#our little drunken badass

[toomuchbloodinmyalcoholsystem]

Rehabklok

Miscellaneous rehabklok gifs that I had sitting in my downloads folder. (Downloads is my catchall; I made these gifs myself lol.) Figured I'd go ahead and upload them for others to enjoy.

I think the third and last ones are my favorites. :D

[doasyoudesireandlive]

What have you done to make them look at you like that?

asdfghjkl, look at them! Just wanna *squish* 😍 tried to keep this one short but who am I even kidding anymore....

thank you for this gem, Jen ❤

Their girl

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

warnings: John Walker being a piece of shit, reader is a badass, drunken behaviour, kissing, mild violence (stamping, hitting, reader is NOT the one getting hurt), insults and foul language, implied smut, Steve and Bucky are cuties.

Word count: 770ish

This night was gonna be the best in a long time. Nothing could ruin it. Or so you thought.

"how are you doin?" the words are slurred right into your ear. You scrunch your face up in disgust, the smell of stale beer and some kind of liquor fill your senses. Turning around you see John Walker. He was really not your type, and the fact that he was drunk as a skunk did not make things any better. 

"I'm ok. How about you?" You step away but try to sound polite, even though you rather just turn on your heel and walk away.

John leans in and tries to put his arm around your shoulders. You swiftly turn to avoid him, but he somehow gets a hold of you and pulls you close. You repress a gag as you smell the sour smell of alcohol and sweat masked with a lot of perfume. As you struggle to get out of his grasp he simply chuckles. 

"Oh, you can't go now. I'm gonna have so much fun making you mine." 

Anger flares inside you and you lift your foot and stamp hard down on his toe. He howls in pain and anger, and you swiftly slip out of his grasp. Walking fast through the house, trying to spot some familiar faces in the crowd. 

Finally! 

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are standing in the corner, chatting and drinking beer. You walk up to them. 

"Hi fellas! How's life?" You smile, but the smile doesn't really reach your eyes. Bucky furrows his brow. 

"You ok, Cookie? You seem..stressed?" He reaches out and touches your hand, but this time the motion don't make you wanna pull away. He radiates safety and warmth - and real concern. 

"Yeah, Peach…Buck got a point" Steve's baby blue eyes are filled with care and a smidge of protectiveness. 

Just as you open your mouth to answer you hear a slurring voice yell out. 

"Y/N!! You little bitch! where are you? You were totally asking for it, come here!" 

John stumbles through the crowd of people as hes looking for you. 

"please, help me" you look at Steve and Bucky with pleading eyes. They look at each other and nod. Then Bucky pulls you close, caging you in between him and Steve. 

"Dont worry, Cookie. Just play along, we got you" his hand come up to stroke your cheek. The intimacy makes your heart swell.

"There you are, you little slut" John is coming straight for you now, looking really angry. Bucky holds you a bit tighter as Steve turns around to shield your body with his own. 

"Hey dipshit, what do you think you are doing with my girl? hmm? You looking for a beating?" John is standing there with balled up fists and flaring nostrils. 

Steve leans in and gives you a peck on the cheek. Then he whispers "Just follow our lead, Peach" Then he turns around.

"John. We haven't seen your girl. Who is she?" Steve's fake innocence makes a giggle escape your mouth. 

"What are you talking about, you moron? She's right there!" John lifts his arm and is pointing at you, like you were a piece of candy in a candy shop. 

Confidence is flowing through your veins. "Your girl? Nah nah nah, I'm their girl" You reach up and cup Bucky's face, pulling him into a filthy kiss. Then you did the same thing with Steve. John just stands there with his mouth open, like a fish washed up at shore. You simply smile, giving him a "well duh"-look.

"You fucking tease! But whatever, you are too ugly and fat for me anyways." John growls through his teeth. You could feel Steve and Bucky tensing up but you hold your hands up, making them stand still. 

You take a step forward and glare at John. 

"You are the ugly one."

John doesn't understand what happens next. Your fist makes contact with his nose, the sound of bone breaking and his howl of pain fills the air. He scurries away holding his nose. 

You turn around. Bucky and Steve look at you smiling, with admiration and pride. You grin and walk up to them. 

They take one of your hands each. 

"So… You are our girl?" Bucky and Steve grins. 

You smirk.

"If you'll have me" 

"Oh, you don't have to ask us twice, Cookie" Bucky chuckles.

"You wanna get out of here?" Steve looks at you with a gleam in his eye.

You nod and grab their hands. 

"Make me yours then" 

This night was the best one in a long time. 

tags: @animnerd @late-to-the-party-81

[brittanafanfic]

Brittana Stories

These fanfics contain smut but are focused on plot. An asterisk * denotes complete status, and parentheses denote (# of chapters; word count).

