't intend to smooch you, chulito," is your snicker as he leans back and grunts smugly at you. He has a blush-toned apricot lipstick smear on his chin, so you beckon him closer as you slink off of the countertop and smoothen out your pencil skirt. "Come here, and let me get you sorted so it doesn't look like I had my way with you in here," you drawl cheekily.

Javi chuckles and lets you swipe your thumb to remove the smear before you smoothen out his collar and straighten his tie. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he laconically quips, and you snicker irreverently before leaning up to nose his lapel, and end up huffing with a grunt. "What?" he asks when you lean back and pout.

"You got my perfume on you!" you admonish in a hushed tone and idly make sure you don't have lipstick smudged outside the line of your lower lip before scrunching your nose at him blowing a raspberry at your worrying as he brushes his fingers to comb your hair back into place behind your ears.

"I don't plan on letting anyone get close enough to sniff me, mandona," he jibes as he leans against the counter and picks up the coffee cup to take a long pull.

"I saw that room, chavón," you coolly drawl, adding with musing humor, "Not gonna be able to help smell each other once the coffee runs out."

He hums at that and showily pats his free hand down the side of his blazer to make sure he has his cigarette pack. "I'll have a smoke to camouflage your sexy scent," he rumbles in a canela-brined timbre before towing you with a hand at your hip to lean into him when you purse your lips at his plan. "I can't wait until everyone knows and we don't have to sneak around anymore," is his sincere mumble, leaning close so he can nose into the hairline at your temple.

"So do I," you murmur and lean back, eyes twinkling as you sigh, "Not much longer now."

Javier grunts, and leans his forehead into yours. "I might be late tonight, so don't wait up," he tells you in a smooth baritone.

You nod, wanting to kiss him so bad, but the risk of getting anymore telltale proof of your canoodling on him keeps your desire in check.

He lets you slip from his embrace, but gently caresses his touch to your cheek. Quickly, you turn so you can kiss the inside of his palm and give him a mischievous smile as you bat your lashes, hands teasingly skimming down to lightly graze your touch over his tensing abs as you purr, "Alright, Don Celos. Try and keep that in check so your guys don't get wise to you."

The searing look he gives you is too gratifying. "I'm outta here before I punish you for being such a sexy little atrevida," is his gruff drawl before picking up his coffee cup and exiting first to make sure no one notices you both breeze out and go your separate ways.

While you stride out and turn down the hall to make your way out of his department, Javier is already lighting up a cigarette and taking his time to make his way back to the small conference room.

By the time he's saturated enough of his person with the clinging smoky scent and is settling in for a long day of planning with his agents, you're riding down in the elevator, head full of daydreaming thoughts involving life after this last supposed hurdle.

Of course, that is quickly swept aside when your cell phone rings once you're about to settle in at your desk. The estate attorney reels you down into a heavy sadness as he updates you on the latest, and confirms with you the need to meet in person to sign documents and finalize things. With an upcoming bank holiday and other bureaucratical legalese you need to deal with, he suggests you taking a trip to Medellín and getting your family together in order to complete required steps for passing the property over to them. He offers to make himself available the next few days, so that spurs you into calling your aunt with the news, and after some more tender discussion about the house, you end up agreeing that flying down the following day and having the weekend to get these things done would be best.

Ellis is more than happy to cover things while you're away, so you book a flight and make it all the way home to Javier's at the end of the day before realizing he might take umbrage to you going out of town on such short notice. It nags you as you get out of your work outfit and put on a slinky purple housedress. And when you busy yourself with washing the dishes you've both let accumulate in the sink, it keeps needling you. It doesn't let up, even as you tend to the laundry that's piled up. The stress it conjures up has you ironing his dress shirts on autopilot while you ruminate.

You're so preoccupied with your thoughts about everything that when you're hanging up all the freshly ironed shirts into his closet, you absently bump your hand against a box tucked onto the top shelf, causing it to tumble down.

Managing to catch it with minimal fumbling, you scoff at yourself and are about to pop it back onto the shelf, but the wobbling weight of it and the rattling of the contents within grab your curiosity.

You've never really snooped through Javier's things. Well, there was that time you'd had to search for a hamper, and then hunted for those raunchy pantaleta keepsakes he'd squirreled away. But it wouldn't be too terrible to take a peek inside the box, right?

Pulling the lid of the shoebox open, you look in and find a few folded up visa documents, a laminated prayer card of the Virgin Mary, a glass paperweight with a painted-on relief of La Virgen Santa, a red-beaded rosary, a postcard-sized envelope, and three photographs. With a fawning sigh, you wander to the bed and sit, place the box onto the surface and carefully retrieve the photos so you can peer at them more closely.

Two of them are already familiar. Your smiling expression as you posed for the picture Javi took of you in Cartagena is mirrored on your face now as you look from it to the photo of you both lying side by side on the bed. That weekend floods back to you in warm memories that stir a tingle into your heart, making it skip a beat. But it's the third photo that has you fawning now.

Javi is smiling brightly in it while leaning against a green wooden barn fence. He's standing next to an older man who's wearing a white cowboy hat, standing as tall as Javi, but with a greying moustache. His features are distinguished, but exuding a warm easygoingness to him that you've seen the resemblance of in Javi's expression countless times. They're both wearing light coats and standing in what's obviously a horse pasture on the Peña ranch during a cooler season, considering the overcast sky in the background and the brown horse idling behind another barn fence within its paddock in the back.

"You wanna come to Laredo and meet my Pops sometime?"

Your heart flutters at the recall, and you smile fondly at the photo. The envelope gets your attention next after you return the pictures to the box. Retrieving it, you note the neat handwriting scribbled in bold penmanship on the front, with several stamps denoting it's come from stateside. You can't help smile that it's postmarked from Laredo, Texas, and after cataloguing the address and the name Jesus Peña, you return the envelope to the box and fawningly sigh.

Hours later, Javier drives down into the garage and parks in his spot, feeling dead tired. He lumbers out and makes his way up to his apartment, annoyed but rescind to the next phase of things he has to undertake the following day.

He's not looking forward to telling you about his plans to go to Cali.

No, he is begrudging the fact that all the planning of the day had boiled down to one conclusion: They needed Jorge Salcedo to help them locate the rogue Cali accountant. Feistl and Van Ness were reluctant to admit it, and Javi recognized their protectiveness as being the main factor for resisting recruiting the man into their last-ditch effort to keeping the Cali godfathers locked up permanently. It made sense, especially after the man and his family almost met their demise. They felt personally responsible for putting them in harm's way, so Javi had agreed to be the one to go personally to Salcedo in the morning to ask for his cooperation.

As he lopes down the hall from the elevator towards his door, Javier worries that he'll have to finally tell you what happened, in order to justify his somewhat covert operation in Cali. When he unlocks the door and enters the apartment, he finds the space dark, save for the ambient glow of the television. Once he locks up and sets his things aside on the credenza, he lets his eyes adjust to the dimness, and makes out your sleeping form, curled up on the couch. He approaches quietly so as not to startle you awake.

It looks like you'd put your head down on the armrest and simply dozed off unintentionally. Telling by the glass of water and the plate with half of a sandwich sat on the coffee table, he thinks it's safe to say that you'd decided to wait up for him after all.

"Cariño," he murmurs softly as he sits on the edge of the cushion and gently tucks wayward strands of hair behind your ear before brushing his fingertips along your jaw. You stir and hum as you unfurl from under the throw and adjust to blink up at him. "Sorry to wake you," is his rumble as he leans over to kiss your forehead. "I told you not to wait up—"

"I know," you sigh after you yawn and sit up, scooching close to him so you can curl into his side as he loops his arm around your waist. "How'd the rest of the brainstorm session go?"

"Not ideal…we have a plan, but we'll need to get Salcedo to help us. I'm going over to the hotel he and his family are being guarded at in the morning to get him on board," Javier tells you soberly, steeling himself when you pivot to look up at him worriedly. "We're going to Cali as soon as I get him to agree."

"Oh," you retort softly before pensively looking away and resting your head against his shoulder, trying not to get lost in the smoky scent clinging to his collar. "Ok…well, I guess we'll both have our hands full the next few days," is your musing remark. Javi grunts curiously, so you sigh and resist the impulse to cuddle into him protectively to instead sit up and look into his dark eyes as the glowing cast from the TV illuminates his handsome face. "The estate attorney? He called with an update; wants to take advantage before the bank holiday to finalize things, so I'm flying out to Medellín early in the morning," you pause when Javi's features tense up. "I'm sorry, I know it's short notice—"

"No, it's alright. I just wish I could go with you," Javi retorts as he rubs his palm along his cheek before pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired exhale. "I'll drive you to the airport—"

"Oh, you don't have to," you assure, but Javier shakes his head and scoops you up in both arms so he can pull you onto his lap and embrace you with a contrarian grunt.

"I'm taking you. Do you have someone picking you up once you land?" he asks and holds you close as you loop your arms around his shoulders so you can card your fingers into the back of his hair while he nuzzles your jaw.

"Since everyone will still be at work when I get there, I was going to just take a taxi—" you begin to reply.

"Not a chance," Javi mutters with finality and leans back so he can eye you, the authority of his glare so fierce that you feel a shiver skitter down into your tummy. "I'll arrange for someone to pick you up and drive you to where you have to go—" he starts to state firmly until you pout at him, so he assertively insists, "After what happened last time? Either you have an armed escort I trust, or you're gonna cancel and wait until I can travel with you. There's no way you're going without me ensuring your safety, querida."

You feel heat simmer in your chest before tickling a yearning burn down into your core, making you shiver slightly as you nod obediently and bite your bottom lip.

