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targaryenimagines · 7 months ago

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The Khaleesi’s Queen

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,559

Summary: Daenerys doesn’t like to be interrupted; not when she has everything she could ever want within her grasp.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, slightly rough (and possessive) sex, oral (R!Receiving).

Author’s Note: Changed up the prompt, which I hope is okay Tried to figure it out the first way, but I wasn’t doing it any justice in the slightest. I suppose this can be seen as a continuation of My Khaleesi, but it can be a stand-alone too. (This is told mainly through Dany’s POV, if you’d like me to make a partner through the Reader’s just let me know!)

Series Masterlist

“Do you take me as some sort of fool, Councilor?”

The question is asked in an airy tone, one that a person would use when making a remark about the weather or the coming crop season, but the fiery undercurrent, like iron piercing through the sky, kept the man it was directed to in place. Violet eyes locked on dark brown, a message clear within them: Speak. Now. I’m running out of patience.

“O-Of cou-course not, Your Majesty,” the man stumbles, trying to alleviate the situation. “I-I just wished to tell y-you what your ancestors used t-to do.”

A sneer works itself across a beautiful face. “Yes,” she drawls, disgust clear in her tone. “But those same ancestors didn’t have the bond I do with my son.” Rising from her chair, Daenerys pins the cowering man in place with her gaze. “What will you have me do, Councilor? Have sex with my queen on the back of my son’s back in hopes of creating another?” She takes another measured step closer. “Do you think I’m unaware of what’s being said about me? That I’m oblivious to the gossip and rumors being spread?” Daenerys is a mere five feet from the man now. “Everyone within the Seven Kingdoms knows about my bond with my children, but you choose to council me into doing something that’d be sacrilegious in their eyes? That’d create even more discord within the land?”

Daenerys pauses then, tilting her head as she surveys the cowering man— from his balding head down to his recently polished shoes— and her gaze darkens further.

“So, I have to ask, do you take me for a fool?” She reiterates. “Because you must if you think I wouldn’t question you or your motives.”

He shakes his head, practically throwing himself at his Queen’s feet. “I-I swear to you, Your Majesty, I’m just a lo-lowly scholar. Ju-Just trying to help.” Fear weasels its way down his spine when he felt her lean closer to him. “I-I swear it.”

A breathy chuckle echoes across the room, barren of any form of amusement. “Oh? You swear it?” Crouching down, Daenerys forces the man to look into violet eyes. “I must believe you then.”

Snapping her fingers, the shadows around the edges of the room come to life as figures clad in obsidian black step from them, silver spears glinting under the light.

“Grey Worm.” The Captain of the Queensguard steps forward, back dutifully straight. “Nādīnagon zirȳla.”

At once Grey Worm, and another Unsullied, step forward and clasp the now begging man under his armpits and begin dragging him from the room. His cries for mercy falling on deaf ears: “N-No. Ple-Please, Your Majesty! Don’t do this. Please.”

Dark oak doors close with a resounding bang, cutting off his pleading.

Silence settles once more over the office, save for the faint crashing of waves against the surf outside and the cries of gulls. If Daenerys closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in Essos. Back when things were simple but infinitely more complex. Settling back into her high-backed seat, Daenerys lets loose a soft sigh.

“Did you just have that man executed for telling you something you didn’t wish to hear?” A teasing voice breaks through the silence, the warm cadence of it bringing a smile to Daenerys’ lips. Looking down, she’s met by the sparkling gaze of her wife. “Or did you have that man executed for interrupting us?”

Huffing out a laugh, filled to the brim with adoration, Daenerys pulls you from your kneeling position, placing her hands on your hips once you’re comfortably straddling her. “I didn’t have him executed, ñuha perzys.” She places a delicate kiss to the corner of your lips. “I just wanted to have him leave my presence in a timely manner.”

You nuzzle closer to her. “And to do that you had to scare him? Are you certain it has nothing to do with his untimely entrance?” Wiggling on her lap, Daenerys has to bite back a groan as your familiar weight bears down on her growing erection. One that had found its home in your mouth a mere twenty minutes before— only to be unceremoniously ripped out when the man had knocked, requesting an immediate audience. “I know how you get when certain things don’t go your way.”

“Careful,” Daenerys warns, nipping at your exposed neck. Delighted in the way your breath hitches at the slightest bit of pressure to the small area underneath your jaw. “It’s not polite to tease your Queen.”

Rocking your hips more, you quip back. “It’s a good thing you’re not my Queen then.” Dipping your head, you press a heated kiss to her lips, groaning when her hardness hits just the right spot through her tailored pants. “You will always be my Khaleesi.”

The sound of the title, the first one she had ever truly earned, falling so sweetly from your lips, when the taste of you was still heavy on her tongue, brings a small snarl forth from deep within her chest, rumbling out across the relative stillness of the room. Standing, Daenerys grips you tightly by the waist and deposits you on her desk, uncaring of the various baubles that fall off due to the action. She easily finds her home between your thighs, pressed flush to your beautiful form.

“A Khaleesi is very different from a Queen,” Daenerys purrs, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. Running her tongue against the bottommost one, a husky sound of contentment being made when you let her gain access to the warm heat of your mouth. Fighting for dominance, one that she easily wins, Daenerys plunders further into your mouth, running her tongue along the roof of it, savoring the taste of you. Once she starts to become impeded by the lack of air, she pulls back and nearly comes undone at the wanton expression across your face— kiss swollen lips, lust darkened eyes, a delicate sheen of sweat along your brow. Exquisite. “A Khaleesi takes without question. A Khaleesi is rough, making sure her claim is known, but a Queen is soft, gentle.” Driving her hips into you, Daenerys snarls. “Are you certain you want a Khaleesi instead of a Queen?”

Throwing your arms around her, Daenerys is pressed firmly down, both your fronts flushed together. “Yes,” you hiss, nails digging into her shoulders. “I want my Khaleesi to claim me. To show me that I’ll only ever belong to her.” Your hips cant once more, trying desperately to get some friction. “Show me what a Westerosi Queen could never accomplish.”

At the mere thought of you being claimed by another, at anyone else having the privilege of seeing you come undone, Daenerys’ world view narrows to only you, only bringing you pleasure, so that you’d never think about leaving her.

She’d turn this world into nothing but fire and ash before she’d ever let that happen.

Nostrils flaring due to the possessive fire roaring within her chest, Daenerys takes in the delicate symphony of scents that wash over her due to the action: the sweetness of your bath oils mixed with the heady scent of sweat and the musky undertone of your arousal, strong despite the layers that separated her from the source of it.

“Lean back,” she growls, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips before she began to make her way down your body. Nimble fingers tearing at the buttons and fabric that she comes across, tongue and teeth lavishing the newly exposed skin with attention, until you’re lying delicious bare, save the last bit of your smallclothes, across the dark wood of her desk. The sight of your laid open, and waiting, for her brings a jolt of arousal straight through her body, but she didn’t wish to satisfy her own needs. Not yet. For now, she’d remind you that she’d only ever be the one to give you this sort of pleasure, that no one would ever be able to replace her. Daenerys settles onto her knees between your thighs, rubbing her nose lightly across the patch of darkening fabric at the apex of them. “Don’t even think about cumming until I say you can.” Violet eyes rise to meet your own, expression stern. “Do you understand?”

Nodding, almost frantically, you spread your legs further, giving her more room to maneuver within. Taking advantage of the additional space, Daenerys mouths over your soaking center, tongue flexing against the sodden material that kept it covered from her, as her hands clasped your hips to keep you in place. The sound of breathy moans and pleading whines from above her sending a delicious thrill down her spine.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" The question is rhetorical, she doesn't expect you to answer, but the questioning keen in response brings a soft smile to her lips for the briefest of moments. Pressing closer, Daenerys finally tears at the last barrier keeping you from her, the sight, and the scent, of your glistening center causing her own mouth to water in renewed hunger. "I crave you, ñuha perzys. More and more with each passing moment. I crave to bring you as much pleasure as you can withstand." Daenerys places a delicate kiss to your throbbing clit. "I crave your taste." Lowering her head, she dips her tongue teasingly into your entrance, savoring the flavor that could only ever come from you. "I crave the sounds you make as I ruin you."