One Spice Short* (24; 34K): Santana is an up-and-coming chef, and Brittany is a food critic who likes her anonymity. When Brittany decides to mess with her ex-girlfriend, it doesn't take much for them to stumble back into their heated, rousing relationship.

The Journal* (54; 99K): Brittany Pierce is an attorney's receptionist at a major NY law firm. Santana Lopez is a successful lawyer, new to the firm. Brittany finds a very old journal and begins writing in it to reveal some of the feelings she could never, ever tell her new boss.

Reasons I Laugh and Breathe* (57; 190K): Brittany goes to college, hoping that everything will be different. Even though life has been hard so far, and even though bad things still happen, she regrets nothing that has brought her here. GP!Santana.

Offense Is the Best Defense* (30; 98K): Head cheerleader Santana and badass Brittany just don't get along. However, when Santana's pride and reputation are on the line, she gets a little desperate, and Brittany just happens to be there to help her out.

They Bring Me Back* (32; 174K): Santana Lopez lives an average life in New York as a bartender. When gorgeous Brittany and Santana's teenage niece fall into her lap, things get interesting.

I'll Teach You to Dance (45; 413K): Three years after graduation, Santana Lopez and her roommates, Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry, attend a dance class in NYC. Follows most of the events in Glee if Brittany had never gone to WMHS.

Innocent: Method of Entry* (1; 5K): Companion piece to Innocent. Early dating days.

With These Words, Sincerely Yours* (14; 109K): With these words, I promise to show you the passion behind our touches, the desire behind our kisses, and the intensity behind our love. Sincerely yours, Brittany S. Pierce.

By the Light of the Moon* (1; 12K): They're friends but nobody knows they're friends. Doctor AU.

A Spectacular One Night Engagement* (1; 5K): As Santana takes the stage for a singular performance as Fanny Brice, she looks out into the audience and gets a very unexpected surprise. Set during 5x18, The Back-Up Plan.

One in a Million Paradise* (1; 6K): In the middle of their weeklong vacation at the beach, Brittany is surprised by what Santana has planned for their Fourth of July together.

Don't You Dare Look Back, Just Keep Your Eyes on Me (28; 145K): In the fall of 1983, while on a date with another woman, semi-closeted banker Santana Lopez meets struggling dancer Brittany Pierce. Though they come from two different worlds, a single dance changes their lives forever.

Piece by Piece (85; 261K): When pediatric surgeon Santana Lopez meets Dr. Brittany Pierce, head of plastic surgery, in the elevator during a blackout at the hospital, she's immediately hit with a sense of disdain. Little does she know that she'll be the first person to show her what love looks like, and change her life for good.

Mirror, Mirror* (25; 68K): Santana accepts that there are certain prices to be paid for her success. Loneliness is just one of them. When a half-serious drunken suggestion makes her think about a cure for her loneliness, she's not sure whether she can actually go through with it. But of all the prices she has to pay, this is one, at least, she knows she can afford. Probably.

2859* (21; 63K): Santana Lopez is a publicist in New York trying to rein in the biggest ego the city's ever seen. Brittany Pierce is attempting to create the next big thing in Seattle. They're 2859 miles apart, but one wrong number just might change everything.

Graduating with Mama Lopez* (28; 91K): Santana and Quinn help Brittany with summer school, so Santana and Brittany can go to New York together. Mama Lopez is, as always, there to help. Set after 3x22.

Paperweight (18; 157K): "She had to stop this, she couldn't keep thinking of Brittany, her employee, this way. It was unprofessional, she was dubious about the legality of it, and she knew if something even happened between her and Brittany, if the media got wind of it, Lopez-Fabray would lose all credibility."

Lake Hope* (8; 59K): On the last weekend of summer, Brittany convinces Santana to go camping with her family. For both bad reasons and good, it's a trip neither of them will ever forget.

Set the World on Fire* (14; 260K): For six months, Santana has been living in New York City with Kurt and Rachel, but now Brittany has received her diploma and is finally coming to join them. Can new relationships accommodate old ones? And can the past ever really be recaptured?

Worth the Risk* (21; 108K): Santana Lopez is a hot young talent agent in New York. Brittany Pierce is a woman who gives up her comfortable life to try and follow her passion. When Santana does a favor for a friend, Brittany is thrown into her life and everything turns upside down. Can they risk everything to find happiness?

Two Ghosts* (30; 123K): It's been 5 years since Santana and Brittany have spoken, but when someone unexpected requests their assistance, a lot of old feelings come back to light.

Lost in the Lights* (18; 169K): Brittany S. Pierce is new to WMHS and quickly finds that the students there aren't as open-minded as the ones she's used to, especially when she takes over as the Titans' starting quarterback. Many heads are turned, including Cheerios Co-Captain Santana Lopez, who has some obstacles of her own to tackle.