It shouldn't turn him on to see your breath hitch and features flush from how his intense, albeit provoking gaze gets you before he drawls almost goadingly, "Really? Not gonna argue with me?"

"Well, if you're going to be a jodón about it," you scoff and daringly nudge him as you shift to straddle his lap. He chuckles, eyes crinkling fondly at you as you loosen the knot of his tie with a sassy flare, undoing it while he caresses his hands to the small of your back. But then your gaze becomes sheepish, and you divert it to where you're working the buttons of his collar open. His hands cup the small of your back, and he thinks about how insufferable it'll be – being separated from you, when you lean close until your lips graze his, and whisper, "I wish you could come with me, too…"

He encircles your waist and kisses you, full lips capturing yours tenderly before pressing his forehead to yours. "I know, corazón," he sighs and just holds you, nosing into your hair and getting soothed by your soft perfume.

You hug him, nuzzling his neck, breathing his skin; melt into him when he starts caressing his touch along your sides. He kisses your shoulder where the housedress has slipped down to expose the round of it, and you tingle from the heat that zings down into your core.

The glow of the TV pulls the contouring shadows in around your face when you lean back to sultrily gaze at him before brushing your lips sensuously along his cheek. "I have a surprise for you," you purr and kiss the corner of his mouth, smiling when he shakes the lustful daze off in order to give you his undivided attention. "Can you guess what it is?" is your teasing lilt.

His brows arch as he leans back and stares at you before glancing around at the dark apartment. "Uh…did you clean?"

"Yes, but that's not the surprise," you chuckle and lean back to balance your seated position onto his thighs.

He grunts and eyes you curiously, until the ambient glow from the television catches on your silhouette, backlighting you. That's when he notices it, and his eyes flare up to yours.

"…Fuck me, querida. Are you bare under this little dress?" Javi husks, voracious gaze flicking back down your body to stare at the revealed swell of your breasts under the cotton fabric to see the unmistakable press of your hard nipples against it. And when his hungry stare ventures down to the hem, he realizes you've sat in a way to avoid pressing your crotch over him. His eyes flick back up to you and they're dark with lust, features carving into that smoldering look that makes want pulse into your center. "Show me," he orders in a low rumble that tickles excitement up your spine.

You nip at your bottom lip as you pull the hem of your slinky house dress up your thighs to reveal that indeed, you are completely nude underneath, and the lowlight provided by the TV illuminates the slick heat honeying your cunt.

He's enthralled by how wet and flushed you are for him already, admiring the soft curls on your mound and how inviting your glorious pussy looks, when you chime, "To your liking, mi patrón?"

Javier's eyes snap up to bore incandescently into yours as he sweeps you up against him and effortlessly stands, large hands cupping your ass and forcing you to squeal and loop your limbs around him as he rushes to take you to bed.

"After this morning?! Teasing me the way you did? And you still have the audacity to be a naughty little thing – showing me how wet with need your pussy is – asking if I like it?!" Javi is growling freshly as he bounds across the space before tossing you onto the bed. You exclaim with carefree delight as you bounce on the surface and scramble up onto your elbows to watch him hastily remove his blazer as he kicks off his shoes. "Tan chingona y coqueta, when you know how fucking wound up you get me—" is his surly snarl as he unbuckles his belt and swiftly discards it in order to hurriedly undress.

While he's not looking, you sit up to lean back on your haunches and shed your dress overhead and off before brazenly tossing it to sail in the air and land on his head. He snorts and turns when you laugh impishly and watch him flick the dress to the floor before he cocks a challenging brow at you.

"Come here," you purr and crook your finger beckoningly at him.

He does so, loping over while busily unbuttoning his dress shirt whilst eyeing you smugly as he nears. The bedroom is dark, and the only illumination is coming from the open opaque drapes. The window beyond them lets in the moonlit night that filters through the sheer curtains. You look like a sprite, sitting up on your knees, completely nude and alluringly gazing at him.

Once he's within reach, you snag the open front plackets of his shirt and tow him closer so you can dutifully tug the hem loose from his partially undone slacks, leaning in to brush soft kisses along his exposed sternum as you unbutton the shirt cuffs for him before pushing the garment off of his shoulders.

"I want you, hermoso. But I also want to take it slow so we can savor it, since I'm going to miss you so much," you murmur, staring up at him through your lashes as he shrugs the shirt off to the floor.

"You just don't wanna get punished after being a fuckin' tease," he rumbles puckishly and holds out his wrist so you can take his watch off for him while he smirks at you trying to keep your plush lips from pulling into a cunning smile.

"I love how you think being a bossy grouch in bed with me is punishment," you snicker as you remove his watch and scamper over to the foot of the bed to reach the dresser and place it on the surface. At Javier's charming chuckle, you turn back and watch him unzip his pants while he wryly shakes his head at you.

"Fine. I'll dominate the hell out of you some other time, then," Javi drawls in a gravelly tone as he sheds his slacks, then removes his socks one by one before tossing them in the empty hamper to stand in his gray skivvies with his hands on his hips. "Now, you c'mere," he orders in a grouse and smirks when you prowl like a tigress back towards him before sitting on your knees so you can hook your arms around his shoulders and lean into his warm, broad torso.

Pulling you against him more, Javi kisses you, relishing your little mewl of yearning as he claims your mouth voraciously with his own. He seamlessly hoists you up so that you can wrap your legs around him as he clambers onto the bed and balances you in his hold before easing up on the passion of his kiss to lay you on your back and hover over you. The moonlight and the glean of the city's lights illuminate your nude form now stretched out under him, and catches on his broad shoulders as he sits up to cup his hand between your thighs and touch your tingling center.

You hiccup a whimper when his fingers glide through your drenched folds before parting them. He groans lustfully, "Fuck, you're so wet," pausing to admire how the slick dampening your cunt gleams in the lowlight. He presses his thumb over the hood of your clit and grinds against it just right, just like he knows you like it, and watches you shiver with pleasure as you simper out a little noise of need. "Gonna make sure you come so hard that you soak my fingers, preciosa—"

"Mmph! Javi," you react to his declaration, clinging to him and trying to shove his underwear off with your feet so he can be totally naked and on top of you. "Oh, take this off—"

"I thought you wanted it nice and slow?" he taunts, slipping two fingers into your silken cunt. "Something about savoring it?" is his leering drawl as he curves his thick digits up to brush that spot you can't quite reach yourself, drawing out a moan from you. "Keeping 'em on is the only thing stopping me from railing the fuck out of you like I want—"

You arch and toss your hair back on a groan, blushing at how a new wave of arousal floods your sheath and makes the squelching of your cunt being finger-fucked by him even louder than your panting breaths. "You want that?" is your pitchy mewl as you tighten your grip on his biceps before undulating your hips in time with the plunging pace of his fingers. When his eyes narrow on your luscious smirk, you goad, "C-Can't control yourself any other way?"

His fingers are yanked from your eager pussy so quick that the needy whine that comes out of you has you writhing in flustered heat, but you jolt when he reels back, thinking he's going to leave you like this, but then see he's rushing to get out of his boxer-briefs. He's kicked them off and yanked you by your waist up into his lap in seconds, and before you can gather your wits, Javier is grinding you down on his throbbing, ramrod cock.

Your cry is of titillated hunger, feeling singed through by how the thick of him has stretched you so good while your yearning cunt clenches around him.

He groans, arms encircling your waist tight and keeping you flush to him as you bury your face in his neck. "Feels like you're the one who can't control yourself, malcriada," he husks against your ear, exhaling an amused chuckle when you squeeze your arms around his neck and protest with a weak hum. "Huh, that doesn't sound convincing, mi amor."

Oh, he's so damned cocky. You decide to get him back the way you know will have him caving to you instantly.

You clench your floor muscles around his cock hard and graze your teeth down the side of his neck before nipping the slope that connects to his broad shoulder, then suckle with a lascivious hum.

The world spins and your back hits the bed before you've finished blinking, and Javier has buried a hand in the back of your hair and fisted the strands possessively as he moans shamelessly before he snaps his hips back and slams his thrust full force into you. You see stars and arch as you cry out, nails digging into the backs of his shoulders as you cling to him.

His pupils are blown out when he plants his free hand next to your head so he can adjust the cant of his thrusts in order to barrel into you with abandon in this new angle that has his cock hitting the cluster of pleasure nested within you dead center, over and over until you are spun up into an incinerating orgasm.

"Fuck! Oh god-oh god—" you wail, completely lost to the throes of your climax as he prolongs it and watches you sob, "Jah-Javi!"

He bows his head into your chest with a snarl of accomplishment as you gush warm slick in your raucous release and whimper airily. His cock is pulsing with need, but he slows his pace in order to draw you down from the stratosphere of pleasure and start working you back up.

"Tan brava," he huskily growls against the valley between your breasts before he nuzzles your sweaty skin and trails his tongue down to trace the cup of your left tit, where he leaves a love bite on the swell of it. "Eres mía, tiernita," is his molasses thick purr before he nuzzles over to your right breast and suckles hard on your nipple.

Your pussy clenches around his throbbing shaft as your breath catches in your throat. "I'm yours, Javi," you drunkenly cry as you bury your hands in the back of his hair and arch into his mouth. "All yours," is your sigh when he frees your nipple and traces the tip of his tongue over the pebbled flesh.

Javi teasingly grazes his teeth over your studded nipple, earning a breathy gasp to catch in your chest. "Yeah, you are," is his velvety purr before he suckles the underside of this breast, then nips you lightly before soothing the bite with his tongue. It's a possessive show of dominance, and it makes your silken sheath clench around him.

When his gaze flicks up to you, his eyes are smoldering with desire, and you think he's going to fuck you with abandon. Instead, Javier adjusts so he can hook one of your legs over his forearm and hold you open to him as he rocks into you, then out, then back in – setting an exquisite pace, taking his time so he can feel his cock grind against every ridge inside of you. He wants to feel you pulse around him as he fucks you nice and slow – to watch you clench around him and get revved up into a titillated tizzy.