Without preamble Daenerys buries her head between your thighs, thrusting her tongue as far into you as she could reach, the keening cry of pleasure tearing itself from your lips music to her ears. You pulse around her tongue, inner muscles flexing, as you try to pull her deeper into your depths, the feeling a reminder of how exquisitely tight you always are for her, something that brings another jolt of arousal coursing through her, making Daenerys aware of the throbbing between her own legs. Forcing her thoughts away from her own need, Daenerys consumes you, tongue lashing across your clit before diving back into your slick hole, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as she keeps you in place, despite your clear desire to chase whatever friction you could find. Your desperation for her, the clear need you had for her, almost made her take pity on you, almost allowing her to let you fuck her tongue, but the only thing you'd be cumming on in the near future would be her cock -- nothing more and nothing less.

Taking notice of the heightened pitch of your cries, the growling rasp building within your moans, Daenerys knows that you're close, that you're almost cresting the peak of the pleasure she's giving you, which means, with a small bit of reluctance, Daenerys tears herself away from you, tongue running along her bottom lip, savoring the remnants of you upon it. Your responding whine allows for a satisfied smirk to grace her beautiful face, soothed that you clearly wanted her as much as she wanted you.

Maneuvering quickly, Daenerys didn't have time to deal with all of the buckles that she wore, not to mention her boots, she simply opened her zipper and shoved her tailored pants as far down as they would go, her erection finally free once more, poised to claim what had always belonged to her. Rubbing herself against your wet heat, Daenerys arches a brow. "Do you want this?" It was the last warning she would give you before she claimed her wife completely, as a Khaleesi should. "You still have time to choose your Queen."

With a heaving chest, and narrowed eyes, you spit back. "The only woman I could ever want is my Khaleesi." You hook your legs around her hips, arching against her. "So, fuck me."

Not giving you a chance to rethink your words, not that she believed you would, Daenerys thrusts into her wife, the slick channel greeting her like an old friend, the feel of it causing a deep snarl to rumble from her chest. If she could manage running Westeros from right here, then Daenerys would never leave, but the times that she could make herself at home between your legs once more were that much more important to her when she could manage to find the time -- her devotion to you superseding all else barring the devotion she had to her son.

"Yes," you hiss, nails digging harshly into her clothed back. "It feels so good, Dany. So good."

Lowering her head, Daenerys harshly bites the sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue soothing the burn that no doubt appeared due to the action. "You're so beautiful." She nuzzles against a slightly older mark she had left a few days prior, quickly going to work to make it as fresh as the one she had just left. Slamming with more force into you, delighting in the sharp keen that's torn from your lips, and the way you flutter around her, due to the action, Daenerys finally detaches from your neck. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and you're all mine."

Nodding frantically, you arch against her lithe body. "I will only ever be yours, Dany." Taking her by the face, you press a needy kiss to her lips, all tongue and teeth as you pant against her. Clearly trying to stem off the encroaching orgasm. "I will only ever want you."

"And you'll only ever have me." Legs beginning to burn due to the power behind her thrusts, and the familiar fluttering within her belly, telling her that she wouldn't be able to last that much longer, Daenerys tugs at your bottom lip. "Cum for me, my queen. Cum for your Khaleesi."

As if a switch had a finally been flipped, your body arches completely off the desk, arms and legs slightly spasming, as your inner muscles tighten completely around her, and a fresh wave of wetness coats you both. The feeling coupled with the delicious sight, causes Daenerys to come with her own groan of your name, her hips still softly thrusting as she leads you through the last waves of your own orgasm.

Once you stop shaking, for the most part, Daenerys leans forward and places a delicate kiss to your brow, still firmly planted inside of you, nuzzling against your sweat-stained temple. "You were wonderful, ñuha perzys, but don't think that I've had my fill of you yet." She runs her hands down your sides, rubbing gently across your lower abdomen. "I still have to put my heir in you."

With a delightfully tired smile, you run your fingers through sweat-matted locks, the silvery-gold still looking radiant despite it all. "I love you, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes flutter shut at the title, the affection in which it falls from your lips, warmth suffusing itself within her chest because of it. Cradling your face delicately between her hands, Daenerys confesses. "I love that you still call me that."

You huff out a laugh, pressing a light kiss to her inner wrist. "Even if we're in Westeros now, Dany, you will always be my Khaleesi. No matter what."

"And you," Daenerys replies, adoration clear within her tone and gaze. "Will forever be my darling Queen."

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #house of the dragon #all of the unsullied left by the way #they’re just outside the room now instead of being within it due to daenerys no longer having an outside visitor

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ones-g · 1 month ago

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Tense?

Dom!Caitlyn Kiramman x F!Reader.

Warning: Sex Public!, sex toy!, Curses.A bit soft at first!

Summary: Your girlfriend is stressed out from her exhausting job as an executive in the eye of the nation. You decide to handle the situation by surprising her in her office. A little break never hurts anyone, right?

—Uh no... Jayce listen I have plans today, leave the package at the front door okay?... Ok bye!— Your voice sounded hurried, somewhat calm and without ups and downs when answering a recent call from your childhood friend (it was already your habit to roll your eyes when hearing his voice).

The reason for your way of rushing things was simple, Caitlyn, your girlfriend, had spent days in her office looking for some useful trace to find and corner the most wanted criminal in the nation. Nothing made her leave her office. At first you gave her space, but the days passed, being incommunicado was overwhelming, of course you knew how important her work was, but you also knew how important her mental health and needs.

So you took your car and determinedly began to drive to where she was, her office and unit. It was clear that it was going to be a surprise, Cait rarely allowed you to visit her at her workplace, it was not to hide something from you (like a deception or something) she just thought that that place was not the best to see each other, there were tense situations, the atmosphere was heavy and believe, she hates criminals who dared to speak to you or make rude comments towards you while they were waiting to be thrown into the dungeons.

For those reasons and others you decided to keep your visit a secret, you had access to her office even if she wasn't there, you are HER woman, she made that clear in a thousand ways (yes, imagine that). You bit your lip as you looked down, seeing again the clothes you chose for the occasion. A simple and perfect black office skirt with a silk shirt (a gift from Caitlyn), a pair of black and formal high platform heels. But beneath this disguise of "decent and attentive girlfriend" was the true intention. Your new lingerie covered your intimate parts and Caitlyn adored them. Since she was absent, she couldn't properly enjoy how that detailed lingerie looked on your body. ¡Dammit! You wanted so much to see her expression when she saw you in the outfit.

After an eternity you finally arrived at the district parking lot. A couple of guards recognized you and immediately bowed their heads in greeting, maintaining respect. You sighed, somewhat nervous and super anxious. The doors opened for you, the secretary looked at you with a smile, she looked so tired. You murmured a cordial greeting and walked to the elevators, being alone you decided to apply more lipstick on your lips, touch up your hair in front of the elevator mirror and unbutton only two buttons on your shirt.

—Perfect...— You whispered looking from head to toe, the elevator door opened revealing the floor where the Kiramman heiress' office was located.

In front of his office, you hesitated whether to knock or just walk by as if nothing had happened. Of course, you opted for the second option.

—Get out— Your girlfriend's intimidating‐hoarse voice exploded in your ears. Caitlyn didn't even lift her head to see who it was, she just "subtly" asked him to go away.

—Are you kicking me out without even saying hello? - You responded, closing the office door, leaning your back against it while still smiling at the taller woman.

Her head snapped up as she recognized your voice, her hand resting on the top of her head slamming down on her desk. Caitlyn opened her mouth but didn't say a word, though the smile growing on her face at the sight of you couldn't be ignored. "What are you doing here..?." She whispered, getting up from her large chair and walking towards you in disbelief.

—You know, I came to see how you were doing—you answered, looking around her office, the papers scattered all over the place, the dust and the little light that filtered through the closed curtains left signs that the place had not been tidy since Caitlyn decided to stay.

The blue haired girl raised an eyebrow, her uniform shirt was rolled up to her elbow, her hair was parted in the middle and tied in a ponytail, her tired and almost dead eyes due to the black bags hanging from them were impossible to miss. —Is it wrong that I think you're hot when I see you like this?— you asked placing your arms on her shoulders, Caitlyn instead held your waist, laughing at what was said.

—I'm so glad you're here... sorry for not spending time with you— She apologized, resting her forehead against yours, feeling the warmth of her body again was something that made you happy, you didn't want to separate from her.

—You don't have to apologize for anything— you replied, giving her a kiss on the tip of her nose. —Did you miss me? — you asked, looking her straight in the eyes, with a certain mischievous glint in them.

—I think about you every day—She whispered with his face buried in his lover's neck, inhaling her fresh and addictive scent. —I think about what you do when you wake up alone in our bed... I think about wanting to hug you and never let go, I think about kissing you as soon as you open your eyes... I miss being present in the house so much, darling— She whispered with a hint of guilt in his voice.