The Ark: Is It a Crime?* (10; 58K): Fresh from the academy and looking for her big break, Brittany S. Pierce takes on her first assignment for Captain Sue Sylvester. Unfortunately for Britt, Sue cares little for her safety, and an uncover recon assignment quickly spirals out of control. Will one of her targets become her saving angel or stab her in the back?

Living with Santana Lopez* (3; 21K): Brittany didn't want a new mom, and she especially didn't want a new sister. But that's exactly what she got.

Ahead in the Count (5; 60K): Over the course of 162 games (give or take), Santana Lopez learns a lot about baseball, love, and one Los Angeles Dodgers superfan named Brittany S. Pierce.

No Damsel Here* (50; 253K): When Santana is attacked and is saved by a mysterious kick-ass blonde martial artist, she notices something familiar in the way she moves. Santana decides to take some self-defense classes so she doesn't feel as useless when it comes to protecting herself.

Nothing Burns Like the Cold* (7; 45K): Emotions run high when Brittany and Santana get caught together in a blizzard. At the time of the storm, Brittany's still dating Sam and hasn't told Santana. Santana knows about their relationship and is furious with Brittany because she hasn't told her. How will they deal with their estrangement and how will it affect their survival?

I Just Want to Feel* (5; 16K): Brittany finds scars on Santana's body that she has been hiding from everyone. When the truth finally comes out, Brittany tries to comfort Santana in a way only she can.

Olympic Tryouts (35; 57K): Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years. Now they're both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team.

Implausibly Perfect* (1; 22K): Santana gets set up for a blind date for Valentine's Day. Nothing that happens after is at all expected.

Escaped from the Zoo* (1; 12K): Zookeeper Brittany and park ranger Santana try to find a missing animal.

Keep Dreaming of Me (18; 52K): Santana Lopez is a college dropout who won the lottery. Everyone thinks Brittany Pierce is a struggling dancer-turned-waitress who doesn't know left from right. No one knows the real Brittany, and she has no intention of changing that. Until she meets Santana, that is.

Life Changer* (29; 308K): As soon as dancer Brittany and actress Santana met on a plane, their lives were never the same.

High Frequency Romance* (3; 18K): Brittany is a corporate pilot for Motta Industries, and she has developed a crush on an air traffic controller whom she talks to on the radio. The only problem is that they've never met in person, but fate might step in and lay a hand.

High Frequency Romance: Glimpses* (6; 30K): Sequel to High Frequency Romance. Check in with Santana and Brittany as they navigate life together.

The Feelings That Smolder* (1; 10K): Firefighter Santana is in charge of the station's Dalmation, which is how she meets pet store owner Brittany.

Going to the Movies* (10; 76K): If you saw the girl of your dreams working at a movie theater, how many movies would you see just for the chance to talk to her?

You Live, You Learn, You Love* (25; 170K): At seventeen, the most important things in soon-to-be high school senior Santana Lopez's life are school, Cheerios, her family and friends, and dreaming up ways to escape her small town. Then, one night, she meets a girl that needs her help, and in the blink of an eye, everything changes.

Healing (12; 34K): Santana's never been a fan of Britt's motorcross, but she's never missed a meet or practice...until the breakup. Brittany's loss of focus causes her to crash and get hurt. Santana hates herself for not being there and does everything in her power to make up for it, including taking care of Brittany. Lots of healing happens, physical and emotional.

Be Careful What You Wish for (13; 26K): On the day 11/11/11 at 11:11, Brittany wishes for her soul mate to find her. Little does she know her cat, Santana, has already found her, just in a different form.

Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beholder* (10; 32K): After being left blind following a severe blow to the head, Brittany is hesitant to get out and experience the world when it is now shrouded in darkness. But when she meets the enigmatic Santana Lopez, she finds out that it is possible to overcome her fears and start living her life again.

True Love* (9; 25K): "Tell me you'd rather spend the rest of your life with him than with me. Look me in my eyes and tell me you don't love me, and I'll walk out that door and let you marry him."

Stoners (17; 129K): Santana and Brittany have had no contact for nearly six years, when Brittany suddenly reappears in Santana's life. As they reconnect and rediscover each other, they also look back on the events that led them to the present moment.

Ride-Share* (47; 145K): Brittany doesn't want to drive to LA alone, so she resorts to Craigslist to find someone to keep her company.

Wild Ponies* (1; 14K): Brittany Pierce lives with her father on the family ranch. When they acquire a wild horse, their usual ranch hand has a problem training the stubborn stallion, and their newest ranch hand Hector suggests that his daughter would be perfect for the task.