You grip the bedding and arch when his thrusts angle upwards, bringing him to rut against your thrumming clit in time with the plunge of his cock hitting your pleasure point nestled deep inside you.

Javi thinks he can hold out. That he can get you to climax again before he chases his own need, but you moan and gaze up at him in the throes of your pleasure before you reach for him and pleadingly grip his chest. The whimper you let out inarticulately beckons for him – to have him on top of you and his mouth claiming yours while he fucks you so good.

He gives into it. Leans down to capture your lips and delve into your hungry mouth as he gives into the carnal desire zinging through him. You passionately kiss him back, sucking on his bottom lip before mewling when he rapaciously drags his mouth away to suckle hard on your sloping muscle.

"Javi!" you cry out in ecstasy, overcome by the ravenous pleasure as his thrusts have you careening over the edge into another blistering orgasm.

Your pulsing cunt clamps down on him and floods over with your climax, stoking a ferocious pride in his chest at having you come apart so fiercely. But the moment you whimper rapturously under him and drag your nails down his back? Javi loses the tether of control and fucks into you with need, pace stuttering under the onslaught of his pleasure overtaking him as he comes hard inside of you, groaning your name hoarsely while in the height of his bliss washing over him.

The taut heat that flutters in you when he spills his release is amazing, and you moan a sated sound when he loses coordination and clumsily unhooks your leg from his hold as he collapses on top of you.

The sound of the air-conditioning kicking on muffles your staccato breath and his ragged panting against your neck, and the cool air soothes your scalding, heaving bodies as you both recover from the euphoric and sublime high of falling into bliss together so ardently.

Once he's able to think straight, he grunts huskily before propping himself up so he can nuzzle a path up from your neck to your lips, where he presses adoring kisses before smiling against your cheek at your satiated sigh as you languidly rub his sweaty back.

"Nice and slow is fucking hot," he husks puckishly before brushing his nose impishly against yours.

You giggle breathily and graze your teeth over his plush bottom lip before suckling the morsel with a sensuous hum. "Told you, guapito," you silkily murmur, earning a hum from him before he starts trailing kisses along your jaw. You comb your fingers through the back of his hair and let him kiss a path down your neck to the love bite on the slope towards your shoulder.

The heat of his mouth when he presses a tender kiss over it makes you tingle and swoon.

When he can move, he shifts up and off of you to lie on his back next to your nubile form, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. You turn your head so you can kiss the top of his shoulder. He smiles, and you admire his moonlit profile, fawning over how handsome he looks when he's relaxed – savoring the post-coital serenity that gravitates you two closer to each other.

It remains while you both shower, basking under the warm water and your tender, soft touches.

While you dry your hair, Javier goes out to the living room to make a call. Once you're done and in your cozy robe, you find him on the couch in just the towel he'd tucked around his trim waist, finishing the other half of your sandwich.

"Oh, that's gone cold! I'll make you a fresh one, babe," you tut, but he takes your hand before you can rush off and pulls you in to sit on his lap while he shakes his head.

"Nah, this is perfect," he assures when he's done chewing his current bite. "All set for tomorrow. Trujillo will pick you up at the airport in Medellín—"

"I don't want to trouble him, Javi," you sigh, and he rolls his eyes before finishing the sandwich with two big bites. "Doesn't he have a shift to work?"

He grunts before swallowing. "Shit in Medellín is so low threat now that they've scaled back on hours, so a lot of the guys are picking up side gigs. I owe him big time, and he has the flexibility, so quit fretting," he drawls and gives you a cheeky squeeze before patting your thigh. "You get in bed. I'll shut things off."

Smiling, you relent with a musing hum and peck him on the lips before getting up and loping on tired, sore muscles to the bedroom. By the time Javier has shut the TV off, brushed his teeth, hung up the towel from around his waist onto the rack, and turned out the bathroom light in order to feel his way back into the semi-penumbra of his bedroom, he finds you sans robe and fast asleep on his side of the bed, illuminated by the dim nocturnal glow sifting through the sheer curtains. He snickers at the sight, figuring you must've been so tuckered out that you slid into bed with the intention of shimmying under the covers over to your side, and just didn't make it before dozing off.

He crawls onto the bed and eases himself under the covers next to you, and finds himself easily drifting off to sleep once you've snuggled closer to him and looped your arm around his waist.

The next morning, the rays of dawn filtering through the curtains slowly stirs you and have your eyes fluttering drowsily. Your cheek is resting on Javi's chest, and you realize he's awake when you feel his fingertips caressing lazily along the back of your shoulder. You stretch your legs and sidle against him, not in a rush to part with his warm skin.

"We never keep the drapes open. Waking up and being able to watch the sun come in, seeing the light warm you, was nice," Javi murmurs, timbre rough with disuse.

You hum, kissing his chest before tilting your face up to his while you glide your affectionate touch up from his side to his other pectoral. His eyes are warm pools of dark chocolate with flares of chestnut as the sunlight accentuates his handsome features. His tousled strands of hair that stand askew are earthy cocoa shades, dark brows relaxed while the stubble along his jaw makes a scraping sound when you cup his cheek. Your thumb sweeps over to trace his full lips after skimming over his moustache, and he grunts softly when you scratch affectionately at his cheek while you smile.

"It's not as nice as my view right now," is your smoky purr as you caress your fingertips up to trace along his brow before brushing them up his forehead to toy with the unruly whisps of hair fanning across it.

His eyes close and he sighs serenely, always soothed by your touch. You take advantage and lean up to kiss him chastely on the lips. Javi encircles his arms around you when you go to slink away, pressing you against him so he can chase your lips and deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back to comb his fingers through your hair and gaze lovingly at you, admiring how the sun catches in your hair and casts you in golden relief, you smile brighter, feeling that effervescent feeling of contentment that only Javi gazing at you so is able to stir up in you.

"I was thinking. Maybe we can take a trip – after everything here is settled – and you can take me to Laredo?" you find yourself blurting, then quickly becoming sheepish when his expression softens with surprise. "You know, take you up on your offer to meet your dad?" is your elaboration, and when his eyes crinkle in confusion, you scoff and smirk, deadpanning, "Ah, you don't remember that, huh?"

His eyes narrow in concentration and his brows scrunch together, but he still parcels, "Sure I do."

"Such a liar," you snicker before shuffling up against him to playfully bop him on the nose with your finger before gliding it down to his lips in order to trace his bottom lip when he pouts. "You said it when I brought your drunk ass home after movie night. Asked if I'd want to go to Laredo and meet you dad."

Javier wracks his brain, and can vacantly remember staring down at you in the elevator, and you smiling alluringly.

Before he can retort, you sardonically sigh and go to maneuver away. "Oh well, never mind then—"

Sparing a glance at the alarm clock and seeing there's ample time to spare, he rolls so he can be on top of you. "C'mon, drunk or not, you know that's what I want, cariño. We'll do it," Javi insists, soulful eyes lowering to your lips as he rumbles, "Let's do it."

When he leans down and tries to kiss you again, you chuckle and coquettishly turn your face, smiling when huffs. Tracing your touch down his neck to the hickey you left on him, you change the subject by chiming, "We should take advantage of being up early, stud. I'll finish packing, then make breakfast—"

"Fuck breakfast," he interrupts boldly and tosses the comforter back so he can sit up and pull you along with him. You squeal comically at being bare in the very chilly room, and cling to his warm form, which earns a smug chuckle from him and his hands to wander over you possessively. "C'mon, we have plenty of time," he drawls in a honeyed timbre that turns an octave lower when he grinds you down on his lap as he whispers, "Need to have you, querida."

Want blooms in your core and spikes arousal down into the clutch of your cunt as you feign absentmindedness. "Oh? How so, dulzón?"

His coffee-brewed eyes narrow and his mouth pulls into a cunning smirk. "I was gonna get on my back and let you ride me, but now that you wanna play, and pretend to be a silly girl?" he rasps in a dark pitch, the kind that rakes desire over you like sinful silk, and you feel yourself get shamelessly wet as he suddenly manhandles you onto your hands and knees on the bed, facing the wall.

Your breath catches excitedly in your chest as he hitches up behind you and spanks his hand down on your plump glute. "I'm gonna dominate the fuck out of you instead, malcriada," is his grouse against the back of your ear before he nips it lightly and ruts his cock against the tight cleft of your ass.

Yes, there's plenty of time for Javier to possessively fuck you on all fours while the early morning comes through the curtains, washing you in golden light as you arch before him and beg, "Oh please, please, please!" while he pounds your pussy from behind and grips his hands tight on you shoulder and hip. And he takes his time crowding over you to leave a fresh love bite to the back of your neck as he rails you so hard that you can't even hear anything over the loud squelch of your cunt being plundered jubilantly by him along with the filth he's growling gruffly into your ear.

"That's it. That's my girl. Fucking take it," he rumbles, tone assertive yet loving as he hammers his cock into you with rough abandon, getting high on the power you've allowed him to take, alight with how you moan and flood with warm slick and clamp around him.

He groans as you whimper desperately while mindlessly rocking your hips back and arching, features melting into the throes of ecstasy as you cry, "Javi!"

Your pussy ripples around his throbbing cock as you're propelled towards the precipice of orgasm, and it springs cloying savage need in him – pace becoming feral as he growls, "Yeah, j-just like that. Take it, fucking take all of it—!"