—Maybe you should stop talking and kiss me more...—

—Maybe you should sit on my lap and be quiet...— She murmured, his thumb tracing the shape of your lip, adoring it. "Maybe" You grimaced, your already dilated pupils exposing the level of lust you had at this moment. Caitlyn smiled arrogantly.

—Huh... it's new ? I remember breaking the old one— She recalled running his hand along the strap of your provocative bra, his eyes fixed on your breasts.

"Don't even think about breaking it," you threatened. Caitlyn stepped back with her hands in the air. —I'm not promising anything—

She rolled his eyes and moved closer again. "If I have to rip your panties off to silence your moans I will do it without hesitation..." She whispered against your ear, his hot breath making your skin crawl. —Let me spoil each other, okay baby?—

Caitlyn smirks as she feels your body trembling under her touch, your moans muffled by her hand over your mouth. She loves seeing you like this - helpless and desperate for her.

"Shhh, keep it down," she whispers sternly, even as her fingers continue their relentless assault on your sensitive folds. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear what a needy little slut you are for me, would we?"

Her words drip with condescension and you feel a shameful thrill run through you at being put in your place like this. Caitlyn is in complete control and you are utterly at her mercy.

She leans in close, her breath hot against your ear as she murmurs, "You're mine. My pretty little fucktoy to use however I want. And right now, I want to make you cum so hard you forget your own name."

To punctuate her point, Caitlyn curls her fingers just right, hitting that special spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hips buck involuntarily as you let out a strangled gasp, barely stifled by her palm.

She chuckles darkly, clearly reveling in your predicament. "That's it, take it like a good girl. Cum for me"

Her commanding tone brooks no argument. With a keening whimper, your body obeys, clenching tight around Caitlyn's fingers as an intense orgasm crashes over you. She works you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you collapse back against the desk, boneless and spent.

Caitlyn slowly withdraws her hand, bringing her slick fingers to her lips to lick them clean with a satisfied hum. "Mmm, you taste divine. I could do this all day..."

Caitlyn takes a moment to admire the sight before her - you sprawled out on her desk, chest heaving and skin flushed with post-orgasmic bliss. A wicked grin spreads across her face as she leans down to whisper in your ear.

"But we're not done yet, sweetheart. That was just the warm-up."

Caitlyn hums approvingly at the sight of your glistening folds, already swollen and sensitive from your recent climax. She runs a finger teasingly along your slit, collecting the slick arousal there before bringing it to her mouth to taste.

"Fuck...," she purrs, eyes dark with lust. "I could eat this pretty pussy all day and never get tired of it."

True to her word, Caitlyn settles between your legs, pushing your thighs further apart to give herself better access. She starts slow, lapping at your entrance with long, broad strokes of her tongue before focusing her attention on your clit.

The feeling is almost too much, your nerves still raw from your previous orgasm. You squirm and whimper under her ministrations, your hands fisting in her hair.

Caitlyn just chuckles against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. She redoubles her efforts, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks, determined to work you up into a frenzy once more.

You can feel another orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly as Caitlyn drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take any more, she pulls back, leaving you aching and empty.

She grins up at you, her lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Not yet, baby. We have all afternoon and I plan to make the most of it."

"Look at you," she murmurs huskily, "So desperate for me, so needy. I love seeing you like this. Completely at my mercy."

"I'm going to fuck you now, baby. Nice and slow, until you're begging me for release. And then I'm going to do it all over again."

She turns to one of her drawers, finding a damn vibrator

Caitlyn returns with the vibrator, switching it on to a low hum. She trails it teasingly along your inner thigh, the buzzing sensation making your skin tingle and jump.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," she commands, her voice low and rough with desire. You comply eagerly, opening yourself up to her completely.

She rewards you by dragging the tip of the toy along your slick folds, circling your clit before plunging it deep inside you. Your back arches off the desk at the sudden intrusion, a choked moan escaping your lips.

Caitlyn sets a slow, deliberate pace, withdrawing the vibrator almost completely before thrusting it back in. Each stroke brushes against that sensitive spot inside you, stoking the fire building in your core.

Her free hand comes up to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between her fingers. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear, pushing you closer to the edge with every passing second.

Just as you're about to tumble over, Caitlyn cruelly pulls the vibrator out, leaving you empty and aching. She flips the switch to a higher setting and presses it firmly against your clit, the intense vibrations making you see stars.

"Look at you, so desperate for me. So hungry for my touch." She grinds the toy against you, her other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

Her words are your undoing. With a sharp cry, your orgasm crashes over you, your vision whiting out as ecstasy consumes you. Caitlyn works you through it, the vibrator never stilling until the last aftershock passes.

Finally, she turns the toy off and sets it aside, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on her tongue, the flavor heady and intoxicating.

Caitlyn pulls back from the kiss, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. She takes a moment to admire the sight before her - you sprawled out on her desk, chest heaving and skin flushed with post-orgasmic bliss.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you come for me," she murmurs, trailing her fingers lightly over your trembling body. "I could watch you fall apart over and over again."

She sits back in her chair, spreading her legs wide in clear invitation. —Come here beautiful... use that little mouth—

#caitlyn kiramman x reader #Caitlyn Kiramman #Arcane #arcane2 #lol #league of legends #caitlyn they could never make me hate you #vi x caitlyn

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littlelamy · 2 months ago

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hi!! i love ur works so far 🫶🏼 if ur taking requests could you do something with ceo rafe x anxious reader and him only being soft for her or something like that

hope you like it! ⭐️ you’d always heard about the cold, ruthless nature of ceo rafe cameron, the way he carried himself with an air of confidence that could intimidate even the most seasoned executives. yet, here you were, tucked away in a small corner of his office, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your blouse. today was the big day—you had to present your project to him and the board.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. your anxiety always seemed to bubble up at the worst times, and now, as you sat in front of rafe, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. his desk, polished and imposing, seemed to loom over you, amplifying your nerves.

rafe leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “you look nervous,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. his blue eyes, often cold and calculating in the boardroom, softened when they landed on you.

“i’m fine,” you replied, your voice shaky.

he raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “you’re not fooling anyone, you know. just take a deep breath.”

you tried to follow his advice, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. it helped a little, but you could still feel the tension coiling in your stomach.

“come on,” rafe said, his voice low and encouraging. “let’s practice. you can do this.”

you nodded, appreciating the way he’d shifted from his usual commanding presence to someone who genuinely wanted to help. rafe wasn’t just your boss; he was someone who seemed to understand your struggles in a way few others did.

as you began your presentation, your voice trembled, but rafe remained focused, leaning forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. he didn’t interrupt or critique; instead, he nodded along, offering you a reassuring smile that gave you the confidence to keep going.

“see? you’re doing great,” he said softly as you stumbled over a few words, his encouragement a balm for your frayed nerves. “just keep going.”

you glanced up at him, finding solace in his gaze. there was something so disarming about rafe in these moments, a stark contrast to the cutthroat businessman everyone else saw. you found yourself drawn to this softer side of him, the part that only seemed to emerge when it was just the two of you.

when you finished, you released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “was that okay?” you asked, anxiety creeping back in.

“more than okay,” rafe replied, standing up to walk around the desk. he leaned against it, closer to you now, his presence both intimidating and comforting. “you nailed it. you’re brilliant, you know that?”

the praise warmed your cheeks, and you could feel your heart fluttering in your chest. “thanks,” you murmured, not entirely sure how to respond to such kind words.

“and you don’t have to be nervous around me,” he added, his expression serious. “i’m not like the others. i want you to succeed.”

your heart swelled at his sincerity, and you felt a connection forming between you that you hadn’t anticipated. in this high-pressure environment, rafe’s kindness stood out like a beacon.

“really?” you asked, needing to hear it again.

“really,” he confirmed, moving closer. the distance between you felt charged, electric. “i care about you. i always have.”

you swallowed hard, your anxiety momentarily forgotten in the weight of his words. rafe cameron, the formidable ceo, was softening for you, and it made your heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified you.

“do you want to go grab coffee after this?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching yours. “i think you deserve a treat after your hard work.”

your stomach flipped at the idea, excitement mingling with your nervousness. “yeah, i’d like that.”

