#inhalen

[sunlitblue]

Need You (More Than Want You)

this is about 6.5k words, and focuses on secretary!reader x javier peña. there are flashbacks, so pay attention to the dates and headers! the reader-character is not named but is referred to using she/her pronouns. title is from the song "Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell. line breaks from evansyhelp!

contains (lots of) swearing, making out, and possible future chapters will contain smut so tentatively 18+. pls rb if u enjoy so other people can read it too (✿◠‿◠)

You're not usually an angry person, but whoever is knocking at your door at seven in the fucking morning on a Saturday deserves nothing less than death. You wrench the door open, ready to let loose all the Spanish curse words you've been learning, but you are rendered speechless, because in your doorway, there he stands. It's been weeks since you've seen him, even longer since you've actually spoken, and last you heard he was being shipped back to D.C. to hand in his gun and badge, and yet. And yet, Javier Peña is standing at your door, at seven AM, panting like he's just a run a marathon. 

"Hi," he says, pushing his way into your apartment like he has any right to be there. His eyes are wild and strangely desperate, in a way you've only seen once before. 

You've spent so many sleepless nights rehearsing what you might say to him if you ever saw him again. Some nights, you yell until you're hoarse. Other nights, you crumple into his arms and cry like a child while he holds you. Now he is front of you, and you can't manage anything other than a weak, "Hey."

"You look good," he says, even though he hasn't made eye contact since he walked in.

He looks good too, dressed in a suit with a fucking tie and everything. He looks more official than you've seen him before, but you won't give him the satisfaction of saying that. He probably already knows, the cocky asshole. 

"Thanks," you reply, voice tight. And then, the question he's been expecting, "What are you doing here, Javier?"

He looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Inhalen y exhalen, like his mother taught him once upon a time. 

"I need you," he says, and he winces when you balk. "I mean, I need you to come work for me, work with me, in Bogota. You're the only person I trust."

You try to hold it in, to be mature, but you can't help the incredulous scoff that you let out. 

"Not a fucking chance," you say. 

"Just," he sighs, "just please hear me out. Please, before you say no." You don't kick him out, so he takes that as a sign to continue. "After everything that happened here, in Medellin, after everything I did, I was so sure that it was over for me. That they would take my badge and kick me out forever, but they," he hesitates, "they didn't. They want me to be the DEA attaché in Bogota, to take down Cali. You're the most competent person I know, and I can't do it without you."

He looks so earnest, so unlike that stoic man you knew before, that you almost fold. Almost. 

"Congratulations on the promotion, but it's still no, Javier."

"Why?" he demands, "What did I— How can I convince you?"

He was one of the first people you met in Colombia, he was close to being your first friend, and you’ve never seen him beg like this. Not for paperwork to be filed, not for a meeting with Messina, not even for a chance with that hot secretary on the third floor. 

"You said you want me because you trust me, Javier. That's why it's no. After what you did, what you were involved with, the US of fucking A rewards you for your sins with a goddamn pay raise and a new job. I can't trust them and, after you ignored me for months, Peña, like I was the one who did something wrong, I definitely can't trust you."

His eyes are pleading, verging on pathetic. 

"You can," his voice is hoarse, watery. "You can trust me. It'll be different this time, it'll be good. We'll do it right, end this once and for all. I just, I need you there with me."

In spite of yourself, you believe him. Your traitorous heart flutters at that word -- need -- again, and you take your own deep breath in to stop yourself from thinking of the last time he said something similar, when his body was underneath yours and you were breathing in tandem. You exhale and observe him for a moment, his head hanging down and his eyes screwed shut, like he's ashamed of something. 

You've never said it out loud, but Javier has always known you're somewhat of a kindred spirit. That was what started the arguing, the heat that had once pulsed between the two of you. Naive as it may have been, you were an idealist, just like him. You believed in justice, and you had worked to see it done. With Pablo, it had been messy, a winding, twisted path that started and ended in bloodshed. Maybe, Javier was right. Maybe you finally had a chance to do things right, to make up for all the ways you failed. Maybe you could finish this, be done with Colombia, be done with him, once and for all. You sigh out his name and he finally looks up. 

"When?" Your hands are on your hips and you look grim. It's a familiar look to Javier, one of his favourites on you. 

"What?" he snaps out of his observation of you.

"When?" you repeat, impatient. "When do we start?"

He beams, a smile wide and fucking dangerous, like the burning sun on a summer day in Colombia. That's how it all starts, after it has ended once already. You're screwed, you just know it.

Bogota, 1994. Months later.

"No one can get in to see him at short notice, Peña, he's a stickler for due process. I'm afraid this is out of my hands." Crosby is as grim and as unhelpful as ever. 

"What do you mean 'this is out of your hands'? You're the fu— the ambassador! Surely, there's something you can do?"

Javier is exhausted. This charade of professionalism is draining. He needs a cigarette, he needs a politician who gives a fuck. Crosby sighs, and shakes his head no. 

"I'm sorry, Peña. Find a different judge, or find a different way."

It's as good as a dismissal, and Javier stomps out of the ambassador's office, a storm in his eyes. He's reaching into his back pocket for his smokes, before he swears, remembering that you’re holding onto them. He’s supposed to be quitting, after all. He sighs and re-routes to your desk, just outside his office. It has been months since he begged you to join him, and you are every bit the asset he knew you’d be. The office would fall apart without you. He’d fall apart without you. Thanks to Feistl and Van Ness, the agents you’d recommended he choose for Cali, the DEA is closer than ever to bringing down Miguel. But close is not close enough if he can’t get his warrant, if he can’t do things right this time. 

When you come into view, you're telling Stoddard off for something, and Javier smiles in spite of himself. 

"Yes, Agent, I am well aware that I don’t outrank you. I'm just telling you that Agent Peña will take a look at your proposal after, and only after, I have vetted it and decided if it’s worth his time. He's too busy for bullshit," you say, dismissing the younger agent easily. 

"What bullshit am I too busy for today?" Javi leans on your desk and gives you a thin, conspiratorial smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"The young man wants a new water cooler for the office. He wrote you a proposal, Javi," you smirk back. 

"Whatever I see goes through her first. You know the rules, kid," Javier addresses Stoddard, who straightens up at the attention. 

"But I—" he starts to protest. 

"But nothing. She’s more capable than anyone in this office, including me. It's her call."

Stoddard sighs and deposits the document on your desk, before slouching back to his. 

You survey Javier for a moment. 

"Meeting with Crosby didn't go well?" you probe, already holding out his pack of Camels. Javier knows better than to be surprised that you can read his mood so easily, even when he's trying to quash his disappointment down. 