Pleasure tears you asunder into a blazing climax that has you tossing your head back and grappling to ground yourself as if you're grasping to not fall blindly into bliss for real, gripping his wrist at your waist and the pillow before you as you wail his name. The way you gush your orgasm and writhe has Javier primally triumphant. It's also his undoing, because he tries to soothe you by nuzzling your neck, but ends up wrapping his arms around you and chasing his own fervent release when you moan, "Give it to me, Javi."

His mind hazes over when he fills you with his cum and hunches over you, drunk on the high and lightheaded as you melt down onto your tummy and take him with you. You turn your head dazedly to seek out his mouth with your own, dragging your lips across his jaw and cheek before he hums into kissing you. Javi then nudges his head affectionately against yours and exhales an accomplished sound before curling you both sidelong to recover – sweaty and sticky as you both lie in post-coital repose, pressed skin-to-skin as you lounge in the afterglow.

The bliss of it – being taken apart by him and pulled back together by his doting kisses and adoring touches – is short-lived when he lifts his head enough to look at the clock again and groans. Not enough time. Never enough time…

It weighs on him, and while you both rush to shower and get ready, he finds himself reluctant to part with you, especially with the foreboding feeling pressing in on him.

Javier doesn't know where things will go today, or how securing Pallomari will turn out in the long run, but moreover, he doesn't know how he can reconcile the truth he knows – how the deck has been stacked against them from the start.

He doesn't want to tell you.

Even so, when he drives you to the airport, the truth of it sits like a weight on his tongue, but he endeavors to keep that buried down. So, when he pulls up to the departures entrance of the terminal, he gets out and chivalrously takes your bag out of the car in order to give it to you on the curb. Before he's finished placing it down, you've wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight and kissing the side of his neck before leaning up on your tippy toes in your leather flats to kiss him with unabashed love.

His hand buries in the back of your hair and deepens the kiss, pulling you into him by the small of your back.

The anxiety that springs up in your chest is lancing, and you internally admonish yourself as you pull back and caress his cheek. "I love you," you susurrate before melting a little when he leans down to press his forehead to yours, arms encircling you tight to him. When you nuzzle him and sigh, he holds on to you, not wanting to part, and you find that the worry needles up in your chest again, and it has you pleading softly, "Please, Javi. Please be careful. All of you need to watch your backs."

"Don't worry, querida. I promise, we'll be careful, and all this shit will be over soon," Javier proclaims, kissing you one last time before he forces himself to let you slip from his embrace. "I love you," he tells you, and you smile with genuine serenity, because you believe him.

You trust everything he's said, so you collect your purse and suitcase, playfully caress your touch to brush his hair back from his forehead, and lilt, "Buena suerte, agente."

He watches you stride off into the terminal, and once you're out of sight, he gets in the car and drives himself to the Hotel Centro Internacional, where Jorge Salcedo and his family are currently holed up, under DEA security protection.

While you make it through the terminal towards your gate after getting your boarding pass, Javier parks at the hotel and steels himself for a difficult conversation. He's not had much personal interaction with Salcedo direct, not since finding out during the San Jardín raid that he was the C.I. codenamed Natalia. And since, he's had his moments of trepidation about the man. Truthfully, he feels guilt for what could've happened to him had Feistl not insisted on storming the building. But the persistent part of him compartmentalizes the guilt and justifies the experience only lending itself to being a great motivator for convincing Jorge to help them locate Guillermo Pallomari.

And, once he gets the man one-on-one up on the terrace of the hotel to chat? As soon as he's confirmed that the paperwork is almost ready at the embassy and that he and his family will be on the first flight out in the morning, Javi hits Salcedo with the question.

"Guillermo Pallomari. You have any idea where we can find him?"

"No. Why do you need him?"

Javier details how the Rodríguez brothers gave 6 million dollars to the Samper presidential campaign, and makes it clear that without Pallomari testifying in the states – going on the record in order to generate new indictments, it's not likely that the Cali godfathers will remain in prison. Salcedo doesn't balk. If anything, he's exasperated, and makes it clear his top concern is about his family's safety. Javier thinks the man is going to hedge back – turn him down, but then, he looks him in the eye and tells Javier the biggest lead. That Pallomari's wife was having an affair with a man at her office. That the phones in the cartel safehouse he'd stashed Pallomari and his family had been tapped.

Then, he hits Javier with the question: "And he can keep them in prison?"

"We find Pallomari or the godfathers walk."

"You're not going to find him without me," Salcedo counters, resolute.

Javier can't help acerbically huff, before slightly smirking as he chuckles, "You're right."

Salcedo is resigned, but stressed. He tells Javier he's in, but wants to discuss it with his wife. So, once they head back down to the hotel room, Javier leaves him to it and calls the fellas with the update while he waits out in the hall. By the time he and Jorge are in the car, driving to the airport in order to meet Feistl and Van Ness at the cargo plane hangar to ride down to Cali together on a chartered flight, you're just landing in Medellín.

You exit the terminal and see Trujillo, dressed in plainclothes, with a light jacket that hides his shoulder holster and badge. He waves you down, and you hustle through the crowd to greet and thank him.

"—I'm so sorry Javier troubled you—"

"No trouble at all!" he assures and places your bag in the backseat before opening the passenger door for you.

Once you're in the vehicle and driving down to your appointment with the lawyer, you take the chance to call Javi and check in.

He's just finished securing the secondary charter to be on standby for the extraction in Cali when his cell phone rings. Signaling that he needs to take the call, Javi strides to the side of the open hangar and answers, "Peña."

"Hey! Just calling to let you know I made it in, boss man," you chime affably into his ear, and the tension in his shoulders subsides. "Everything ok on your end?"

"Yeah. Just about to board the plane. I won't be able to check in the rest of the time I'm down there," he tells you, hand on his hip as he paces. "I'll call you once we're back. It might not be until late, though—"

"That's fine. I want you to call and let me know you're all right as soon as you can," you insist, then sigh fretfully. "Please be safe, mi amor."

"I will, querida. You take care, ok?" he assertively rumbles, and when you hum in agreement, he husks, "I love you."

"I love you too, Javi."

"We love you very much, Peñita!" Trujillo shouts good-naturedly so Javi can hear, and he blows a raspberry while you giggle irreverently.

"Take care, and talk soon," you retort before you both exchange goodbyes.

He feels a little lighter after the call, and with renewed pep in his step, he rushes back into the hangar and is soon boarding the plane with the other three men.

The flight to Cali gives him a lot of time to think, and the closer they get to their destination, the more he can feel the collective tension amongst them.

So, as they begin their descent, Javier assures, "Once we step off this plane, whatever goes down is on me. We are way off the well-lit path."

Minutes later, they land in a provincial airfield with a single runway tarmac. Deboarding, they get in the waiting SUV Suburban and start prepping for the day – divvying up portable radios and handguns. Salcedo rejects Dan's offer to carry one of the pistols, and while Chris drives, Javier goes over the plan once more. As he details how they'll split up so they can try to track Pallomari's location via Salcedo's wiretap connections at the telephone company, you're just arriving to your grandmother's – well, now more officially, your cousin's soon-to-be-house, after finishing with the attorney. Your aunt is already there when you arrive, so you assure Trujillo that you'll be fine, and after you confirm some updates with him, he gives you his card with his cell phone number on the back and insists that you call him if you need anything.

You spend a while sitting in the kitchen catching up with your aunt about things regarding the house, the changes in the accounts for the utilities, and your plans for packing up things. The subject regarding sorting through decades of memories and personal effects starts to bog you down in the mire of overwhelming sadness when mercifully, your cousin arrives from work and gives you a needed reprieve. While your aunt makes an early supper, you and your cousin work around the house together, dusting and cleaning while you talk. Every so often, your mind wanders to Javier, and you have to quell the anxious worry that fizzles up within you. He's going to be safe. He said this'll all be over soon. Trust him.

What you don't know is that Javier is just linking up with his agents and Salcedo after successfully baiting Fredy Moya – who called Pallomari's wife and warned her of the DEA coming around asking questions and looking for her, and with the call he made traced to an apartment north of the city, they were on their way there. Unbeknownst to them was that the man would seek out David Rodríguez to trade information, and that with David torturing it out of him, it was now a race to get to Pallomari.

Parked on the street and remaining in the SUV as a lookout, Salcedo places his radio in close reach and takes the driver's seat as the agents head up to the apartment building in formation. Feistl takes the lead, with Van Ness covering him and Javier at their rear, making sure no one can sneak up on them. They hustle up the stairwell and locate the apartment door. With a nod of consent, Chris bangs on the door. They can hear muffled rushing and anxious chatter from within, so Javier gestures for Chris to try to enter. Finding it locked, he decides to kick it open, and once he does, Dan is at his side as they come in weapons drawn, shouting for Pallomari to put his gun down.

Javier breezes in between both agents with his DEA badge up, coaxing the harried man and wife to calm down, and assuring them he's there to help. Once the wife makes sure their sons are safe and closes the door to the bedroom, she and Pallomari warily sit in the living room to talk with the three agents. Really, it ends up being an exasperating session of haggling and semantics between Javier and Guillermo. He's barely keeping his patience – everything in him is simmering with the annoyance of controlling his temper while the man questions about what kind of house they'll get, even having the gall to say that his family are accustomed to a certain square footage. But when Javier tells him he has no option other than what he's presenting him, and that this is the only way to keep his family safe? Guillermo seems to get it, so Javier tells them to pack their things, but the wife – Patricia – begins to spiral. She rambles about needing a week to get her affairs at work in order, that they need to give them a week to get things organized, that she cannot just up and leave like this. Her voice gets harried and the more Guillermo tries to diffuse her, the more hysterical she becomes.