“great. now let’s get through this board meeting, okay?” he said, a playful smile on his lips. “and remember, i’m right there with you.”

as you moved to leave, rafe gently took your hand, pulling you close. you looked up at him, your heart pounding. he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as he rocked you gently from side to side. the warmth of his body against yours was grounding, easing your nerves in a way you hadn’t expected.

“you’re going to do amazing,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. and before you could fully register what was happening, he leaned down, capturing your lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss. it was sweet and tender, a promise that he would always be there for you.

when he pulled away, his eyes searched yours, filled with warmth and affection. “now, let’s show them what you can do,” he said, his confidence radiating off him as he led you toward the boardroom, hand in hand.

with rafe by your side, you felt emboldened, ready to face whatever came next. and as you walked together, his presence felt like a shield against your anxiety, a reminder that even in the cutthroat world of business, there could be moments of kindness and warmth.

as you entered the room, you caught rafe’s eye, and for a fleeting moment, you knew that no matter how tough things got, he’d always have your back.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #ceo rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron blurb #rafe fluff

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rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

Text

Nice shot

Summary: What happens when, in a moment of absent-mindedness, you accidentally slingshot your hair tie straight in Ghost’s eye as he briefs you and the team on a critical mission?

Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Word count: 1,149

Notes:

Platonic(ish?) fluff *wink wink*

I admit the following fic could have easily ended up into something spicy, but I wasn’t feeling it when I wrote it so

Want more?

———————————————————————

You’re all seated around a large wooden table in the centre of an otherwise empty room, illuminated only by a flickering projector suspended from the ceiling.

Ghost stands at the head of the table with his back to a projected image of a wanted fugitive. His signature skull balaclava casts an eerie shadow over his face as he speaks, describing the mission’s objectives, the obstacles you’ll face, and the risks involved.

“Our objective is clear,” he says as he walks around the table. “We must take out a high-value target and retrieve vital intelligence.”

“Alpha Team will establish a perimeter around the target’s refuge,” he explains, “while Bravo will execute an aerial rooftop landing.”

But, despite your lieutenant’s confident demeanour, you emit the exact opposite. The upcoming mission is dangerous, and anxiety gets the best of you. Your mind begins to race as you consider the implications and the impact it might have on your job and—worse—on your life.

As the briefing continues, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to sit still. You find yourself absentmindedly twisting a hair tie around your fingers. It was a nervous habit you picked as a child, a coping mechanism for whenever you felt overwhelmed.

You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, but they are useless. So you continue to tangle that hair tie in your fingers as if trying to imitate the knots you feel in your stomach.

Stretching, twisting, turning it around…

Stretch-

The hair tie suddenly slips from your grasp and flies across the table, slingshotting towards Ghost’s face and striking him square in the eye.

You’ve just hit one of the most notorious and feared lieutenants with a hair tie.

The enigma of Task Force 141. Your superior. In the eye. With a hair tie. During a briefing. For a critical mission.

Gasps fill the room as everyone shifts their attention from the lieutenant to you, then back. Your heart drops to your stomach. What have you done?

You brace yourself for his reaction.

Ghost, however, does not react; he doesn’t even turn to look at you. Instead, he kneels, picks up the hair tie, places it in his pocket, and resumes the briefing. Everyone is silent but as stunned by his reaction as you are.

You sink into your chair and take as little space as possible. As Ghost continues, you try to forget the incident, focusing on the mission’s details. However, concentrating is challenging since you can still feel everyone’s eyes on you. You turn to look at Soap, who mouths an inaudible “you’re fucked” as he looks at you dumbfounded.

The briefing ends, and everyone begins to pack up their stuff. You grab your belongings and dash for the door. Perhaps Ghost forgot about it. Maybe he brushed it aside. You wouldn’t find it surprising if he didn’t even notice who—

“Y/N, report to my office in 10.” He commands as he fills out the attendance form without looking at you.

Well, shit.

As you approach the lieutenant’s office, your heart is racing. Worry and embarrassment are fighting within you to see which emotion can make you feel the worst. You try to make up excuses to explain what happened, but what is there to explain? Scenarios fill your mind—bad ones. You might get heavily penalised. You could even lose your job. Not only that, but the thought of being chewed out by the lieutenant is enough to make you break out in a cold sweat.

The hallway walls seem to close in; the fluorescent lights shine straight into your eyes, making you feel dizzy. Each step feels like you’re getting closer to your execution.

The door to the office stands before you, and you pause, gathering your courage. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and knock on the door.

“Enter!” Ghost shouts from the other side of the door.

You push the door open and step into the room. Your heart threatens to escape your chest.

The room is small, and the only furnishings are a worn-off desk with a pair of hard-backed chairs. The lieutenant sits at the desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest; his gaze feels like a spear that pins you in place. He makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. Your legs feel unsteady.

“Take a seat,” he says, motioning with a flick of his wrist to the chair across from him. You settle into the chair as he orders. The leather creaks beneath you, and you nervously twist your fingers in your lap. Thank God you don’t have that hair tie in your hands.

Ghost leans back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here,” he murmurs. Even now, he’s been sarcastic.

You lower your gaze, avoiding to meet his eyes; your mouth is too dry to speak. He seems to understand your nervousness but continues anyway.

“Nice shot,” he says with a chuckle. “Not many can catch me off guard like that.” Despite his concealed expression, you can hear the smile in his tone.

You sit there shocked. You expected a stern lecture, but instead, he is having a laugh.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir—it was an accident.”

But Ghost waves his hand and dismisses your apology. “Next time, please use that aim on the battlefield,” he replies. “Just make sure to aim at the enemy; I won’t be accepting any more friendly fire from you.”

You chuckle, the tight knot in your stomach slowly unravelling.

“You’re dismissed,” he says softly, and you thank him for understanding.

As you grasp the door handle, you turn to face him again. “Lieutenant Riley,” you say, “may I please have back my hair tie, sir?”

He shakes his head. “Negative, soldier,” he replies, his focus shifting to his computer screen. “Who knows what else you might attempt with that deadly weapon of yours?”

You shrug it off. Who cares anyway; you have plenty of “deadly weapons” in your vanity kit.

You take one last look at Ghost as you close the door. His eyes smile as they lock with yours, and he gives you a wink. He retrieves your hair tie from his pocket and begins stretching, twisting, and turning it around.

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#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #simon riley #cod mw2

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howlingday · 2 months ago

Note

What if instead of trying to court Weiss he was trying to befriend her because of his arranged marriage to Winter? Something Weiss was unaware of until Winter visits during the festival.

The Arc-Schnee Betrothal

"Then it is agreed." Jacques Schnee, the chief executive officer of the Schnee Dust Company, penned his name onto the document. Across the table, after the document was passed to him, the patriarch of the Arc family and head of the Valian Farming Circuit signed his name on the marriage document. The document in being signed being an agreement to betrothal, with the parties to be in unison being one Jaune Arc and one Winter Schnee.

The Schnee family would receive an initial dowry of half the Arc's harvest, to be used as sought fit, as well as a percentage of fruits and vegetables imported into the Kingdom of Atlas to allow the sale of foods not normally grown within. The Arc family receive an initial dowry of the latest farming equipment, completely tested and proven safe to operate, as well as a percentage of dust needed to power both the homes and equipment of the farmers within the VFC.

Jaune looked across to his betrothed. The way she glared at him with such cold, stern eyes sent a chill up his spine. She looked at him like he was less than her, a thing to reviled. Jaune knew when a woman hated him, and this woman who was to be his wife HATED him. He shivered a bit, then looked away. He hoped his enrollment at Beacon would make him good enough for his bride's standards.

Winter looked away from her groom-to-be to the other men celebrating with one another. She scowled at her father, angered by this shallow ploy of his. Even when she tried to flee the Schnee family curse by joining the military, her father found some loophole or another that would force her into this trap he laid. She grit her teeth, glancing once more at the... boy she was engaged to.

Seventeen, true, but still a child in the eyes of the law. However not in an archaic law like betrothal agreements. On his eighteenth, the two would decide a date for the wedding, in which they will be forced into attend and partake in the joyous bliss of the marriage trap. She couldn't be angry at him. Not when they both were unwilling participants in this.

Pushing her chair away, Winter stood up. "If I may be excused, I have duties to perform."

"What duties?" Her father asked.

"Duties for the Atlas military." She sneered. He waved her off and she turned away. Ahead of her, then, was Jaune Arc, her betrothed, holding the door for her, like a gentleman. She approached him, looked him up and down, then opened the other door. "I can open my own doors, thank you."

As she left, Jaune shut the door he held. "Uh, you're welcome."