"Yeah, it's a no go. Looks like I won't be able to get an expedited warrant from Lopéz, and he's the only judge we know for sure won't snitch to the godfathers. We'll have to find another way," he sighs, taking the cigarettes from your hand and lighting one up.

"Wait, the judge you need is Lopéz? Emiliano Lopéz?" you have a familiar look on your face, that icy determination that first endeared Javi to you, even when he wouldn’t admit it.

"Yeah, Lopéz, the magistrate here in Bogota. His docket is full for weeks, and he’s not the type to let us cut in the line. He's honest enough that he won't work for Cali, and honest enough that he won't budge under any pressure from us. Not to mention the fact that he hates America, and all that good ol’ Uncle Sam stands for," Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette, his mind already thinking of loopholes, of strategies, of options. Turns out that doing things right in Colombia isn't as easy as it looks. Due process often means the slow-turning wheels of justice, and that means a chance for the godfathers to evade capture once again. But he had promised you that things would be different, and he meant it.

Javier turns back to you, raises his eyebrows at your wide grin. 

"I can get to Lopéz," you are already flipping through your almighty rolodex. He sighs, and says your name. 

"I wasn't kidding when I told the kid that you're the best person here, but this may be beyond even your powers," he says, gently. He knows you don't like to be wrong, just like him. 

You don't argue, not even to remind him that that isn't exactly what he said to Stoddard a minute ago. Instead, you ignore the flutter in your chest that his compliment brings on and pause on an entry: "Here it is! Gabriela Lopez!"

"His wife?" Javier asks, intrigued. 

Your smile is shining. 

"Even better. His daughter. His only daughter. Met her a few years back at some fancy government party. Her birthday is in a couple of days, and I happen to know her favourite brand of tequila. Lend me that corporate card and I'll get her to talk to dear old dad." You're smug, as you well should be. 

Javier sighs again, but he's already digging for the card in his wallet. 

"You sure this'll work?" he asks, holding it just out of your reach.

"You dare to doubt me? Just for that, you're paying for drinks on Friday," you snatch the card from him, already dialling the number on the office landline. 

"Drinks?" he asks, trying not to be mesmerised by your pretty red nails as you twirl the phone cord in your hands. 

"Drinks," you confirm. "We're going out for drinks after this works out."

Before he can reply, you're already hollering into the phone and shooing him away. 

"Gabi! Hi! How's the baby doing? Still keeping you and Samuél up all night?"

He ambles back to his desk and slumps in his chair, pretending to look over a report. In reality, he's watching you through the glass door, your over-expressive face and your widening grin. He really had meant what he said to Stoddard earlier: you are the best person in the entire office, maybe in all of Colombia. You are far better than he deserves, that much he knows. More than just a capable assistant, you're the lifeblood of the DEA in Bogota: competent, organised and meticulous to a fault. 

He frowns to himself as he remembers how he made fun of you, back in Medellin, for those same traits. Attractive, and more than a little intimidating, he had envied your charm and likability. Even worse, he had despised the fact that you barely gave him a second glance, rebuffing his flirtations and throwing out his shoddy paperwork in favour of Murphy's neat handwriting. He had seen you as a bastion of bureaucracy, everything that was the problem with the government and the DEA. Messina's pretty assistant, who demanded excellence and challenged him, constantly. He knows now that you are anything but a stickler for the rules. In reality, you believe in order and in systems, not unlike Martinez. You bend rules, but only when you know it is right. You make sure everything looks good on paper, because you know that good actions mean nothing in this world without the paper trail to back them up. You are good, and Javier, as much as he tries to be better these days, can never forget how he once was anything but. 

He sighs and returns to his work, giving you one more longing look since he knows you aren’t paying attention. He's lost in his documents when you come bounding in, not bothering to knock. 

"Good news or bad news, first?" you say, beaming as you lean your forearms on his desk. He clears his throat and is proud to say that he barely glances at your chest. Barely. 

"Good news, please," he says. 

"You have a meeting. His new secretary is Peruvian, and she’s doing us a huge favour, so you're going to buy her a box of alfajores and some flowers on your way in to the judicial offices at 8am, tomorrow. Get there fifteen minutes early, parking is a bitch."

Javier is on his feet and hugging you before he can really think about it. You came through, because, of course you did. You were right, he was ridiculous to doubt you, competent, capable, wonderful, you. You're laughing in delight at his over-the-top reaction.

"Wait," he says, holding on to your shoulders, "what's the bad news?"

You sigh, pouting exaggeratedly, "Gabriela's cousin's bachelorette party is on Friday, and I need to give her that fancy bottle of tequila, so we have to postpone our celebratory drinks."

He's trying and failing to bite back his smile, and yours doesn't falter, even as he steps back and the space around you empties of his electricity. 

"What a shame," he drawls, already pulling his fancy whiskey and two glasses out of the drawer of his desk. "Guess we'll just have to celebrate now, instead."

He pours you a glass and hands it to you, ignoring the familiar spark when your hand brushes his. 

"A tu salud," he clinks it with yours, and you take a sip in tandem. The whiskey is rich and warm on your tongue. Despite it all, you can't help but miss the burn of the cheap, shitty liquor you once shared with him. 

The warrant comes through, because of course it does, and the operation to arrest Miguel Rodriguez is a success. Javier does his press interviews and you stand off to the side, watching the way he commands the room when he speaks. He wishes he could tell the world how he owes this success to you, to your fucking rolodex, your support, your charm. Even now, as he is trying to be a better man, he knows he does not have the words for all you are to him. Instead, he just smiles at you as he walks away from the platform. He leads you away from the clamouring journalists into an empty hall, wraps you in a bear hug, and whispers "Thank you," over and over again into your hair. He hopes you understand everything he means, hidden below the simple words. You hug him back, tight and firm, and he thinks that maybe you do. Maybe you understand his words, his meaning, him, better than anyone ever has before. 

A few days later, he is working in his office, trying not to look at you through the glass doors. You’re a vision in that red dress – your Friday dress, you call it – and he knows that if he glances up at you, he won’t be able to look away. In his periphery, he sees someone approach your desk. Probably Stoddard, he guesses. Except, you were usually pretty good at shoo-ing the kid away and this person is lingering. He looks over just in time to see you throw your head back in laughter at something Feistl – fucking Feistl ­– is saying. He’s talked to Feistl plenty, and Javier knows for a fact that he is not that funny. 

He frowns, and strains to hear your conversation, striding across the room to fiddle with his filing cabinet, where he thinks he might hear you better. He’s just curious, he tells himself. 