Before Javier's even realized it, his temper has boiled over, causing him to bellow, "Okay!" rendering the couple into stunned silence while Chris and Dan bristle where they stand at the ready. He realizes he needs to rein everything in quickly, so Javier tells Guillermo to go pack his children's things while he talks to Patricia. As soon as her husband is out of earshot in the next room, Javier hits her with, "I know about Fredy Moya. It's none of my business—"

"You're right. It's not your problem," she snaps back.

"You realize what happens if they find you?" he levels evenly. "And your kids?"

She flounders, getting frazzled, insisting she can't just leave without saying goodbye. That they're in love. Javier then tells her with finality that if she stays, she will die.

That sinks in. She nods and rushes to pack, to corral her two sons and hustle them to get ready to go while she hastily gathers belongings and shoves them into a suitcase. Javier feels that cagey tension ebb in him, but he knows there's still ways to go. Dan and Chris start pushing them to pack it up to leave, and once Guillermo snaps at his wife that they're done and there's no more stuff to grab, that it's time to head out, Javier radios in to Salcedo.

"We're on our way down."

Chris leads the way down the stairwell to the first landing overlooking the lobby and halts so Javier can sprint down ahead of him to get to the door and radio to confirm, "Salcedo, we're in the lobby now. Are we clear?" There's no immediate response. Javier attempts again. "Salcedo." Still no response, so he radios more adamantly, "Jorge, we clear or not?"

There's a pause before the radio engages. "All clear."

"Copy," Javier confirms before turning to the others and pressing, "All right, stay close."

Javier is the first out the entry door, and once the Pallomari's come out, Dan and Chris flank them to check both sides of the intersection before confirming nothing is amiss. Up ahead is the SUV. It'd been raining when they'd driven over to this part of the city, so the windshield was covered in condensation and water. The pavement smelled damp all around him, and there was no breeze. Everything seemed still – until the gunshot.

They all take shelter behind the nearest car at the opposite side of the street, huddling down at the curb. Javier ducks down and peers around it to see Jorge unload his pistol down into a man on the ground next to the open passenger door he'd seemingly fallen out of. Once the shooting stops, Javier bounds over cautiously and recognizes the now dead sicario to be Navegante.

Staring at Salcedo, he barks, "What the fuck happened?"

With his arms outstretched in a stance of compliance, Jorge gestures to Navegante. "He has the keys."

Without missing a beat, Javier looks over his agents and shouts, "Let's move!" before kneeling to scoop up the car keys Navegante dropped, tosses them to Chris, and rushes with Dan's help to drag the dead man's body away from the car to the opposite side of the street while Patricia screams at her kids not to look and Guillermo irately questions why Salcedo is there. "He saved your life! Get in the fucking car!" is Javier's barked response as he orders everyone to get in, shoving the nervous man to the back seat while Dan piles the kids to the back and Chris jumps into the driver's seat, with a stunned Jorge getting in behind him.

They're speeding off and away as the sounds of police sirens grow nearer. Javi spares a look at the side mirror and watches Navegante's lifeless body disappear with distance. The depraved, sadistic satisfaction he gets knowing the bastard who'd kidnapped you – that had been the triggerman-for-hire to every lowdown fucking cartel – had been gunned down and left on the wet pavement like he'd done to countless others? It should make him question his morals. But for once, Javi feels gratified, and is sure he'll sleep just fucking fine tonight.

The sendoff of Pallomari onto the chartered flight that would ferry him and his family stateside into DEA protective custody went seamless, all things considering, and once they were off the runway, he, Jorge, Dan and Chris boarded their waiting plane and headed back to Bogotá.

They're not even finished deboarding the plane when the unmarked SUV with the security detail ferrying Salcedo's wife and daughters arrives to board the other awaiting jet Javier had coordinated. Stoddard was in tow with their embassy documents, so with paperwork in hand, Javier ushers Jorge and his family onto the other plane.

"Chris and Dan are going to escort you. They'll see to making sure you all have everything you need," he's telling Jorge as he hands him the documents. "Take care of yourself."

Jorge shakes Javier's hand, nodding curtly. "Thank you, Agent Peña."

After huddling with Chris and Dan one last time, he shakes both their hands and pats them on the back before gesturing for them to climb aboard. "Stay in touch. My old partner, Steve Murphy, will meet you on the tarmac when you land," he tells them before joking to Dan, "Try and be more patient than I was with Pallomari."

"I can't make any promises, boss," Dan quips before hustling up the plane's stairs and ducking his tall frame in to enter the cabin.

"Thanks for backing us, boss," Chris tells Javi with a nod before he follows his partner up into the plane.

Javier rides back with Stoddard to the office and hears more great news.

"—David Rodríguez was gunned down in a drive-by, along with several of his associates."

Again, it shouldn't please him so viscerally to hear, but he feels the warm embrace of sweet retribution come over him, and by the time he gets to his apartment, only a few hours before dawn, Javi is buzzing.

Your cell phone rings loudly on the bedside table, and you groan, rolling over to face it when panic leaps up in you. Javi!

Scrambling up and reaching for it, you answer, "Hello?"

"It's done."

You feel a wave of vertigo before excitement punches it away once your anxious mind registers how teeming with exuberance Javi's tone is. "You got him?"

"Yes. He'll be in court testifying in a sealed grand jury in a couple of hours. My guys are escorting Salcedo and his family into witness protection," he tells you in a rush, breath stuttering before he rumbles, "It's done, everything I needed to do…"

Your heart soars, and the happy tears that crest your eyes dampen your lashes as you flutter them. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Javi!" you gush, absently wiping at your cheek when a couple of tears drop. "You've worked so hard, have done everything – gone above and beyond to succeed and make a difference. You should be proud," you tell him, overcome. When he exhales tensely, you scoff derisively, "Oh my god, c'mon, chavón. Don't make the first thing I do when I see you be to wring your neck and browbeat you! You should be proud, dammit."

His husky, honeyed chuckle makes you smile. "I am, chingona! Just wish you were here. Dying to put my arms around you," he retorts with sincere, albeit crooning warmth. "I know it's late, so go back to sleep—"

"What're you wearing?" you interrupt sultrily.

Javi hums a gruff sound of protest. "Fuck, don't tease me like that, baby—"

"I want to know what you're wearing, guapito," you silkily press and lean back in bed, tingling from the heat of your arousal for him, still sore from the sexy romp that morning and now idly caressing the love bite he left on the sloping muscle connecting your shoulder. "Paint a picture for me."

His snort is rueful, but he answers in a canela-brined drawl, "I just got home. Wearing the same clothes from this morning: dark blue jeans, a button down – the one you said is nice and soft…"

"The chambray blue one?" you chime, pressing your thighs together. He grunts in confirmation, and you can hear him shuffle backwards onto a soft surface. You picture him stretching out on his bed.

"You wearing that sexy batita?" he husks ruggedly, which makes excitement flutter in your tummy.

"I wouldn't call it sexy, but yes – I'm in the batita, all alone in bed," you sigh, wishing he was there with you. That he was hiking up your nightgown and settling between your welcoming thighs. His huff becomes muffled by the heavy yawn he lets out. "Oh, I'm such a jerk. You haven't slept! Go take a shower and get some sleep, mi amor."

He grumpily hums, but you can hear the smirk in his voice when he drawls, "Alright, you wicked little tease. I'll call you tonight. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmur. "Goodnight, stud."

Javi chuckles. "Goodnight, querida."

You find out the breadth of Javier's successful raid later that afternoon when you and your cousin finish going to town hall and transferring over the utility accounts into her name. The covers of every newspaper on the newsstand tell of a violent night in Cali, of the DEA spiriting away sources who've turned evidence and testimony against the Cali cartel, of grand jury indictments and U.S. federal backlash to come against the Colombian government amidst charges of corruption.

And when you get back to the house? You are glued to the television as the evening news details how financial evidence presented to a U.S. grand jury implicated members throughout all echelons of government – public officials throughout the entire country – as being on Cali's payroll. And when they splash a bulletin that alleges possible knowledge of said corruption within the halls of the Nacional Palace and that the surrender deal was entertained for so long in bad faith? Your mind flashes to how distraught Javier had been after capturing Miguel Rodríguez. Did he know? That the corruption went all the way up to the President? Is that why he was so disillusioned—

The ringing of your cell phone makes you jump, and you rush to quickly retrieve it from the coffee table and answer it.

"Hey, corazón. How are you?" Javi's rich baritone washes over you, subduing all the questions that had been galloping wildly in your mind.

"Better, now that you've called," you tell him honestly, smile clear in your voice. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Everything with the house go alright?"

"Yeah. I just have an appointment in the morning to transfer a few more things. I'll have to come back soon to start packing things up and seeing what we should donate, what they'll want to keep in the house, and what will go in storage…" you feel a lump start to tangle in your throat, so you clear it and sink back into the couch. "I was just watching the news."

"Hmph, yeah. I got a meeting with Crosby in the morning about it," he mutters, and you can make out the click of his lighter before he inhales and puffs out the smoke from his freshly lit cigarette. "What time is your flight?"

"Not until the afternoon, and I figured you'd be busy, so I'll take a cab," you tell him, and at his grumble, you tut, "Nope, I don't want to hear it. Trujillo was a great escort, but now that you've effectively nailed the Cali cartel for good, I think I'm free and in the clear of ever getting snatched up—"

"Not by the assholes from before, no. They're dead," Javi tells you in a tone he's never used with you before. It's a mixture of cutting and gloating, and it raises the little hairs on the back of your neck. He seems to catch it, at least by how he reproachfully huffs at himself. "I'm sorry, that wasn't right—"

"They're dead?" you ask, the macabre curiosity prickling you to know more as you sit up straight.