--------------------------------------------------

"This is ridiculous!" Jaune shouted, squeezing his way between Ruby and her sister. How hard is it to find one locker in this one room? "There's no way I put my stuff in locker 636! I would've remembered to count that high! Why does this have to happen today?!"

Jaune was about to cry, but he held in his tears. What kind of man would Winter think of him if he started crying because he couldn't find his locker where his stuff is? Probably less than she already did, but that's not the point! Taking a deep breath, he looked to locker 636, standing there so smugly. Approaching, he put in the pin he KNOWS he put in and-

Click!

...Today was just not his day, was it?

"Great" A voice called. He turned to see a girl with white hair, tied back into a ponytail, and icy blue eyes widened in a manic glee. Aside from her unnerving visage, everything else about her said 'I'm a Schnee!' This must be Winter's sister, at least from what his dad told him.

'Try to make friends with your sister-in-law.'

"You know who else is great? Me. Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you."

"You again?!" Had they met? She did call him scraggly earlier. Was that what she meant?

"Nice to meet you, Jaune!"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Jaune gave a quick glance to the other girl. Gotta be polite for Winter's sister's friends. "So, uh, Weiss, right? I couldn't help but hear how you complimented me yesterday."

"Excuse me?!" She nearly screeched. Jaune assumed she could reach higher pitches.

"No, no! It's no problem!" Wouldn't want her to feel self-conscious about complimenting her future brother-in-law, right? "So, uh, I heard they're gonna split us into teams today. Wouldn't it be crazy if we got put on a team?"

"Actually, the teams are made up of teams of four, so-"

"Oh, really? Cool." Okay, Weiss' friend butted in twice, which is fine. It's cool. No time to focus on the details. Not when you have a future sister-in-law to win over! Time to lay on the Arc charm~. "So, Miss Tall, Bronze, and Gorgeous, would you like to join the winning team~?" Weiss' friend giggled. Once again, the Arc charm works like a... charm.

"Jaune, right?" Weiss huffed. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

Jaune looked to Pyrrha. She smiled and waved at him. She looked kinda familiar, but no bells were ringing. It might come to him later, but for now, might as well be up front. "Should I?"

"Should- This is THE Pyrrha Nikos!"

"Oh!" He nodded. He shook his head. "I got nothin'."

"She graduated top of her class at Sanctum?"

Oh, so she was a prodigy like Winter! He nodded, but the two girls could tell there wasn't any thought behind it. "I see..."

"She's won the Mistral Region Tournament four years in a row! A new record!"

Jaune blinked. "The what?"

"For the love of-" Weiss waved her arms. "SHE'S ON THE COVER OF THE PUMPKIN PETE'S MARSHMALLOW FLAKES BOX!"

"THAT'S IT~!" Jaune snapped his fingers. "I ate, like, fifty boxes to get my hoodie~!" He tugged on his chest-plate. "Uh... If I could take this off, I would to prove it."

Pyrrha giggled. "I don't think that's healthy."

"It wasn't." It was like cardboard soaked and dried over and over again in pumpkin flavoring. Not even the marshmallows were safe. "Almost threw up a couple times."

"So, Jaune," Weiss tapped her foot, "after hearing all of this, do you really think you have any right to ask her of all people to be on your team?"

"I..." Jaune got into Beacon on pure luck. He has no skill, no education, and a future bride waiting for him next to a shallow grave. As much as the Arc charm carried him, Jaune Arc is still Jaune Arc; the biggest disappointment to trip his way out of Ansel. "...guess not."

"Actually, Jaune, I think you'd make a great leader."

Jaune felt a bit of heat rush to his cheeks. He was easy to please, especially with sweet words, no matter how empty they were. "D'Oh, stop~!"

"Yes, please, STOP." Weiss agreed. "Don't encourage him."

"Sounds like Pyrrha's on Team Arc!" He turned to Weiss, arms spread. "There's still plenty of room, though, Weiss! Here, come give a hug to your future-"

"Okay, that's too close!" Weiss backed away. "Pyrrha!"

"I'm really sorry about this."

With a tug of his hoodie, Jaune soared through the air and became pinned to the tiled wall. He hung there as Weiss passed him by, her nose turned up in disgust. Pyrrha then pulled out her weapon and waved to him, apologizing again. Jaune fell to the floor and sighed.

Yup.

Today is just not his day.

--------------------------------------------------

Click! The door opened. "Hell-" SLAM! The door shut. Jaune knocked again.

"Go away, Jaune!" Weiss called from inside the dorm.

Jaune's plan to get to know his sister-in-law better wasn't going so well. After saving her life from falling to her death in the Emerald Forest, only an hour after she left him pinned to a tree when she made eye-contact with him, he then went on to become team leader, a position she didn't earn, but Ruby instead. If the rumors Jaune heard about a Schnee's pride were anything to go by, he sort of understood Weiss' hostility. Regardless, he wasn't going to let the chance to actually meet the bride's sister go to waste!

"I just wanna talk, Weiss!"

"We have nothing to talk about, Arc!"

"I think you mean, 'Arc-Schnee,' actually."

"UGH! As if!" Weiss retched. "There's no way on Remnant or ANY OTHER UNIVERSE that you and I would be together!"

"Well, maybe not you and I, but what about me and Winter?"

Silence. Silence was good, right? It means deep thought. Concentration. Silence was a curtain-fall to prelude the intermission. Maybe. Jaune spent some time learning theater, but dance was more his passion. Not a lot of silence in dance, though. A lot of squeaking and panting and-

"OOF!" Jaune held his family jewels after a searing pain shot through his body from there. He toppled over like a toppling thing. Sorry, can't really think when all you can feel is PAIN!

"What have you done with my sister?!" A heel pressed into his head.

"N-Notheeng!" Jaune answered, smushed by a powder-blue fuzzy slipper. "I'm juss engaged to her!"

"Just engaged?" Weiss stepped away, anger not leaving her eyes. "I've heard a lot of filth about my family, but this is a new low. Why would my sister ever agree to marry a creep like you?" Weiss turned away, walking through the doorway.

"Because she didn't."

"Excuse me?"

"She didn't agree to it." Jaune stood up. "And neither did I. The only reason this marriage is happening at all is because people in Atlas want food from Vale."

Weiss was quiet, then shut the door to her dorm. She turned to Jaune. "I'm assuming your family has some say in VFC?"

"My dad is the head of the VFC. Your dad-"

"Arranged a marriage between our families and chose his oldest daughter to marry you, and I'm assuming you're the oldest son?"

"Only." Jaune clarified.

"Of course." Weiss sighed. "And what does my sister think of all this?"

"She's... not happy. In fact, I don't think I've seen her smile once. Or sad. She's just... angry."

"Well, I can't imagine her being happy with this forced marriage."

"Yeah."

"And what about you?" Weiss looked him in the eyes. "Are you happy to be marrying Winter?"

Yes, he would be happy to marry someone like Winter. Someone smart, beautiful, strong, and just breathes excellence. That's what Jaune would have said if he didn't hold his tongue and think for a moment. What did he know about Winter Schnee, beyond her looks and what others had said her?

"She's... cold." Jaune answered. "She's angry. And everything about her tells me that she hates being stuck in this arranged marriage. So, no, I'm not happy marrying Winter like this."

"Like this?" Suddenly, there's was something about the look on Jaune's face. A determination that made him out to be the most honest man she'd ever met.

"If I did marry Winter Schnee," he said, "then she would be the happiest woman on Remnant."

Then, in an instant, the look on Jaune's face slipped back into his usual goofy, spineless self.

"Uh, I mean- W-What I meant to say was-"

"Shut up." Weiss rolled her eyes, and Jaune clamped his mouth shut. "You're marrying a Schnee, and I won't allow someone so spineless to share my family name."

"Huh?"

"Like it or not, you and Winter are engaged." She pointed a finger at him. "That means you need to become the perfect husband for her."

"Uh-"

"You're already the team leader, so I expect nothing less than perfect grades on all assignments, on all tests, and in all team exercises!" She opened the door to her dorm. "I will see you in class tomorrow, Jaune Arc-Schnee."

As the door shut, Jaune stood there, unsure of how to move forward. He finally got his wish and was able to meet his future sister-in-law and talk to her. In doing so, however, he poked a bear that would now maul him if he didn't outdo her in everything she did, and he doubted she would risk her attendance at Beacon for some slacker who just showed up and said he was marrying her sister. Compounding this is his lack of skill in anything related to being a huntsman.