“–dancing? Next Friday, around eight. There’s a cute new place on Calle 83 that I’ve been meaning to try.”

“Yeah, that sounds great, though I’m not much of a dancer,” he sounds sheepish. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Maybe after a couple of drinks, I’ll even teach you how to cumbia,” you smirk at him, and now it’s Chris’s turn to laugh. 

Javier is squeezing the door of his filing cabinet so tight that he thinks he might warp the metal. Feistl and… you? Dancing? Drinks? His stomach hurts a little at the thought of it, and he wishes he hadn’t been so curious, so nosy. 

He huffs and goes to sit back down at his desk, tries valiantly to focus again. But he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress, about you dancing, laughing with someone who isn’t him. In the end, he needs to stay late to get through all the work that he couldn’t focus on. Though his concentration isn’t any better in the evening, because you’re working late too, and you’re so close that he feels like his body is humming. You’ve taken your heels off and you’re sitting on the little couch in his office with your feet tucked under as you survey paperwork. It’s busy work that any intern could do, but you pride yourself on quality, so you insist on triple-checking everything, even if it means staying late. It’s become a sweet little routine, which is why you get so comfortable in Javi’s office when the department clears out for the night. 

He realizes that he doesn’t know your relationship status, or Feistl’s, for that matter. He had assumed you were single, as crazy as the thought is. You’re often in his office, working late and he doubts any self-respecting partner would let you stay away so frequently. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on his part. Feistl, on the other hand… Javier knows he has a kid, but not much else about the agent’s personal life. Though, Javi guesses that Chris is probably closer to your age than he is. Less of a dark past, too. Maybe you’d make a good match. He winces at the thought.

"You know Feistl has a kid, right?"

It's the first time Javi has spoken in maybe an hour. You're correcting paperwork, filing documents and trying to align meeting schedules for the next few weeks. Javier is supposed to be poring over financial documents, trying to find a witness who might testify against Miguel.

"Oh, he does? Must be hard being away all the time," you reply, indulging Javier's unusual attempt at small talk with a response.

"I just thought it's something you should know since you and him are... You know," he continues, awkward as anything.

"Me and him are... what?"

"I, uh, heard you guys talking at your desk this afternoon. You're going, um, dancing?" he continues, putting a strange emphasis on the last word. 

It takes you a few seconds to catch on to his meaning. 

"Javier, do you think there's something going on between me and Chris?" you ask, incredulous. 

Javi's eyebrows raise and his eyes widen. It would be comical if it wasn't so stupid. 

"I just— I heard you and him talking about going dancing this weekend and, you know, workplace relationships and all that and I just thought I should mention it to you, in case you don't know and now I did so... Yeah. You know." His rambling is bizarre, and out of character, and you can't do much in response except let out a shocked little laugh. He winces at his own inability to string a fucking sentence together. 

"Javier. Seriously. I invited Chris to go dancing with me, and the entire office, like we do once a month, and have been doing since we started working here in Bogota. You know, the team building that I suggested we do to build morale, that I invite you to every month, and every month you say..."

"Too much work, maybe next time," he intones, finishing your sentence, still wincing.

"Yup. I'm not going out with Chris, or anyone for that matter. Not that it's any of your business," you sniff.

"Oh," he breathes a sigh of relief, "good," he says, before he can stop himself. You look at him sharply and his brown eyes look a little panicked. "I mean, good that you're not dating Chris because, I guess, dating in the workplace isn't really a good idea," he continues. The plastic pen in his hand looks about to snap.

"Huh," is all you say back, and he knows you well enough to know how dangerous the neutral expression on your face is.

"What?" he says, quickly, defensively.

"I just think it's funny that you're worried about me dating in the workplace like you didn't fuck the secretaries in three different departments back in Medellin.”

"Oh, c'mon," he says your name, "that's different."

"Oh, is it? Different? Because the rules don't apply to Javier Peña, right? So you can break hearts all over the office, and I'm getting fucking interrogated for being friends with my colleague? Is it because I'm a woman, or because I'm an assistant? Is that why it's different, jefe?" you huff, sarcastic and upset. 

"You know that's not what I mean. Don't be ridiculous," he replies, and you balk at his tone. He's using the voice he uses on the younger agents, talking down to you like he has any right to do so. All too quickly, you are back in that stuffy office in Medellin, listening to him condescend and patronise you. 

"You know what," you stand up quickly, dusting off your skirt, and slipping your heels back on. "Maybe I will go see if Chris wants to go out with me, or maybe I'll ask Van Ness, or anyone I want to, because I can," you march out, forgetting that it's only you and Javier left in the office at this time. 

He's up and following you before he knows what he's doing, grabbing on to your arm to stop you. Your skin tingles where he's touching you, especially when he says your name in that soft, dulcet tone. 

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, when you turn around to face him. "I shouldn't have assumed, and I shouldn't have said that. You can date whoever you want, of course you can," he pauses for a second, takes a breath. "Just please don't date Feistl, he's like a short little version of Murphy. It freaks me out," he breathes out in relief when you smile at his stupid joke. He tries not to linger on how tense his chest felt at even the prospect of your ire. 

In those early days in Medellin, he would have expected nothing less than your biting sarcasm, your quick, mean retorts. But everything had changed since that day he showed up at your door. Since that day he begged for you. Things had been changing before then, maybe. That night he couldn't forget, no matter how much whiskey he drank, that was the moment things shifted. 

"Fine," you say, caught between a smile and a pout, "I won't date Feistl."

He still hasn't let go of your arm, and you still haven't pulled away from him. Javier isn't an idiot, he knows when a woman wants him. And he knows you're attracted to him, just like you know he's attracted to you. His hand slides up your arm to cup your face. The way his thumb strokes your cheekbone is familiar. 

"Don't—" he starts to say, before shaking his head. He has no right to you, and yet. You look at him with a question in your eyes. He wants to step back, out of your space, but he can't. 

"Don't date anyone," he says, all too aware that he is being possessive, that he has no right to ask anything of you.

You don't step back, or move away. Instead, you take him in. Your eyes are searching, scanning his face for something. 

"Why not, Javier?"

The question is so simple. Not for the first time, he curses at his own inadequacy. He wishes he could put it all into words, wishes he could explain this need he has for you. He wishes he could explain the way the smell of your perfume sometimes lingers in his office, the way he craves it when it doesn’t. He wishes he could tell you that you are his best friend, his best asset, the best part of him. He wishes he could explain how you are part of him, how your thoughts and interests and desires have weaved their way into his heart, and now he will always comprise him-and-you. He wishes he could say that you dating someone else would mean not dating him, and that would damn near kill him. 