Javi hesitates, annoyed with himself for being so callously flippant. He sets his cigarette down on the lip of his ash tray and scrubs his fingers over his moustache before dragging them down to his chin. "Navegante? I saw it happen for myself. He got taken out…and the little fucker who'd ordered it, David Rodríguez – he got killed along with a few of his guys in a drive-by," he tells you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. In a low, bass-pitched baritone, he confesses, "I only wish I could've been the one to pull the trigger—"

"Javi," you breathe out, pitch tremulous. "It's over. We don't have to worry about them anymore. You kept your promise, and now it's done. There're just good things to look forward to, and it's up to us what we want those things to be," is your assurance, and hearing it said so concisely but with so much hope fills Javi up with your loving, protective grace. "I love you, Javi," you susurrate, and he exhales in relief, eyes closing as your words wrap around him.

He says your name with amorous feeling before telling you, "—Te amo con toda mi alma. So much so, that as soon as we can, I'm taking you home. Want you to come to Laredo with me, because, well, fuck – I'm going to need a vacation after all of this, and I can't be without you."

Your effervescent laugh is charmed and loving, and it makes him feel so deserving. That he's done what he needed to, and is now worthy of the life he wants to build with you.

"I want the same, Javi. I can't wait," you retort, the cheeky smile evident in your tone as you add, "And I can't wait to get my hands on your baby pictures, finally!"

He laughs, and it feels so good to laugh after everything, and even though he sees some heads turn towards his office, he doesn't care. "I'll see you tomorrow, hermosa."

"Good luck with Crosby. Bye!"

Javier feels like he's free of the proverbial albatross he'd hung around his neck since he'd agreed to come back to Colombia. All the acrimonious fury, the stress, the failures and disenchantment haven't gone away, but have become less potent within him. The loathing and doubt go quiet, allowing him to tie up bureaucratical matters in regards to the Cali cartel investigation, and by the time he's getting ready the next morning to head to the embassy and meet with the ambassador, the hope he feels sits prominently in his chest, pushing him forward – holding out that full justice will be served to all who deserve it.

But, of course, nothing is as it seems, or goes as it should.

Crosby comes in smug. For some reason, Javier knows immediately things are not going to go as he'd hoped.

"Y'know how many times I've gotten a call from the Department of Justice and State the same morning?" the man drawls, pausing to smirk as he adds, "Count 'em on one finger. Guess we have you to thank for that." Javier glances down at the conference table, already steeling himself for how this is going to go. "I'm headed over to the National Palace right now to make it clear to President Samper himself that the godfathers stay in jail. At least for the foreseeable future."

"But that's as far as it goes?" Javier queries, and when Crosby narrows his glacial stare on him, he forges on with, "We drew up a draft indictment outlining President Samper's ties to the Cali cartel."

"Alleged ties," Crosby counters, expression sharpening as he presses, "And I suggest you keep that draft to yourself. The DOJ's not going to topple a government, Agent Peña."

Javier's expression hardens, and when he has no retort, Crosby gestures glibly as he goads, "You can't tell me you're surprised by that."

"Some part of me was holding out hope, I guess," he rumbles, hands folded together over the table to keep them from fidgeting in his perturbation, left thumb tapping absently while he trains the muscles in his face to remain as stoic as possible. But his jaw has been ticking – corner of his lips twitching against the deep scowl that wants to take over his features.

Crosby is snarky as he lopes around the conference table, gesturing wryly at Javi as he simpers, "Well, you should tell that part to grow the fuck up." Javi is forced to keep his gaze low, for fear of giving the man the furious look that speaks volumes for how he currently feels. His lips purse as the ambassador drawls, "No, I mean it, Agent Peña. You should be happy. You played the system like a goddamn fiddle."

Javi looks up at him then, head slightly cocked to give him a sidelong glance as Crosby gives him a resigned, musing smile. "You won," he tells him, good-naturedly pattings Javi on the left shoulder as he rounds behind him, and makes his exit.

Disillusioned and debased by the conversation, Javi mutters distantly, "Yes, sir."

He's alone when he says it, the ambassador long gone and not intending to pay the DEA country attaché any more of his time.

Or so he thinks.

The entire exchange demoralizes Javier all over again. But now, it's far more denigrating, because he's being told that his complicity is expected. As if he has no choice in the matter. That everything he'd undertaken, every decision and outcome truly had not mattered, because it'd long been decided that sacrifice and injustice were the small prices to pay for corruption, greed, and political dominion – that everything was fungible as long as those with the right authority did what they were told.

He was supposed to take the win, look away, and move on.

It takes the entire smoke break out at the embassy steps, looking faraway as he stares vacantly at the street beyond, to make his decision.

Javier would not be complicit.

After making two calls, he drives over to El Tiempo, and meets with Carolina. She has a tape recorder, and after she sets it down and warns him of the consequences that will befall him once he goes on the record, she tells him concernedly, "You're going to pay a price."

With an unruffled, albeit ruminating look, Javi tells her, "Press the button."

The story is able to run by the evening news. El Tiempo drops the issue within less than a couple of hours of Javi's interview, and by the time he gets back to the embassy, all hell has broken loose in the DEA. Calmly, Javi finishes clearing out his desk, and manages to keep his stoic ease as Stoddard rushes in with a flurry of questions, updates, and a demand from the ambassador's office that he report upstairs to him immediately.

"—What's going on, sir?! Is it true?" the young man exclaims, about to unravel a litany of questions when Javi holds out his hand.

"You were a great deputy, Stoddard. Thank you for all your work."

Neutralized, the man dimly shakes Javier's hand, and watches as he places his cell phone and satellite phone on his desk before exiting his office in order to go up to the ambassador's.

Now, it's Javi's turn to be glib.

He has no illusions. Nor has he thought beyond this point about what happens next. But as he sits across from Crosby, and goes through the motions, he is so resigned to his decision that he can't allow himself any thought further on what this means for him.

What this will mean for you.

"I want you gone, Peña. So do the Colombians."

Javier's faraway as he nods and replies, "I understand, sir."

There a terse, resentful pause between them before Javi gives a curt nod and stands, beginning to exit towards the door.

"You know…any aspirations you had for your career…just got dragged behind the barn and shot," the ambassador levels, almost ruefully, at Javier.

Turning, Javi weighs that, lips slightly parted musingly, before he retorts, "I resigned from the DEA this morning."

Crosby looks taken aback, and with one final once over, Javi turns and resumes his exit, without a cursory glance backwards, as he leaves. He returns to the DEA department only long enough to grab the box filled with her personal effects, and exits out the side door to avoid the chaos he's unleashed as staffers field calls from counterparts at DOS and DOJ.

You're completely oblivious as you exit the gate with your carry-on suitcase and purse. Swinging the strap of your purse to be cross-body over your silver silk blouse, you're hurrying through the crowd in the terminal to make it out and grab a waiting cab, eager to get to the embassy, catch up on some work, and then rush home to shower Javi with celebratory kisses and hugs. As you round towards the main causeway of the terminal, where amenities like the newsstand, airport bar and lounge, and giftshops are, you've just pulled out your cell phone and turned it back on. You start when it begins to ring immediately, so you slow in your rushing pace and answer.

"—Holy shit, girlie! Where are you?! Did you just land? I've been trying to call—"

"Whoa! Yes, I just got off the plane. What's going on?" you query, feeling trepidation well in you at how harried Ellis sounds.

"You gotta get to the embassy. Shit just hit the fan and it's pandemonium here after the news broke—"

As you hurriedly resume your pace and listen, your gaze fans over the newsstand you're about to pass when you stop dead in your tracks, almost bumping into other hustling passengers as they now breeze by you. Every single newspaper's cover overrides your previous thoughts. But it's the El Tiempo headline that sucker punches you.

"—No one knows what's going on and the rumors are insane—"

"I'm on my way, Ellis. I gotta go!" you tell him quickly and hang up as you shove the phone in your purse and retrieve your pocket book to fish out enough money to pay for a copy, tell the man to keep the change, and snag the issue of El Tiempo up as you now bustle with your things towards the exit.

Once you're in a cab, you skim the intro of the story while you anxiously dial Javi's cell phone. It rings as if the call cannot be completed, so you try his satellite phone, then his office phone, and when none work, you call his apartment number. It rings and rings, but no one answers. What's happening?!

Unable to do anything but be ferried to the embassy, you vacantly stare down at the article before the analytical part of your mind takes over, skimming through.

By the time you arrive at the embassy, you feel like you're in an alternate universe.

Highest-ranking DEA official goes on the record…

U.S. government complicit in knowledge of rampant corruption withing Samper administration…

Tapes reveal how a campaign contribution of six million dollars went into the Samper presidential campaign, funneled by an art dealer acting as a liaison between the current president's staff and Gilberto Rodríguez in exchange for virtual immunity…

DEA country attaché Javier F. Peña went on the record with this reporter to disclose the U.S. government's lack of interest in holding Colombian officials accountable for flagrant corruption….

When you enter your office and ditch your belongings, Ellis gallops in. "Jesus Christ, kid. What the fuck is going on?!"

"I'm going upstairs," you tell him as you rush around him and head to do just that, calling over your shoulder, "I-I'm going up and asking him what happened—"

"He's gone."

Your leather-flat-clad-feet skid as you pause in the middle of the department's workspace and whirl around, not believing you heard him right. "What?"

"We just heard. Javier resigned from the DEA this morning. When the news about the article hit, he went up and told Crosby, and then he left," Ellis tells you haltingly, as if the information will cause you duress.

It's then that you feel the eyes on you. Devon and Jackie peer over from their stations, and the techs who are at their cubicles try to divert their gazes when you fan your stare about.

The world shrinks in around you.

Rushing back into your office, you yank out the copy of El Tiempo from your purse and look for the reporter credited with the interview.

Carolina Álvarez.