In short, he was screwed.

"Jaune, are you coming back to the dorm?" Pyrrha asked from the doorway, flanked by their teammates, Ren and Nora.

Jaune fell over, face-down on the floor.

Nora quirked her brow. "Uh, we have beds in here, ya know?"

#rwby #winter knight #winter's knight #jaune arc #weiss schnee #winter schnee #papa arc #jacques schnee #ruby rose #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren

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mya-valentine · 2 months ago

Text

Spoiled in Silk

Synopsis: In the lap of luxury, you interrupt Pantalone’s high-stakes meeting to request a new dress, knowing full well he'll drop everything for you. Showered with more mora than needed, you indulge in a shopping spree, returning to captivate him with a private fashion show.

Pantalone, the Regrator, was in the midst of a meeting when the sound of the heavy oak doors to his office creaked open. A handful of subordinates had gathered around his massive desk, all awaiting instructions on the next phase of a project so important it could alter the course of trade across Teyvat. Charts were unfurled, figures were discussed, and each member of his staff was poised to execute Pantalone’s meticulously crafted plans.

But the moment you strutted into the room, all of that ceased to matter.

Without even a glance toward the people in the room, you walked confidently past them, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, the sound echoing in the cavernous office. The air of privilege radiated off of you—every step you took dripped with the unshakable confidence of someone who knew they were the center of the universe. And in Pantalone's world, you absolutely were.

His eyes flicked up immediately, and the moment his gaze landed on you, that calculating, shrewd expression softened. It wasn��t just a softening of features; it was as though his entire demeanor shifted, becoming warmer in your presence. The Regrator, always cold and calculating in front of others, had a special place for you, and you knew it. That knowledge empowered you as you swept into the room, completely unconcerned by the important business being discussed.

"Excuse me," you interrupted, not bothering to lower your voice. "I need a new dress."

The air grew tense as his subordinates shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to react. No one dared say a word or even make a sound as they witnessed this incredibly brazen interruption. And yet, you didn’t care. You leaned one arm on his desk, your lips curling into a spoiled smirk, knowing full well that Pantalone would drop everything for you.

Pantalone’s lips twitched upward in a subtle smile, an expression that was reserved only for you. "Leave us," he ordered softly, eyes never leaving your face.

The underlings scrambled to gather their papers and documents, retreating quickly as though relieved to have escaped what could have been a humiliating situation. The door closed behind them, leaving you alone with him.

"What kind of dress are we talking about, darling?" Pantalone asked, reclining back in his chair, giving you his full attention as if the meeting had never even happened. His fingers intertwined, and his dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

You walked around his desk, hips swaying as you approached him, confident in the way his gaze followed you. With a little hum of thought, you tapped your chin, clearly enjoying his attention. "Something new, something stunning. Maybe a few different ones," you purred, draping yourself across his lap like a cat expecting to be spoiled.

Pantalone chuckled lowly. "A few dresses, is it?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch filled with mora. You expected something sizable, but as he handed it to you, you realized just how heavy it was. The weight of it alone was enough to buy far more than a dress. Perhaps enough for six—no, maybe even more.

Your eyes widened for a moment, then you smiled smugly, knowing you were about to go on the shopping spree of a lifetime. You leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on his lips as a thank you. "You always spoil me, Pantalone."

"And why wouldn’t I?" he responded with a sly smile, his fingers brushing along your jawline. "What use is wealth if not to make you happy?"

You gave him another kiss, longer this time, savoring the warmth of his lips before pulling away with a playful wink. "I’ll be back soon. I can’t wait to show you what I get."

Hours later, you returned to his office with an armful of bags filled with extravagant, high-end dresses. Each one was meticulously chosen for its color, cut, and luxurious fabric. You practically skipped into his office, excited to show off your new haul, and found him exactly where you’d left him—still working but far more relaxed now that his precious girlfriend had returned.

You immediately set the bags down and began pulling out dress after dress, creating a small spectacle as you displayed each one before dashing behind a dressing screen that had been conveniently set up just for such moments.

The first dress you put on was a deep crimson gown, its fabric clinging perfectly to your curves. You stepped out, doing a slow twirl for him. "What do you think?" you asked, your voice laced with mischief.

Pantalone’s eyes scanned you up and down, his appreciation evident in his gaze. "Magnificent," he murmured, his voice smooth. "But let's see the next one."

You disappeared behind the screen again, trying on a shimmering gold dress that glittered in the candlelight, making you look like a vision of wealth and power. The dress was more daring, and as you strutted in front of him, you made sure to sway your hips just a little more, teasing him with each step. "And this one?"

His lips parted, and for a second, he was at a loss for words, something that rarely happened to the ever-composed Regrator. "You outshine the dress," he said, his voice rougher than before.

And so it went, dress after dress, each one more extravagant than the last. He watched you with growing desire, his eyes never leaving your form. It wasn’t just the dresses; it was you—the way you moved, the confidence, the way you knew he adored every inch of you.

Finally, you came out in the last dress: a sleek black number that hugged your body like a second skin. It was elegant, sophisticated, and undeniably sexy. You turned, giving him a full view before walking right up to him, stopping only when you were close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

"Which one do you like the best?" you asked, your voice sultry as you gazed down at him.

Pantalone’s eyes darkened as he reached for you, his hand gently tugging you closer by the waist until you were straddling his lap again. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your spine, sending shivers through you. "This one," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. "But I think you know it's not just the dress that I’m admiring."

Heat pooled in your stomach as his lips brushed against the hollow of your neck. He kissed his way up to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin, igniting a fire within you.

"You’re perfect," he whispered, and before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours in a passionate kiss, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss was hungry, possessive, and filled with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding back all day.

You moaned softly into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your bodies pressed together. His hands roamed, fingers sliding over the fabric of your dress, appreciating the feel of it but clearly more interested in you underneath it.

He broke the kiss only to move his lips to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin as you tilted your head back, giving him full access. The sound of his breath against your skin, the feel of his hands gripping you tighter—it was enough to make you dizzy with want.

"Pantalone," you whispered, your voice breathless as you tugged at his coat, wanting to feel more of him.

His lips returned to yours, the kiss even more fervent, more heated than before, his hands wandering, exploring every inch of you. It was like every kiss, every touch was a promise of more to come—a promise that he fully intended to keep.

You melted into him, your mind hazy with pleasure as the passion between you two escalated. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dresses, not the mora, not even the grand schemes that had been discussed in his office earlier that day.

It was just you and Pantalone, lost in each other, and nothing else in the world could compare.

Masterlist

#pantalone x reader #pantalone #genshin impact pantalone #genshin pantalone #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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brodorokihousuke · 3 months ago

Text

thinking about the fact that i made a horrible gross (23k word long??) ace attorney fanfic in high school that is bad and awful. I got a credit for it. I did not deserve that credit

some highlights of said fanfic are

Apollo runs into a door so hard he fucking obliterates it and breaks his wrist in the process. This is never relevant again

Clay does not know what GYAXA stands for despite working for them

Athena accuses Apollo of blowing up the courtroom and nearly killing her with all of the zeal of someone who just got their lunch stolen out of the office fridge

"A police stands up"

Apollo finds Thalassa murdered, after which I immediately jump cut to one year after apollo was fucking executed for her murder

I combined Apollo and Clay's spirits to make some weird mix of them, creatively named Aclay. He is inexplicably evil. He might be a demon? I hate this guy so much. I hate him so much that I still draw him sometimes out of spite it's literally so stupid

Halfway through the fanfiction I reveal that it had all just been a bad dream. Then I do it again. And again. and again. This happens at least seven times in quick succession.

"He kicks over a chair but sets it back up like a polite young man"

Trucy says "Wuzzup guys!"

Story ends with no moral and a vague implication that Clay was supposed to be an antagonist

i'm of the honest opinion that the thing is a cursed object and by continuing to look at it my sanity is slowly draining away

#ace attorney #ace attorney funny #brodoroki personal #apollo justice #clay terran #im lowkey trying to rewrite it but i'm like #only keeping TWO story beats #that being clay being apollo's ghostly investigative partner and apollo being accused of the bombing

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magerightsmagefights · 1 year ago

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SPOILERS FOR BALDURS GATE 3 but I have to talk about this, I wheeze every time I think about it

Ok so I haven’t finished act 3 yet, so I am absolutely taking everything the Emperor says with a grain of salt, but the Emperor’s backstory is just so… breathtakingly funny to me, when compared to my other companions. Especially with how dramatically he was built up—your protector, your mysterious guardian, shielding his true identity because he could see no other choice, now forced to stand before you in his true form. The story itself practically had a flashing neon sign above his head screaming “This character is cool! This character is mysterious! Prepare yourself to receive the COOL and TRAGIC backstory that brought him to this place!”