"Because," he says.

"Because?" you prompt him for more. 

He hesitates, and the air between you sparkles with possibility. The tension between you and him is familiar, but this feeling – this string between you pulling tight, like it might soon snap – is something you’ve only felt once before. 

Javier’s chest is heaving at the intensity between you, and, before you know it, you are leaning up into his space. He is so close that his warm breath ghosts over your lips when he speaks.

“Because I—” 

A vacuum cleaner sounds, and you both start, moving away from one another quickly. There, in the dim light of the main office is Imelda, one of your favourite cleaning ladies. She notices you both a moment later, and waves cheerfully, beckoning you over and switching the vacuum off. You glance back at Javier, but he is looking down, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. You paste on your smile, and walk over to Imelda. 

Javier watches you as you interact with the kind woman, though your Spanish is just passable, and she barely speaks English, you are communicating with such warmth and openness. He smiles, despite himself, despite what he had almost admitted to you. Imelda reaches into her purse and hands you something homemade in a packet, and waves you off so she can continue vacuuming. 

Javier is leaning against his desk when you walk the short way back to him, and he doesn’t miss the way your hand nervously clenches and unclenches. He wonders if you even know that you have a tell. You give him a half-smile as you stop in front of him, more distant than you were before, but close enough that he could probably touch you with an outstretched hand. 

In your hand is a packet of polvorosas, made by Imelda herself. It makes sense to him that she would give you something, you are more likable than he thinks fair. You’re kind to all staff members, regardless of their rank, and there is something about your self-effacing warmth that inspires gift-giving. 

You look up at him, worrying at your lower lip and he is suddenly struck by how little he deserves you. You told him once that you thought he was a good man, but he knows that however good he is, you are a million times better. 

“Sorry, you were,” you smile sheepishly, “before, you were saying something.”

He is quiet for a long moment as he regards you, and you feel naked in the warmth of deep brown eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He turns back to his desk, sitting and picking up a report with clinical casualness. “We should get back to work.”

He doesn’t dare glance up at you, even as you hover near his desk, where he left you standing. You stand there for a long moment, caught between shock and hurt. And then, you shake yourself out of it, mimicking his nonchalance and picking a report back up. If Javi would have looked at you, he would have seen your hand tremble.

Medellin, 1993. Before.

In the wake of Carillo's death, in that godforsaken barrack room at Carlos Holgúin, Javi is caught somewhere between grief and blinding rage, as he so often is these days. He could hardly stand it, the way loss felt new every time, no matter how many times he'd felt it. He’s angry at Carillo, for failing him, for doing such dark things in war time and leaving Javier alone to sit with it all, for not seeing it through to the end with him. He’s angry at himself, for not stopping Carillo before it went too far. He misses his mother. He hurts for Carillo's wife, for his children, for that poor kid in that goddamn alleyway. Carillo, he had always thought, was the very best of them. Uncompromising, always; going too far, sometimes. If Carillo, imposing and militaristic as he was, could not be a good man, then what chance did little Javier Peña have?

You come to see him after Messina leaves. Ever her opposite, you don't know the right things to say. You don't say much at all, just hover behind him and gesture to his steadily emptying whiskey bottle.

"You in a sharing mood, tonight, Peña?"

He passes the bottle over and watches you, eyes maybe too heavy, as you take a swig and wince at the burn of cheap liquor. You hand it back. He still hasn't said anything. He's not sure there's anything he can say.

You exhale and perch at the edge of the thin regulation mattress, leaning back on your hands as you observe him. Red-rimmed eyes, a full ashtray on the table in front of him and another cigarette, not yet lit, held between his teeth. The silence stretches between you like taffy. 

"You gonna say anything, or did Messina just send you in here to stare at me?"

"Messina didn't send me here."

Javier scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure after months of bein' a pain in my ass that you're here because you care about my wellbeing, right?" 

You don't reply. You know when Javier is picking a fight, and you're not in the mood to give in to him, not after the day you've both had. After a few more beats of silence, Javi takes another swig, emptying his whiskey glass. Then he stands up, all sharp, abrupt movements, and lingers where you're seated, handing the bottle back as a kind of fucked up peace offering. You accept. 

He's still watching you as you take another sip, and he complies far too easily when you pat the open space beside you and gesture for him to sit. He sighs; it sounds jagged, wrecked. 

"Do you think there are any good men?"

If you're surprised by the question, you don't show it. Javier is grateful that you don't show it. 

"I think," you hesitate, before carefully continuing, "I think someone's actions, their choices –  that's what makes them good. Good intentions, good thoughts, they don't count for much. The good things you do, that’s what makes the difference."

Javi swallows, parsing your answer in his mind. The silence that blankets you both now is less comfortable than before, it is thick with something unsaid. 

"Carrillo before he— before what happened tonight, did some things that...” he trails off. “I don't think he was always a good person. He wasn't Escobar, but he hurt people. That story about the child in Medellin, it's true. I was there and I... I let it happen. If Carrillo isn't a good man, then what does that make me?" His voice is thick and watery, weak with pain. His head is bowed, like he's praying or like he’s ashamed.

For the first time since you've met him, Javier seems human, vulnerable. No machismo, no tough mask. It pulls at your heart and tears prick at your eyes. You put the bottle down and touch his arm, feeling the muscle jump. 

"Oh, Javier," you breathe out, not sure what else you can say.

He moves quickly, suddenly and you almost think he might kiss you, but he doesn't. He just crumples into your arms, and you hold him, let him pretend he's the one holding you. You stroke the hair on the back of his head as you sit and breathe with him. 

"It's gonna be okay, Javi. It has to be," you whisper, voice muffled.

You don’t know how long you sit like that and pretend not to notice the wetness on shirt as he cries into your shoulder. Just as suddenly as he leaned in to you, he sniffs and pulls back, wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. His other hand is still at the small of your back, fisted in your shirt. For a moment, you both just look at each other. Months of bickering in the office hallways, of posturing and competing, pass between you in that look you share. Your throat feels dry. 

Your eyes flicker down to Javier's pretty pink lips as his tongue darts out to lick them. You hope he doesn't see your slip, but his eyes have already darkened. He pulls you closer to him with the hand at your back and the other goes to your jaw. For all his fire and intensity, the way he holds you now is tender, almost delicate.

You lean closer just as he does, and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just a breath away. Your eyes flutter closed, so you miss the way his eyes dart over your face like they're searching for something, or committing this to memory. Just as the moment feels like it's lingering a little too long, he kisses you. 