Your mind inundates you with recall after recall. The business card with her name on it that had been on Javi's coffee tables so many months ago. How cagey Javier had been when you'd pressed him on talking to a reporter for leads. It all shakes loose into jigsaw pieces that fall into place, allowing your mind to come to some troubling, horrible conclusions.

Javier never gave said conclusions thought. Didn't think about what would happen now that he'd committed career suicide, albeit with a reprieving flourish of quitting before going on the record and napalming things.

In all honesty, he'd been so brought low by the ambassador this morning, that he hadn't thought about what would happen now that he was out at the embassy, or how any of this would affect you.

All he knows is that he has to be out of the apartment in forty-eight hours, and he figures it was only a matter of time before the Colombians revoked his visa. He was wondering if they'd do it immediately and send CNP to collect him and deport him back to the states when he hears the key going into the lock of the front door.

Snapping out of his stupor and standing from where he'd been sitting on the bed while dimly sorting through his important papers he keeps in a shoe box, Javi hears the door open and the rushing footfalls over the jangle of keys as you burst in.

"Javier!" you call out as you drop your purse and keychain to the counter to sprint through the apartment.

You come to a halt in your frenzied pace as he appears in the doorway of the bedroom.

He's sans his blazer and tie – dress shirt rumpled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The look in his eyes is haunted, and he vacillates, tense and conflicted before you.

"Javi, what happened? What the hell happened?!" you exclaim, incredulous and shaken as you stalk towards him. "They're saying you quit—t-that you quit your job this morning, and that you leaked things to the press—"

At your harried expression, Javi approaches you now in order to explain himself, hands slipping around you in attempt to ground himself. "I know, I'm sorry…everything's happened so quick. I'm sorry for not telling you first—"

"It's true?" you shy away from his embrace, staring in shock. "After everything…after all that's happened, everything we've talked about…how could you do this?" Your eyes plaintively stare at him, and when Javi diverts his gaze shamefully, you snap. "You quit before you went to that woman—that reportera, because you knew you were going to do this? Why? Why would you do this?!"

"They gave me no choice! After everything – they were going to let the government walk after they took a fucking campaign payoff from Cali for blanket immunity!" he exclaims, tempestuously smacking his palm into the wall as he shouts, "They wanted me to be complicit and ignore what they've done—what they'll continue to do unless they're stopped and held accountable!"

You are dismayed and left reeling, truly stunned into disbelief.

"You just destroyed everything we had here," you exhale, backing away from him. "Did you always know you were going to do this? Were you biding your time until now?"

"What?!" Javi is aghast. "No—"

"You've been talking to that reporter since the beginning! And now she's the one you go on the record for, and firebomb your whole life here without even thinking of letting me know?!" you accuse, hands curling into fists as you begin to shake with your fury. "You've never intended to do this—to make a life together, did you?"

"That's not true!" Javi shouts and rushes forward, but you back away and shake your head at him. "Goddammit, that's all I've cared about—"

"You didn't even tell me what happened after you caught Miguel Rodríguez, because you knew since then that you were going to do this. That if things didn't go the way you dictated that they should that you'd expose it all, at the cost of your fucking life here! You knew that no matter what, there was nothing else you could do to force the issue aside from hanging yourself out to dry—to sacrifice your fucking career and make yourself the goddamned martyr, without ever thinking about what would happen to us! What would happen to me," you pause, tears catching in your throat as you waver in your upset whilst Javier woefully flounders before you for what to say. "I trusted you, and you didn't trust me to be honest with what you were doing, with what your intentions were and what you were willing to do to get the results you wanted—"

"No, dammit, none of that is true! I never intended to do this," he tells you emphatically, and you scoff, furious now as you rush past him to the bedroom, smacking his hands away as he tries to stop you. "—Wait, wait! Please, just listen to me, querida!"

Javi whirls and follows you, quickly becoming disheartened when he sees you retrieve your duffle from the closet and start yanking items from hangers to be tossed in a pile on the bed. "I don't want this! I never meant to hurt you or not think about how this would affect you—"

"THAT'S EXACTLY IT! You didn't THINK about me or how this would affect me!" you scream, vehemently incensed as you rail, "Did you think I would drop everything for you and follow you home?! Abandon my life here and just shack up with you in Laredo until you decide that's not enough for you either?!" Irate now, you level him with, "That I would give up my entire fucking life here – throw away everything I've worked for and leave the only family I have left that matters to me – all because you don't care about your own fucking reputation or career over your immature moral principles about what should happen in a country that's not yours?! How dare you presume to tell me about complicity when you think yourself above all authority enough to discard the people around you in the fallout of your fucking decisions!? You're complicit in forcing an issue that was not yours to mandate! You did your fucking job, but you want to be judge, jury and executioner! It wasn't enough to take down the cartel and take your retribution. Doing your job successfully and coming home in one piece wasn't enough. Oh no, not without you deciding to do everyone else's job, and fuck the consequences—!"

Javier stands there, shoulders slumped, gaze wilted and expression downtrodden as you tear him asunder, and when your voice cracks, you whirl away from him to hide the tears as you squeeze your eyes shut and feel them roll down your cheeks. You resume shoving the items you'd retrieved from the closet into the duffle before fumingly going to the dresser drawer and hefting everything out of it to be unceremoniously thrown in the bag.

"I love you so much…please, I don't want to lose you."

You pause with your back to him after shoving the last of your belongings housed in the bedroom into the duffle. His proclamation was the most upset you've ever heard him, and it hurts your heart, but you find yourself shutting that part of yourself off now.

"Why did you do this. Tell me the truth," is your shaky demand, voice thick with your resoluteness.

He doesn't know the answer. Not the right answer that will keep you there. But he has to try, so he breathes out a tense exhale before blurting, "Because I couldn't live with myself if I let them get away with it."

It hurts. Somewhere within you – that you've walled off now in order to preserve yourself from the devastating fallout, something tender – withers and dies at his answer. Because it's not that simple, and it kills you that he would feel that way. But it also devastates you to know being with you wouldn't be enough for him to hold his head high and know he'd done enough.

"I understand."

The flat, hollow response creates an ache in his chest, propelling him forward. "Querida—"

You hastily shove the duffle flap shut and zip it closed before whirling on him when he's approached you from behind, desperate to pull you into his embrace. But you keep him at bay by swinging the duffle as a buffer between you, and then pivot around him to exit the room.

"Fuck's sake, please stop!" Javier thunders, and you made it to your keys and purse before you halt in your retreat. "I didn't think beyond resigning and sitting down for the interview. I didn't care anymore, because everything that's wrong here isn't just with the cartel or the administration. I've been a part of what's wrong, and I couldn't let it go on. But that doesn't mean I wanted it like this. I never wanted anything else but the life we've talked about – I still do! I just wanted to be worthy of it—"

"You're never going to be satisfied. Whether things change here or not, it was never up to you," you cut in, voice hushed but scalding with your repressed anger. When he doesn't say anything, you wipe at your face and turn to stare at him, and Javi's heart breaks at seeing how bereft you are. "It was Medellín, then Cali, and after it'll be something else – someone else you burden yourself with taking down, no matter what it costs. You still think it's all on you—I see it in your eyes. Even everything you did today, it wasn't enough. Nothing will ever be enough," you pause when your breath stutters and you swallow down what you want to say; what's booming in your head.

I'm not enough for you.

"No matter what, you will never be content, and you'll keep lying and omitting what you really feel, hide the things you believe you need to do. Because you don't want me to know or have a say—"

"I swear, on my life, that's not what I want!" Javi adamantly swears, moving to excise the distance that's suddenly eroded the gravitation between you. "I just wanted it to matter—"

"And I hope it does," you whisper as you mechanically grab your purse and keys from the counter, unable to look at him any longer. "But I can't do this anymore…I've had enough with not being enough."

Javi is decimated, relegated to standing on locked legs as his throat constricts and a devastating pang wreaks through him at your words.

You dazedly work two keys off of your keychain and leave them on the counter before turning to the door, going on autopilot as you exit with your belongings and don't look back.

At the sound of the door clicking shut, Javier's breath stammers raggedly out of him, and before he's realized it, he's sunk down to the floor and propped his back against the wall, taking his head in his hands as he tries to reconcile all the damage he's done.

"You're going to pay a price."

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but when he dejectedly looks up, his apartment is dark, the haze of twilight heavy in the space. It's an even longer time before he snaps back into himself, having gone into a bit of fugue state after his mind walls up his heart, for fear he'll fall apart under the weight of everything tangling around it.

By the time he's had a cigarette and stared out into the void of the bustling traffic of the avenue under a starless night sky from his open bedroom window, Javi hears it.

The self-loathing creeps in like an old friend, ready to tell him all the truths he's chosen to ignore about himself.

It was only a matter of time before she saw it. Everything she said was true. You just couldn't see it for yourself. You never wanted to. Because if you did, you'd know everything was pointless—

The phone in his apartment rings. Javi is so out of it, that it takes him a moment to register it and turn from the open window in his bedroom to lope out into the main room and answer it. When he does, he irrationally hopes it's you, and it weighs like a stone in his chest that quickly drops into his stomach when it's not you.

"Jav, what the hell is going on, man?"

It was Steve. Only Steve. You ruined everything with her, because you don't deserve her—

"—Just what the fuck did you go and do now, Jav?"

His partner did always have a way with words. "Sounds like you already heard."

"Leave it to you to take a big win as a failure of epic proportions…"

They talk for a while, and mercifully it's not until close to the end of the call that Steve asks him.

"What about her? How're you going to make things work?"

"Well…I'm not. It's over," Javi mumbles, hoping saying it himself would lessen the blow, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes him want to crawl inside of the whiskey bottle he's currently overpouring himself a glass of, and never come back out. He gives Steve the cliff-notes of what happened.