And he. He was a hedge fund manager. Got that music and flashback sequence with the pained voice, “By night I devoured the brains of criminals. By day I controlled the mercantile groups of Baldurs Gate.” Like sir you invested in various businesses? Or did you like, establish and impose tax regulations upon local and foreign merchants? Because those are both neat, but like, my collection of demonic soldiers held against their will, abused servants/slaves seeking vengeance and Slightly Burdened Hippie Bear are not exactly overwhelmed by this backstory.

Emperor: Such was my influence, I came to be known as the Emperor within the shadows of Baldur’s Gate.

Tav: They… they started calling a business investor ‘the Emperor?’

Emperor: I was very good at business investment.

Tav: So our mysterious guardian was just a vigilante hedge fund manager—

Emperor: Time to talk about Prince Orpheus, immediately.

And then later you’re running through the city and you find his Super Secret Mysterious Hideout, and it’s just… some big tables covered in his notes, yes we will invest in this winery. No we will not invest in those cheeses. Someone is trying to traffic illegal goods here. Let’s create a hostile economic environment for this tavern. And it’s even funnier because he’s hanging out in your brain giving commentary the whole time about how dark and powerful he was, like bro. This is your office. This is the office in which you worked a 9-5 desk job. An executive desk job, granted, but very definitely a desk job.

Emperor: I controlled Baldurs Gate from that super fancy high-backed chair. No coin changed hands in the city without being approved at that giant dramatic table.

Tav: So board meetings.

Emperor: What?

Tav: That giant dramatic table is where you had board meetings.

Emperor: The Knights of the Shield decided what business could or could not take place—

Tav: Yes, a board meeting. You were the chairman of the board. It’s so funny that we have a hermit wizard and a vampire twink who embroiders his own underwear, but the nerdiest one has been hiding out in this magical D20 the whole time.

Emperor: … let’s talk about my mother’s silverware now.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #bg3 the emperor

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avianyuh · 4 months ago

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Irresponsible | Lee Heeseung

Summary: You're a beloved idol from 3rd gen. Your company is under HYBE, so you meet a lot of other idols just by walking the halls, leaving practice rooms and recording booths, and of course, riding the elevator. So, after a long night of demo making, on your way out of the building during your quiet elevator ride down, Heeseung gets on, also after a long night of recording.

word count:2.7k

“What were you thinking? Let me ask you this…Do you fully comprehend just how much damage this will do to not only your, but his career?”, “Do you know how irresponsible you’ve been?”, one of the chairman yelled.

I was sitting in a room full of executives. The table extended half of the size of the room. I had at least 30 people staring at me with expressionless faces. All middle aged men, judging me. What exactly do you do in a scenario where everyone has just found out about your love life and is now putting you on blast, like you’re a criminal, like you’ve done something horrendous. I stared out of the huge window to my left, mainly trying to avoid the judging onlookers. My manager sat on one side and my group’s leader was sat on the other. She was squeezing my hand under the table for moral support. My manager, though a little angry that I got caught, which he claims made him look bad, was still trying to defend me and calm the chairmen down. My manager straightened in his chair before clearing his throat. Everyone's eyes averted from me over to him momentarily which helped me calm down.

“I understand that everyone’s a bit on edge, but I think all we need to do is calm down, be reasonable and just release a statement denying the whole thing. This happens all the time…”, my manager was rambling on and on about how to do crisis PR management. I kept my gaze locked on the ground as I fidgeted with my feet. But then, in a matter of seconds, it felt like the world stopped. Everyone looked up and turned to face the large doors that led into the gigantic office. First, a middle aged man walked in, his head held high until he took a slight bow, greeting everyone. The CEO, along with the other minions all nodded back, their form of acknowledgement. After the man, came another manager, younger, someone you had sort of become familiar with over the past few months as you would come in and out of the dorms of your boyfriend. He briefly glanced over at you, but he didn’t smile. Most likely because just like your manager, this dating “slip up”, made him look bad. You gave a very small smile anyways, which was your way of silently apologizing for all of the trouble. After the manager walked in, you felt your heart start to race as you stared intently at the tall figure. In walked Heeseung, he kept his head down as he walked through the doors. But then for a short few seconds, he looked up at you, and this time it was you receiving a small smile. Except, this one wasn’t apologetic, it was reassuring. It was exactly what you needed to see since all of this happened. He bowed, before sitting down at the far end of the table. Jungwon followed in right behind him and took a seat. The fact that both of your group's leaders had to sit in on this meeting made you nervous. It made you think that certain decisions were possibly going to be made that would need the leaders present for. You took a deep breath in as you once again pointed your head down, eyes locked on the floor. It was just then when the CEO, along with his minions stood up. The CEO picked up a stack of papers before straightening them out on the desk. He then handed them to one of his assistants who then proceeded to pass them around the table.

Once you got yours, you started to feel sick as you read its contents. It was a contract of some sort. Well, more like an NDA. It was asking for all “parties involved” to not discuss anything that went on in the meeting. As you finished skimming the paper, you looked over at Heeseung, who now had a serious look on his face. He looked over at you once he too was finished reading. He subtly shook his head in disappointment, glancing down at the contract. Your group leader squeezed your hand again, she truly did feel bad for you.

You see, not only was this a dating scandal between two idols. It was a dating scandal between a “senior” and “junior” idol. You were three years older than Heeseung and had debuted 6 years before him. Your group were viewed as legends in the industry. Very well respected. Your group had been acquired by HYBE, which was where you had met Heeseung. You had seen him around that first year after his debut, you didn’t know his name but always felt drawn to him. You would sneak glances at each other if you passed in a hallway or saw him at any event you might have both attended. But nothing had really come of those interactions. It wasn’t until you had been in the same elevator one fateful evening that you finally introduced yourselves. You had stayed late on your company’s floor to work on some music, and coincidentally so had Heeseung. You had finished demos before you had noticed how late it was getting. So you locked your studio door and tiredly waddled toward the elevator, ready to make the trek back to your apartment. You were really sleepy and weren't in the mood to have a conversation with anyone. And to be honest, you didn’t expect to see anyone that late at night anyways. So you stood with your back against the elevator wall, and momentarily closed your eyes. But instead of being met with the sound of the elevator descending, you heard it open, and the sound of footsteps. You opened your eyes, now a little annoyed that someone else was in here with you, but tensed up at the sight of who this elevator intruder was.

“Oh, hello”, Heeseung greeted you, bowing before looking over at the buttons. “Are you going to the ground floor?”, for a second, all you did was look at him before you snapped yourself out of the trance you seemed to put yourself in. But, you had to admit that he was so handsome to look at. He had on glasses, a beanie, and very tired looking eyes.

“Uh, yes, yeah, I’m leaving”, you tried to sound nonchalant. “Oh, you’re Heeseung right?”, you asked, trying to sound casual. He gave you a bright smile as he nodded his head yes.

“It’s an honor to finally get to talk, I’ve seen you around the building for months.”, he said kindly. His words made your heart flutter. That means he noticed you too, you thought to yourself. “I would’ve introduced myself a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure if you were busy with something.”, he explained as you now both stood facing each other.

“Don’t worry about it, because that was my exact thought process too! I wanted to introduce myself but you always seemed like you were in the middle of something…”, you both laughed at the shared hesitancy. “So what were you doing here so late?”, you asked, trying to get more information from him.

“I could ask you the same question”, he playfully responded. You pursed your lips together and you tried to conceal your growing grin.

“I asked first.”, you retorted. He laughed as he threw his hands up, giving in.

“Wow, you're pushy. I was working on a song.”, he explained as he leaned against the elevator wall. “Now…what were you doing here so late?”, he quipped.

“Same reason, except I got through two songs”, you teased as you threw up two fingers.

“Impressive”, he responded. You could feel a blush creeping up to your cheeks, so you looked down for a second to compile your composure. When you looked back up, you were met with his eyes staring directly at you. You could sense the intensity of his gaze. He seemed to be scanning your face, almost like he was analyzing you.