Javier kisses you like he needs you, not delicate but not quite vicious either. As he pulls you impossibly closer to him, you wrap your arms around his neck and scratch at the soft hair at his nape. He gasps, and moves his lips against yours with all the intensity he can muster. Somehow, the hand cradling your jaw is still tender, even as he slips his tongue between your lips and you moan at the taste of him. He pulls you into his lap and you grind against him, lost in the feeling of him all around you. His hands are everywhere, running through your hair, grasping at your thigh. The way he kisses makes you feel boundless; overwhelmed and stunned, all at once. 

He pulls away, resting his head in the space between your shoulder and neck and mouthing at the skin there. He sighs, hot breath fanning against your neck. His big, warm hand slips under your shirt and runs over the clasp at the back of your bra. 

"Need this so bad, querida," he whispers against your skin, and all too suddenly the feelings of the day come back to you.

"J-Javi," you breathe out.

He hums affirmatively against your skin and ruts up a little at the sound of his name. You can't swallow your gasp at his hardness under those tight denim jeans.

"Javier, I— wait. Stop."

His body goes still, fills with the tension that your touch had been soothing away. His voice when he says your name is wrecked, guilty and mournful. 

"What's wrong?" he lifts his head from your shoulder, but doesn't dare look up at you.

"I just—" you start to say, cradling his face like he held yours. "I just don't think this is what you need right now, Javier."

He makes a sound, something like a frustrated grunt but dirtier, angrier. Not at you, you don't think. Angry at himself, more likely. He drops his hands to run them through his hair. 

"Querida, I want—," he sighs at himself, at the words he can't put together. "I want you."

What he really means is that he knew he was attracted to you the first time he saw you, standing a little behind Messina in that godforsaken conference room, in a work-appropriate dress with sensible heels. He means that he's known he wants to do more than fuck you since that first conversation, where you refused to take his shit, rejected his flirting and put him in his fucking place. He wants to say that he likes the way you don't cower away from him, the way you demand that he deliver his best. The way you look rumpled when you work late, filing the paperwork he and Murphy pile on you unceasingly, without apology. He wants to tell you that he thinks he might be able to fall love with you, one day; in love with the sweet moments he sees when you let up on the sarcastic comments. There is so much Javi wants to tell you, but the words get stuck in his throat. He thinks it might all be too much, that he might be too much, so instead he shakes his head and lets you climb off his lap. 

He thinks you're going to leave without another word, until you pause in the doorway.

"I think you're a good man, Javier. You worry about your heart; only good men do that."

He doesn't show up for Carrillo’s funeral. You don't see him again until you almost collide in the hallway at the office. You both pause for a moment, and you take him in. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, his hair is unkempt. You open your mouth to say something, asks if he’s alright, if the whispers around the office about him and Los Pepes are true, but he's already pushed past you. 

It isn't until he's boarding the plane back to Texas, away from Colombia, that he lets himself think of your words again. He wishes you were right. He wishes he was a good man. He gives himself a moment to regret the way he acted. He regrets the way he pulled away from you in the weeks after that kiss, getting Murphy to file his paperwork, avoiding the break room on the third floor that he knows you like, not even saying goodbye when he knows he might never see you again. He thought you would be able to sense it on him, the stink of his broken principles, the stench of his betrayal. He regrets everything but the kiss and, even then, he regrets how it happened. You deserve so much better than him at his most broken, him at his weakest. You deserve so much more than him. Javier Peña knows that he isn't a good man, and he refuses to wait around for you to realise it too. 

[parasitic-saint]

i need a spotify wrapped but for how many maggots i have accidentally eaten, mold spores inhalen and roaches crawling through me without me noticing

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

@cerriddwenluna replied to your post “WELP guess who had a bike accident this other gal...”:

dislike! :(

​Ik ging haar inhalen, gewoon netjes van rechts bla bla bla, en zij ging rechtsaf en knalde tegen me aan, want ze keek niet. Ze voelde zich heel schuldig en ze gaf toe dat het haar fout was, wat ik wel waardeerde, want het was ook haar fout

[gpfansnl]

Deze coureurs hebben de meeste overwinningen behaald in de F1 sinds 2014! 🏆 Gaat Verstappen Hamilton inhalen? 👀

[uitzinnig-inzinnig]

brb, even gauw rouwen!

ik denk dat ik eindelijk de betekenis van rouw begrijp, het is zoveel houden van dat het zeer doet, in ieder deeltje van je lichaam rouw; als in “ou, het doet pijn” maar ook “ou” als in dat litteken dat is ontstaan

rouw, het klinkt ruw, gemeen en hard het klinkt als willen blijven liggen wanneer je valt en iets waarvan je snel weer van moet opstaan,

gauw gauw een knuffel en gauw een kus gauw doorgaan en gauw oppakken nooit stoppen, altijd doorgaan en niet achterom kijken want wanneer je dat wel doet, zal het je inhalen

altijd bang in het donker dat het je besluipt en altijd eenzaam omdat niemand het begrijpt altijd schuldig wanneer je het maar voor een moment durft te vergeten dan zeg ik tegen mezelf “het zat er al aan te komen”, want “je had het toch moeten weten?”

het voelt zo eenzaam het voelt zo alleen geen woorden die dan helpen, slechts een arm om je heen

maar mama wat moet ik doen? hoe moet ik door? wat jij mij hebt gebracht zal ik nooit kunnen teruggeven daarom neem ik het nu mee en draag het voor altijd bij en zal ik het doorgeven net zoals je vroeger tegen mij zei

[steininbeeld]

23 november 2024.

"Boeven"

De twee "boeven" aan het "werk" tijdens het inhalen van Sint Nikolaas in Elsloo afgelopen zondag.

(23 november 2024)

[kimonoshop]

Waarom zou je de voorkeur moeten geven aan Dames Kimono Satjin Licht Grijs?

De modewereld evolueert voortdurend en dames zoeken naar de beste stijlopties. Als jij degene bent die graag waardigheid met stijl omarmt, zal het dragen van een kimono je eersteklas voorkeur zijn. Het is openhartig dat een vrouw verschillende stijlvolle opties heeft om te dragen als het gaat om kleding, maar soms moet ze inhalen bij het kiezen van de meest stijlvolle optie. Om de drang tot mode te bevredigen, geven ze vaak de voorkeur aan Dames Kimono Satjin Licht Grijs.

In deze blog zullen we kijken waarom dames Kimonos moeten omarmen om zichzelf een stijlvolle uitstraling te geven. Laten we eens kijken naar de gevarieerde opties die hieronder worden gegeven.