The first glass of whiskey goes down like nothing, and when his former partner asks what triggered him to think things between you both were totally FUBAR now, Javi tells him while he pours himself a double to try and take the edge off. The more he drinks though, the more he volunteers, telling him how things came apart at the seams between you earlier, and the loathsome part of him grinds it deep – the feeling of being adrift.

"…Like you said, there's still loose ends. Even if shit hadn't gone down the way they did today, I'd have to be gone, work stateside for a while until all the indictments and cases were in full swing—"

"Javi…listen to me. You fucked up. Royally fucked up here. But you can't just walk away—"

Hackles rising at that, Javi growls, "I didn't walk away. She did, and I can't fucking blame her, and I can't fix it—"

"You let her walk away. You didn't fight for her, didn't give her a reason to believe you wouldn't do this shit again. She's given you chances before, right?" Steve presses, and Javi reluctantly huffs. "C'mon, man. She's worth it, and you're going to hate yourself if you don't try…"

While Javier grapples with his guilt and how to move forward, you're completely drained, lying on your bed with only the lamp on your nightstand on. It's been hours since things had gone sideways without warning. That seemingly everything you'd been working towards in your personal life had dissolved – sifted through your fingers like they'd never truly existed.

Ellis had called you, but aside from telling him you were alright and would see him the next day, it was crystal clear that you didn't want to talk, so he'd let you off the phone, and you'd been thankful.

Now, once you've forced yourself to get up from wallowing to start unpacking your suitcase and duffle, you allow your mind to go blank and concentrate on the mundane task.

It's a while later when you're mechanically finishing with the ironing for all your rumpled work clothes from the duffle bag, and you've just gotten done sorting everything into the closet, that you feel a bout of profound, unsettling emptiness.

A knock at your door startles you out of your vacant daze. Tiredly, you pad on bare feet down the hall, dimly thinking it might be your downstairs neighbor checking in after you'd gone so long without staying at your apartment.

You don't expect to open the door and find Javier standing in the lowlight, eyes red-rimmed and still in his clothes from earlier. The five-o-clock shadow on his jaw and cheeks is darker now, and so are his eyes as he stares at you with plaintiveness from under his brows. Disarmed, you look up at him forlornly.

"Most of what you said? You were right. But you were fucking wrong when you said this isn't enough," Javi is blurting out to you, pressing a hand on the doorframe and the other on the door itself in case you try to slam it shut in his face. When you just stare at him with incomprehension, he insists, "I think you're scared of what this could be, and what happened today is your excuse for breaking things off—"

"…Excuse me?" you hiss, balking up at him. "Are you fucking drunk?"

"No!" Javi snaps and rails, "I don't fucking expect you to give up your life here. I never even asked you to do that! You always say my job isn't me, so why are you fucking pushing me away like this?! I love you, goddammit—"

You are floored by his audacity, and Javier notices too late how your shoulders wind back with fury and you level him with a seething stare. "You have the fucking gall to come over here and put this all on me, again?! Like you always fucking do?!" is your slashing accusation, truly irate now as you shove him back from the threshold of your door and harangue, "The one who is scared here is you, you fucking cabrón! You show up at my door after everything you've put me through? Not just today, but over and over again the entire time I've thrown in with you?!"

Javi's expression sets into a hard mask, but his tone is teeming with suppressed angst as he draws out between clenched jaw, "We can make it work. You're pushing me away before we've even tried—without even trying to give me the benefit of doubt. You automatically decided I'd been lying to you. Didn't even give me a chance to explain—"

Incensed, you excoriate, "Explain?! That you poured your guts out to another woman on the record without a single thought about what would happen or how that would demolish everything we've planned together?!" You're spiraling into a level of rage you've not been at in a very long time, and before you can lose yourself to it, you scoff, hold out your hand, and demand, "Give me back my key, and leave."

That sobers Javier up.

He digs into the left pocket of his gray slacks, retrieves his keychain, and fumbles to remove your apartment door's key from the bunch. "I'm going to keep trying. I'll keep trying, and I'll hold out until you talk to me and give me another chance," is his hushed growl as he plucks the key from the ring. "I'll tie up loose ends on Cali and then we can focus on making this work, and talk about—"

You snatch the key from his fingers and sneer, "There will always be loose ends. Always something else to justify your impulsive, destructive fucking whims, and I've had enough of it. Just pretend I'm a loose end you can skip trying to resolve."

With that, you slam your door shut and lock it.

But you don't pull away from it.

Javier leans distraughtly into the other side of the door, and rests his forehead in drunken frustration against its cool surface while he feebly props his hands on either side of the frame. "I'll prove it to you. You matter to me, querida. I love you, and I'll keep trying to win you back. I'll fix things and earn back your trust. Just don't shut me out…"

Tears are running down your face, and you discard the key to the side table hastily so you can run down the hall and bury your sobs into a pillow.

The liquor is finally hitting Javier enough that he has to force himself to resist the urge to slide down your door and sleep it off. Instead, he trudges down the steps and stalks out of the courtyard into the gusty breeze to get in his SUV and sober up. Once he musters the concentration and sobriety to drive back to his apartment, he sullenly goes upstairs and makes his way to the door before he stumbles up through the cold and dark space.

He finds his way to his room and crawls into bed, forgoing undressing, and passes out face-first on his stomach.

As unconsciousness begins to weigh him down, he sends up a silent plea.

Please don't shut me out of your life forever…

You don't hear from Javier.

In the days after the story breaks, rumors at the embassy are rampant and fierce, but with the political fallout from the exposure of the article, Javier's notoriety is quickly replaced by other headlines that impact relations with the Colombian government. However, it's during this time that you relent, sit down, and read the entire article that put everything into motion.

Seeing that Javier alleged DOS and DOJ were aware of the corruption – that the ambassador had played him a tape given to him by the CIA, documenting the deal Santiago Medina brokered with the Samper presidential campaign and Gilberto Rodríguez? It fills you with cold, sickening dread.

After all, if Crosby knew about the Colombian president being in Cali's pocket and kept playing along – as if something that nefarious didn't justify severing all ties between the U.S. and the Colombian government, what if he'd known everything Stechner had been up to. Could he know Stechner gave my name to the Cali cartel? That they'd snatched me up as an indirect favor to the CIA station chief, in order to try to knock me down a few pegs?

It made you question your convictions. Put everything you'd ever thought about the politics, wielding and dealing at the embassy into a new, discordant perspective.

And if this is how you felt, you can only imagine how torn and betrayed Javi had felt.

Just when you're feeling inundated by your guilt and resentment, Marisol approaches you at the end of the day and waves you over into a secluded corner of your department.

"I didn't want to tell you this…" she prefaces before divulging how over a week prior, on the night Javier's agents had apprehended Miguel Rodríguez, he'd been in his office's bullpen, all alone, just staring at the suspect board. One of the custodians had walked by and seen him and thought it odd. When they'd circled back around a few minutes later, Javier was no longer alone.

The CIA station chief had been talking to him. From what they saw, Javier looked none too happy, and the little the custodian heard and could understand, it sounded like Stechner had patronized Javier, because the seasoned agent had given the balding man a withering look before turning and stalking away from him.

Your heart aches, knowing just how much Javi had wanted to defend your honor and get retribution against the man for everything he'd done, and the fact he'd come to kick Javi while he was down? And that at his lowest, Javi didn't take the bait, and walked away from the bastard?

You thank Marisol for telling you, and before you can muster the composure to keep your tears at bay, she leans in for a hug, squeezes you tight, and whispers in your ear, "Go get your guapo descarado."

It was the encouragement you didn't know you were longing for.

You get your purse and rush out of the embassy, driving over to Javier's and yearning to undo everything that you allowed to untether you both apart. The traffic is heavy, so in your impatience, you opt to park on the street across from his building, dash over to it and down the parking garage ramp to head up to his apartment's floor. You sprint down the hall and feel your pulse racing as you get to the door and knock on it.

There's no answer.

You knock again, and again, trepidation growing in you, so you knock once more and call out, "Javi, it's me," then strain to hear through the door.

"Excuse me, señorita," a voice calls down from the apartment on the opposite end of the hall. You blink over and see a man dressed like he'd just come home from the office, peeking from his open apartment door at you. "The man in that apartment moved out."

Your senses dull over at hearing that, mind straining incredulity. "…When?" you find yourself asking.

"A few days ago. They've already posted it up as available for lease," he retorts, looking curiously at you.

At your vacant nod, he frowns and goes back into his apartment, leaving you alone in the chilly hallway.

Wavering, you lean back into the door and bury your face in your hands, stifling a sob as you realize what you've done.

You've pushed Javi away, and he's left.

You're all alone, and it's your fault.

You never got to tell him that he was enough.

________________

Read Chapter 38: Enough

Spanish-English Glossary:

Tan celoso = [You're] so jealous

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

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Mandona = Bossy lady

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Canela = Cinnamon

Don Celos = Mr. Jealous; a "Don" is used as a title of respect for a man with a high reputation, so she means it like a "sir", so aka "Sir Jealous"

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Pantaleta = Panties; undies; skivvies

La Virgen Santa = The Virgin Mary; The Virgin Mother

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Jodón = pain in the ass [male]

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

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Tan chingona y coqueta = Such a badass, flirty lady

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

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Mi amor = My love

Tan brava = So feisty; So tough; refers to a "tough girl" 

Eres mía, tiernita = You're mine, my tender little girl

Guapito = affectionate way of calling a man handsome (in the diminutive term)

Dulzón = Sweetheart [male]

Buena suerte, agente = Good luck, agent

Batita = Nightgown

Te amo con toda mi alma = I love you with all my soul

Reportera = Reporter [female]

Cabrón = Asshole

Guapo descarado = Handsome cad

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