So, you did the same. All conversation stopped for a good 30 seconds until Heeseung started speaking again. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”, he questioned, still staring at you with the same intensity. You decided to be honest with him. You were trying to feel out his intentions.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but if you’ll be here then maybe I will.”you gave him a soft, closed lipped smile. He returned the expression just as the elevator doors opened again this time actually on the ground floor.

And just as you both ‘planned’, the next day, you paced the hallways, waiting for the perfect moment to run into Heeseung again. So, after multiple vending machine runs and jogs around your company floor, you decided to call it quits for the night since you really didn’t get any work done. You were way too focused on if you’d see Heeseung. You realized that though you came in on the same night as him, you didn’t know what time he was leaving. You told yourself that maybe it was for the best. After all, he was your “junior”, it probably wasn’t a good idea. So, you started to exit out of everything and close down your computer when all of a sudden you heard a light tap on the door. You turned and looked, trying to make out the silhouette on the other side. But, deep down, you suspected that you knew who your late night visitor was, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.You opened the door and there he was. Leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets looking tall and calm and handsome, Heeseung.

“Hi”, you greeted him as you waved him inside. He gladly accepted as he entered your studio, doing a 360 as he started looking around. “I was actually about to shut everything off for the night. I wasn’t having much luck with music today.”, you explained since you noticed him looking at your dark computer screen.

“Oh you have writer's block?”, Heeseung questioned, giving you a look of genuine curiosity. “Is it just today, or have you been having a problem for a while?”

You didn’t know what it was about him, but as you watched him sit down and wave you over to the other empty seat, you couldn’t help but feel so at ease around him. Yeah, you were attracted to him, and normally when you found a guy attractive, it made you overthink everything, but around him? Calm, cool and collected. It was strange.

“No, it just seems to be a problem today, I was fine yesterday. I guess I’m distracted.”, you murmured. He raised his eyebrow, leaning forward in his seat so he was closer to you.

“What are you distracted by?”, he whispered. You looked at him, first focused on his eyes, then your gaze darted down to his lips. You told yourself over and over in your mind that it was a bad idea, and you didn’t want to get him or yourself in any trouble, but honestly, he was looking very irresistible.

You took a deep breath in, “I don’t know”, you responded back, also in a whisper. And that was when he leaned in, Heeseung’s lips crashed into yours. You pulled him by his shirt closer into your body. Your eyes were closed, your heart was racing as you sunk deeper and deeper into his affection, into his kisses. You both momentarily halted your makeout, taking a minute to catch your breath before going back in for more.

And that was the start of your relationship.

After that, the two of you snuck around quite a lot. Because your group was older than Heeseung’s, you guys didn’t live in dorms anymore and all of your members had their own places. You were no different. And because Heeseung lived in a dorm with many other people, including managers, it made it hard to spend time at his residence. So most nights, if he could sneak away, he’d come over to your place and spend the night. This however, after almost a year of dating, would end up backfiring when you were followed home one night. However you didn’t go home alone, you were returning from a date with Heeseung. Someone was hiding in a bush across the street and snapped as many pictures as they could of the two of you walking into the apartment. Then the next morning, more pictures were taken of Heeseung walking out, with you leaving an hour later.

So obviously, the media had a field day with the story when the pictures got leaked. And now here you are. Forced to sign a NDA, basically pressured into breaking up your relationship with the man you had fallen in love with. You glanced over at Heeseung again, which is where you locked eyes. His gave off a sense of sadness. Something you hated to see in him. You only ever wanted him to be happy. And you thought that you could make him happy, but now you felt like all you caused Heeseung was pain, due to you being irresponsible. One of the staff for Enhypen stood up, gesturing towards me, “We mean no disrespect, but we feel that if the company confirms this relationship, these reports I should say, we feel that Heeseung’s career would be put in jeopardy. Y/n is not only older in age, but in experience. This should be her problem, her apology to make. We should deny it and all move on.” The man sat back down in his seat, Heeseung shook his head in disapproval and mouthed an I’m so sorry, towards you. You nodded reassuringly at him before looking back over at the CEO. You felt powerless, like no matter what was proposed, you were going to end up as the big loser in this. Your manager stood up just then and started to speak, “I don’t see what the problem is. And matter of fact, I don’t see why you’re shaming Y/n”, he said angrily, “They’re both adults, if they want to date, let them! What’s the point in making her look bad? Just admit it, let people be upset for three days and then watch them move on. Why punish these kids?”, he questioned. The room went quiet for a second before the CEO cleared his throat. Everyone turned to look over at him.

“This relationship is too high of a risk to take. We will deny it and move on. End of story.”, and with that, the CEO was up and out of his chair, walking out of the room. You felt a lump start to form in your throat, the kind you get when you’re about to cry. But in this case, tears were actually starting to form in your eyes. You tried to discreetly look up at the ceiling to get them to sink back in and not fall, but you were positive that your emotions were easily readable to all the onlookers. Heeseung’s manager ushered him out of the room before you could even say a word to him. But as he was being pushed out, he looked back over at you and gave you a wink. Your group’s leader held your hand under the table as she tried to tell you that everything was going to be okay. But you didn’t need her reassurance. You knew that everything would work out.

That night, instead of the sound of keys jingling at your front door, you heard a tapping sound coming from your bedroom window. Upon arriving in your bedroom, there was Heeseung standing outside on the small balcony. You laughed and opened the window as you watched him climb in. You stared at each other for a few seconds, no words spoken between you. All he did was pull your body into his own as he smashed his lips onto yours. His kisses were comforting, familiar and reassuring. Which was everything you needed from your boyfriend. As he pulled away, he held your face in his hands as he peered into your eyes, “No one could ever take me away from you”, he whispered.

“I know”, you responded as you rested your head on his chest.

#enhypen #heeseung #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #enhypen fic #lee heeseung

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byhees · 1 year ago

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hidden love ━━ ( 엔하이픈 희승 ) ♡ genre fluff high school au potential bestfriends2lovers warnings not proof-read petnames light injury mention

thinking about heeseung, who has been your best friend throughout the entirety of middle school, and now, three whole quarters of high school— and oh, did i mention that you have a big crush on him?

i mean, the real question here is, how could you not?? he’s such a sweetheart, and he’s always, without fail, been able to cheer your horrible day up with his little antics. well, for starters, he always gets you an extra portion of his usual sandwich, leaving the little meal on your desk, an apple-shaped sticky note beside it— breakfast’s the most important part of the day, so don’t skip it, okay princess? like okay okay, first why is this so cute, second what’s with the princess omg…

and, he loves, absolutely adores, walking you to all your classes, despite his being on the opposite end of campus; his little, kinda clumsily executed, jokes are horrible at best, but my god, why’re you giggling so hard??? it has to be that adorable smile he flashes whenever he realises how nonsensical his sentences sound, his head lightly shaking with light embarrassment. yeah… it’s definitely that.

also, don’t get me started on how unbelievably caring he is; he’ll stay up with you whenever you’re studying— doesn’t matter if he’s about to pass out asleep right on the plastic chair, he’ll do that just for you. he does so to bring small snacks and drinks to you, suggesting to take a quick break every so often. and don’t underestimate him when he says that he’ll pick you up and carry you over to the nearest couch for a brief nap; your dark eye circles, and the frequent massaging of your aching shoulders aren’t fooling him.

no because he cares about your health so, so much— even more than his own at times. that one time when you both unknowingly ended up in the nurse’s office? he completely disregarded his stomach pain, walking over to you with panic-laced steps. even recalling the incident makes you laugh— the way he examined and treated your sprained ankle made it seem as though you’d fractured a few bones. but thinking back to all his little actions, your heart does flutter; the countless number of times he looks out for you, the little vitamin drinks he leaves by your table…

and why does he have the strongest sixth sense known to mankind?? that doesn’t really help, considering your budding feelings. you’d snatch the opportunity to just admire him, and he’d suddenly, coincidentally, look up from his open textbook, unintentionally locking gazes with you. “were you just staring at me?” no silly, i was mowing my lawn— of course i was!! and don’t point it out!?

also, he’s just the absolute cutest, most endearing person ever when he walks over to you, a little teddy bear in hand, on that one particular day— national favourite person day, that’s what he calls it, and to be completely honest, you have zero clue on what that may be, but this gesture really warms your heart. like stop being so cute with your cute smile and your cute stuffed animal…

it’s no doubt at this point that lee heeseung, that boy right over there who’s focused on taking notes, is your crush; your crush who’s completely oblivious as to how his small actions tug heavily at your heartstrings.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

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oonajaeadira · 2 years ago

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Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.” On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #year of tropes #javier peña x fake dating

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