Waarom zou je de voorkeur geven aan Dames Kimono Satjin Licht Grijs?

Onderzoek je de redenen waarom je de voorkeur zou moeten geven aan dames kimono satijnen licht grijs? Laten we enkele spannende redenen onderzoeken waarmee je verliefd wordt op deze kimono's.

Zorgt voor tijdloze elegantie

Ben je opgewonden om de Dames Kimono Satjin Licht Grijs in je garderobe op te nemen? Ga met je gedachten, omdat ze een tijdloze elegantie uitstralen die je altijd levenslang zult koesteren. Deze exclusieve Kimono -collectie zal je outfit verheffen. Wat veel uitstekender is om te weten, is dat de zachte, gedempte grijze kleur vrij veelzijdig en verfijnd is. Deze kimono -combinatie met je outfit is een perfecte keuze voor casual en formele gelegenheden.

Comfort ontmoet stijl

Als je nog steeds wilt onderzoeken waarom Kimono Satin Light Gray een perfecte keuze voor je is, zul je verschillende redenen vinden. Het kiezen ervan is een uitstekende beslissing omdat Kimono comfort met stijl combineert. Wanneer u kimono van een satijnen lichtgrijze dames kiest, zal u zich licht voelen vanwege de zachte stof tegen de huid. Het is een ideale keuze om thuis te dragen of anders ook voor een avondje uit. Je kunt ook je datum na het eten romantisch maken door het te dragen.

Geniet van diverse stylingopties

Sommige dames weten niet dat ze in verschillende vormen kunnen genieten van kimono's. Sommige dames kopen bijvoorbeeld graag Kimono Dames Kort. Het is een perfecte keuze voor casual daguitstappen. Zelfs als u van plan bent avondkleding of luxueuze loungewear wilt, wordt het kiezen van Kimonos een opwindende optie voor u.

Met al deze hierboven genoemde redenen is het duidelijk dat het kiezen van een dame's kimono stijl zal combineren met ultieme comfort.

Kies de beste kimonoshop voor dames kimono satijnen licht grijs

Kijkt u er naar uit om de Dames Kimono Satjin Licht Grijs te kopen? Je kunt een exclusieve verzameling kimono's vinden bij Kimonoshop. Je kunt deze diverse variëteiten verkennen, zoals satijnen verzameling, verleiding, exclusieve en comfortcollectie. Als je erg gek bent op de Kimono -collectie en niet kunt wachten om je wens te vervullen, geef ons dan een kans om je te dienen, en we zullen je fantastisch voelen met onze nieuwste gekke collecties.

[rtvideaal]

Wederom ongeval op Terborgseweg Doetinchem

Dinsdagmiddag heeft er rond 15:00 uur een ongeval plaatsgevonden op de kruising Terborgseweg-Melkweg in Doetinchem. Het is al de tweede keer deze week dat er een ongeval plaatsvond op de Terborgseweg.  Een auto wou linksaf slaan, terwijl de scooterrijder een auto ging inhalen. De scooter is daarbij flink beschadigd geraakt. Ook de auto heeft schade opgelopen, de scooterrijder is meegenomen naar…

[koekjelanguage]

nieuwe woorden from reading test

inhalen // haalde in, h. ingehaald // catch up, take in, make up steeds // increasingly getal //(het) hoeveelheid, aantal, number daardoor // through it, as a result, by doing so lastig // difficult, hard, annoying scheiden // scheidde, h, gescheiden // separate, divorce vrijgezel //(de) bachelor plagen // plaagde, h. geplaagd // tease, bother uitschelden // schold uit, h uitgescholden // abuse, call names vervelend // annoying, unpleasant roddelen // roddelde, h. geroddeld // talk, gossip stoer // sturdy

steeds meer mensen kiezen voor ~~/ more and more people are choosing~~

Dan halen ze het tekort aan slaap een beetje in.

[elsboom]

Ik maak mij (boomer-style) zorgen over het feit dat stoplichten misschien wel beter afgestemd gaan worden op elektrische fietsen.

Ik fiets elke dag 45 minuten naar mijn werk. Er is een weg waar ik bij het eerste groene stoplicht precies weet hoe hard ik moet fietsen om de volgende twee ook groen te hebben. Elektrische fietsen die mij inhalen staan wel tussendoor te wachten bij de stoplichten omdat ze te snel zijn. "Zo irritant dat ze zo slecht afgestemd zijn" zei een mevrouw (op een elektrische fiets) vanochtend tegen me en ik dacht 'nee ab so luut niet, ze zijn perfect'. Maar ik glimlachte en zei "ja inderdaad". Ik loog.

[backpackerwithtrustissues]

Als sardientjes naar El Nido

OMG vandaag weer zo'n dag! Ik ga vandaag met een bus naar El Nido. Dat is het toeristische noorden van dit eiland Palawan. Waar de mooie stranden zijn. 🌴

De bus kwam 15 minuten te vroeg. Te vroeg ja. De chauffeur is een kleine Filipijnen en opvallend jong. Gevoel voor humor heeft hij helaas niet. Geduld ook niet. De eerste Filipino die ik ontmoet die niet ontzettend nice en friendly is. 

Ik moest m'n backpack achterin zetten. Sergey was al bij het raam gaan zitten. Omdat het zo belachelijk heet is besloot ik op de achterbank te gaan zitten. Dan plak je niet zo tegen elkaar. Maar dat mocht niet van de driver. Ik moest op het krappe bankje naast Sergey zitten. 

Ik stelde hem voor dat we op de voorste bank gingen zitten. Dan hadden we in ieder geval meer beenruimte. Maar de driver stuurde ons weer terug naar de krappe middenbank. De voorste bank was gereserveerd voor drie personen zei hij. Tien minuten later stapten twee Filipinos in en gaan op de ruime voorste bank zitten. 

Er zit airco in het busje. Die loeit op volle toeren. Dat wordt een lekker plak-aan-stoel ritje van zo'n 6 uur. Joepie. 🥵

Mochten we niet aankomen op onze bestemming. Dan is het misschien omdat we nu net niet het Garden Island park opmochten met de bus. Overal waar we stoppen controleren beveiliging de bus aan de onderkant met spiegels. Ook bij dit park. We mochten na de controle niet door de slagboom. Ik stop alvast m'n vingers in m'n oren 🤪

De bus is ondertussen volgepropt met 13 passagiers. Ze hebben zelfs een kleine stoel tussen de bank en stoel naast mij gepropt zodat er nog iemand bij kan. De vier passagiers achterin zitten nu helemaal ingesloten. De bagage achter de achterste bank torent boven de bank uit. Zo propvol zit de bus. 

7 uur lang in een lekker volgepropte bestelbus.

De laatste reizigers hebben we bij het vliegveld opgepikt. De driver maakt nog een stop bij een tankstation. Met heel veel moeite parkeert hij z'n bus achteruit helemaal achterin het tankstation. Maar niet om te tanken kennelijk. Alle Filipinos stappen uit. En stappen later weer in. Ik gok dat het een wc stop exclusief voor Filipinos was. Als we wegrijden zie ik onze jonge bestuurder nog op het tankstation. Kennelijk hebben we een nieuwe bestuurder. 

Het mysterieuze blauwe zeil

De bestuurder stapt uit. Hij laat de motor lopen. De airco en muziek blijven ook aan. Iedereen blijft zitten. Ik heb geen idee wat er gebeurt. Niemand kan ons zien, want het de bus staat achter het blauwe zeil. Is dit nou zo'n beruchte gangster overval ofzo? Dat er opeens tien man om de bus staan met wapens die al onze bezittingen eisen? Zo raar dit. Niemand zegt ook iets. Het gekke is dat ik er niet eens zenuwachtig van word.

De onverharde weg waar onze bus opeens afsloeg

Ik kijk om me heen en zie een grote zwarte vrachtwagen tank links van de bus. Wacht eens. Het zou best wel eens een illegale benzinepomp kunnen zijn. Vandaar het blauwe zeil. Zodat je het vanaf de weg niet kunt zien. Althans, dat denk ik tenminste. Want we worden nog steeds niet overvallen.

Na best wel een lange tijd stilstaan, stapt de chauffeur weer in. De man buiten tilt het blauwe zeil weer op. En onze bus rijdt weer weg. Bizar dit. Maar we leven nog.

Het beloofd een rit van 6, 7 of 8 uur te worden. Ik gok dat we in het donker aankomen, omdat het om 19:00 uur hier al pikkedonker is. De bestuurder denkt volgens mij dat hij Verstappen is. Want hij heeft haast. Ontzettende haast. Er zit een wit busje voor ons. Onze bestuurder lijkt wel dwars door hem heen te willen rijden.

Volgens mij doet onze bestuurder een wedstrijdje met de witte bus. Hij jaagt 'm de hele tijd op. Bumperkleven krijgt hier een nieuwe betekenis. Na een best wel lange race haalt onze bestuurder de witte bus eindelijk in. Zou hij nu blij zijn? Niet dus. Hij racet hard verder.

De rit lijkt meer op een rollercoaster en dan full speed. Dubbele doorgetrokken strepen hebben hier geen betekenis. Vlak voor een bocht inhalen ook niet. De bestuurder maakt van alle vlakken van de weg gebruik. Links of rechts inhalen mag allebei. Een paar keer toeteren betekent dat iedereen aan de kant moet. Echt wauw, wat een rit!

Dan bedenk ik me dat ik nog Filipijnse koekjes heb gekocht. Mooi moment om ze te testen. Ik heb drie verschillende pakjes gekocht. Ik graag in m'n tas om er blind eentje te pakken. De koekjes review hier van schrijf ik wel in een andere blog. Terug naar de busrit.

Na ongeveer 4 uur rijden maakt de bus een stop. Poeheej. Even onszelf uit het sardientjes blikje persen en de benen strekken. Al meteen staan er mensen kraaltjes en kettinkjes aan te bieden. Ik heb eigenlijk geen honger of dorst. Van een collega passagier krijg ik een mango shake aangeboden. Verse mango en crushed ijs. Zo ontzettend lekker!

Van Sergey krijg ik een knal groen fluoriserend flesje Mountain Dew. Die zijn zo cool! Ik heb dat nog nooit geproefd. Maar ik weet wel dat het super ongezond is. Vanwege de hoeveelheid suiker.

Ik wilde er al eerder eentje kopen toen ik met hem in de supermarkt was. Maar daar hadden ze alleen zero sugar. Dat werkt natuurlijk niet. Dus attente Sergey verraste mij met een flesje full sugar. Ik bewaar 'm voor een rustiger moment dan de wildemans busrit.

Schouder aan plakkerige schouder in de bus

Dan gaan we weer op pad. Om de bus in te komen moeten we nu de kralen en kettinkjes verkoopsters ontwijken. Ze blokkeren bijna onze deur. Maar het lukt ons om allemaal weer in de bus te stappen.

Ik weet trouwens niet eens waar ik straks afgezet word. Want El NIido is een groot schiereiland. De hostels liggen flink uit elkaar. En volgens mij heeft iedereen een andere bestemming. Dat zal wel bijbetalen worden.

Dan rijdt de bus een hobbelige zandweg op. We stoppen in the middle of nowhere. Het schijnt het eindpunt van één van de passagiers te zijn. We rijden een paar minuten terug de weg op en twee andere passagiers stappen uit. Eindelijk wat ruimte in de bus. Maar niet voor lang. Iets verderop stopt de bus weer. En er stappen nieuwe mensen in. De bus zit weer lekker vol. De bestuurder scheurt weer lekker verder. Ondertussen heb ik hem wel duidelijk kunnen maken dat ik naar Kame House Hostel moet.

Om ongeveer half acht komen we daar aan. Ik stap uit. De chauffeur opent de achterklep. Alleen ik zie mijn backpack niet meer staan waar ik 'm gezet had. Vreemd. Ik zoek verder. Ah! Iemand heeft 'm aan de andere kant gestapeld. Gelukkig heb ik m'n bagage nog.

Kame House is een klein hostel. Maar wel met een buitenzwembad. Zwembadje bedoel ik. Twee nachten kost 17 euro. Best owkeej, toch? Bij de receptie krijg ik een waslijst te horen van wat niet toegestaan is. Ze vertelt meteen dat er geen ontbijt of eten geserveerd wordt, omdat het laag seizoen is. Maar we mogen gebruik maken van de keuken. Da's dan wel weer aardig.

Het valt me op dat dit gedeelte van Palawan veel toeristischer is. De karaoke installatie van de buren is duidelijk hoorbaar. De muziek bij ons zwembadje staat ook flink hard. Weer eens iets anders dan het locale maar rustige Puerto Princesa.

Een jonge vrouw laat me mijn bunk bed zien. Het is een simpeler bed dan de vorige hostels. Het ruikt best wel muf binnen. Alsof het te vochtig is. Ik krijg wederom bed nummer 8. Toeval bestaat niet.

Bij het zien van de voorzieningen, besef ik me dat de vorige hostels veel luxer waren. De eerste was ook duurder. Maar de tweede niet eens zo. Hier zit bijvoorbeeld het stopcontact boven je bed. Als je je oplader erin steekt, slaap je als het ware op de kabels. Niet zo fijn. Ik gebruik stiekem wel het stopcontact van het bed boven me. Aan deze kant ben ik toch de enige.

Het buurmeisje aan de andere kant van de zaal hoor ik zeggen, ha eindelijk een roommate. We zijn met z'n drieën. Celine, Trish en ik. Sergey is naar een ander hostel. Dat was 2 euro goedkoper. Maar de reviews wisselden nogal. Dus we proberen ze gewoon allemaal uit.

Deze is voor nu, niet mijn meest favoriete. Niet eens de goedkoopste. Maar wel de minste van de drie. De vloer is oud versleten laminaat. En je mag geen slippers binnen dragen. Ik zie dat ik alleen een deken heb o pm'n bed. Ik vraag de receptie om een laken. Ze snapt me niet helemaal. Maar komt uiteindelijk toch een laken brengen.

Ik ga zo lekker slapen. Wilde eigenlijk nog even douchen, maar deze gaf alleen koud water. Dus dan maar half gedoucht. Zo slim als ik was, was ik ook nog m'n handdoek vergeten mee te nemen naar de douche. Slim Petterik.

Op de achtergrond hoor ik nog steeds de karaoke van de buren. Een meisje schalt enthousiast door de spiekers. Gelukkig heb ik oordopjes. Welterusten.

[gpfansnl]

Hamilton zei dat het "perfectie vergde" om George Russell nog in te halen!

[voetbalshirtskopen]

Cristiano Ronaldo neemt afscheid van de Europa Cup

Dit is een duel door de tijd! Mbappe luidde een duel in met zijn idool Cristiano Ronaldo! Deze zomer maakte Real Madrid officieel de toetreding van Mbappe bekend. Dit is ook het moment waarop Mbappé, die de goedkope voetbaltenues draagt, ervan droomt zich bij het team van zijn idool Ronaldo aan te sluiten en hogere prestaties na te streven.

Hoewel Costa en Maignan tijdens de reguliere speeltijd prachtige reddingen maakten, ging het duel toch gepaard met een strafschoppenreeks die de winnaar moest bepalen. Het Franse team, dat de leiding nam bij het nemen van strafschoppen, schoot alle vijf de strafschoppenrondes raak. In de derde ronde raakte het schot van Felix de paal. Zelfs als Nuno Mendes in de vierde ronde een strafschop maakte, kon Portugal nog steeds niet veranderen het lot om geëlimineerd te worden. Portugal verloor na een strafschop. De Nederlandse ster Ronald de Boer wees erop dat hij gelooft dat de Portugezen nu twijfels zullen hebben over de vraag of Ronaldo elke wedstrijd met 0 doelpunten afscheid moet nemen van deze Europa Cup zijn carrière dat hij er niet in was geslaagd één internationale wedstrijd te winnen. Aan het einde van de wedstrijd stond Ronaldo, gekleed in een Portugal voetbaltenues Euro 2024, stil op het veld. Er was onwil in zijn ogen, Ronaldo's humeur leek rustiger, misschien wel rechtvaardig zoals de Franse invaldoelman Samba voor de wedstrijd zei dat Ronaldo niets meer hoeft te bewijzen op het veld. Het is alleen zo dat hij zijn vroegere voetstappen niet meer kan inhalen. Vanuit competitief perspectief is zijn tijdperk ten einde.

[eastman-9]

Interpretaties - naar eigen inhoud en vermogen

HET MAAKT EEN GROOT VERSCHIL OP ELK MOMENT

Kennis van zaken is iets compleet anders dan aannames gebaseerd op onkunde en pure luie domheid. Men denkt. Men neemt aan. Het is toch zo. Kortom de weg van de minste weerstand is domheid in de praktijk. Vakgerichte, specifieke studies en actuele ervaringen geven de specialist de juiste en noodzakelijke informatie. Deze bekwame kwaliteiten optimaal toepassen is het bewuste antwoord op veel domme en simpele problemen. Verloren tijd kunnen we niet meer inhalen.

SNELLE DIGITALE WERELD KAN VEEL PROBLEMEN VEROORZAKEN

De onderneming optimaal en blijvend activeren op het internet met de meest actuele informatie omtrent product, service, dienst en/of specifieke bedrijfskwaliteiten is meer werk dan men wil of kan aannemen. Even een tekstje plaatsen of een afbeelding vernieuwen dat is niet zo eenvoudig meer dan 5 jaar geleden. Kwaliteiten van de organisatie kunnen we nu rationeel etaleren...tenminste als de kennis actief in huis is. Dat is meestal het struikel probleem van bedrijven dat het team niet mee is ontwikkeld met de eisen van deze digitale tijd. Kennis van zaken is noodzaak.

GOOGLE INNOVEERT EN PAST IN MAART 2024  ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE TOE

Google Algorithm Upgrade werkt volledig in Artificial Intelligence - Kunstmatige Intelligentie. 

Websites, sociale media, geen originele teksten en andere digitale ontwikkelingen die niet aan de harde Google eisen voldoen krijgen het moelijk tot onmogelijk om hun zakelijke activiteiten op Google aan te bieden. Google selecteert keihard op: Professionele, originele content en inhoud van de totale websites en webshops. Teksten en beeldmaterialen moeten bedrijfsspecifiek zijn.

OCH DAT VALT ALLEMAAL WEL MEE IS DE ALTIJD AANNEMELIJKE MENSELIJKE FOUT

Totdat de website onvindbaar is. En dan? Wat gaat we doen? De kennis is niet in huis om dit aan te pakken..EN NU? Paniek in huis met alle ellende en stress daar om heen. Voorkom dit probleem

O-design kan uw digitale zaken op Google niveau optimaliseren.

Artificial Intelligence voor uw organisatie? Ik werk met SGE.

Informatie en advies: www.o-design.nl - Aat Oosterhof - M 06 1500 5162

[gerbie7]

De Rijdende Rechter 062

Ook ik ben geen heilig boontje. Ik steek wel eens over vlak voor een aanstormende auto. Maar ik erger me steeds vaker aan medeweggebruikers die asociaal gedrag vertonen en daar mee wegkomen. U kent het allemaal. Slingerend rijden omdat je geen hands free hebt. Inhalen waar het echt niet kan. Parkeren waar velen er last van hebben. Tijd voor actie. De rijdende rechter begint daarmee, rapporteert…