You Could Have My Heart If It Wasn't Broken* (28; 126K): Santana Lopez is one of the country's leading cardiac surgeons. Brittany Pierce is a beautiful dancer in need of life-saving heart surgery.

The Mysterious Mistress (16; 94K): Everyone who lived in Lima knew that the old, abandoned house was not, in fact, abandoned, but they all turned a blind eye to it. Mistress Santana. Slave Brittany.

Keeping the Creed (9; 45K): Santana is one of the top assassins in The Brotherhood, so when she's given the task of eliminating some random blonde dancer, she thinks it sounds like a simple job. It's anything but.

Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating Faster, Faster (22; 39K): On a college campus, anything can happen and you can meet just about anyone.

Take It Off (12; 28K): Santana hadn't wanted to move to Lima, Ohio, but there hadn't been much of a choice. Living there, there were only a few things she was sure of: Her apartment was small, Puck was her friend, and Sirens was going to be the death of her.

Many the Miles (25; 105K): AU. A car crash changes the course of 3 lives forever.

Lift (15; 30K): AU. Two strangers, a malfunctioning lift, and fate.

White Shadows* (26; 317K): AU. 1862, the North has started the draft. Santana follows her father to war, intent on proving her worth as a doctor. Brittany enlists in place of her father, intent on keeping her family safe. In this broken land, they find a home in each other.

Even If the Pandemic Lasts Forever* (5; 30K): Life was perfect. Nothing could go wrong in Santana's fairy tale; she was on her way to happily ever after. Well, maybe one thing—maybe a global pandemic could happen.

Love from Brittany* (10; 18K): Brittany's diary entries starting from where season 2 left off, taking us through a summer of glee parties and a Brittana vacation, right into season 3.

Boots* (1; 25K): Being drafted into the military was the last thing Brittany Pierce wanted, but things don't seem so bad once she meets Santana Lopez.

Service* (12; 45K): AU GP!Brittany. When she receives her draft letter in the mail, Brittany Pierce thinks her life can't get worse...until she meets Drill Commander Lopez.

If You Stop to Think, You're Gone* (14; 49K): Brittany is a hardened boxer, and Santana is the arm candy of a wealthy politician who's involved in the boxing world.

The Third Floor* (1; 12K): AU GP!Santana. Brittany loves going to the third floor of the library, because it's quiet. Another girl studies there, and she's gorgeous. She also has sex in the stacks every single night.

First Bite* (23; 75K): "Brittany nodded and scooted halfway out of the booth before looking up at Santana with hesitant but daring eyes. 'Would you be my first bite?' she asked." Brittana in the True Blood universe.

Clockwork* (38; 209K): They said she was just a pretty face, a model fed lines to sell a product. But if you squinted, there was more to Santana Lopez than they gave her credit for, and reporter Brittany Pierce was going to get to the bottom of it.

[bean-cookies]

Back in November, I painted each of our Curse of Strahd party members as a Tarokka Card. These are painted with acrylic and oil-based marker pens on black 8x10" canvases... except the borders, which I added digitally, and which are from the official Curse of Strahd Tarokka deck. So the borders are art that belongs to WotC ; but I am not selling these or planning on making money in any way with them. This is just a fun little thing for my friends and I. 😊

Here we have:

Clever Artificer - Felrick the gnome artificer/rogue

Drunken Warrior - Galadan the black dragonborn fighter/barbarian

Devoted Follower - Feather the Aerenal elf paladin/warlock

Rising Phoenix - Osrik the dwarf light domain cleric

Dead Knight -  Sir Godfrey Gwilym (revenant paladin, NPC, and our destined ally)

Grim Priest - Crow the dusk elf cleric/ranger

Fierce Hunter - Ezmerelda (Vistana human [well, she was at the time...] badass monster hunter, NPC, and target of my simping)

Young Wizard - Studious the tiefling divination wizard (aka ya boi)

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Ok my friend asked me this question and I felt stupid that I couldn’t give a decent answer. So let’s see how you do.

You end up giving a drunken rant about a historical figure that’s has little to no mention in the history educational course for school. Convince me why they’re such a badass and deserve to be acknowledged more.

Main rule: be PASSIONATE about the person even if they did something menial like invent paper plates. Make us root for them and watch their well deserved movie.

"Julius Cesar was one of the greatest people of ALL time. He gave us the dressing that we put on our salads, he was a statesman that owned 67 horses in the stables, and he managed to get stabbed 23 times to only be salty of the fact that a guy named Bruce did it and not anyone else. He even named his child after him and called him CESARON. Cesar on what? CEASAR ON DRESSING PLEASE! This man deserves so much more respect than being the partner of Cleopatra and an odd politician damn it! Ides of March should be a national holiday, and we should celebrate by stabbing a jug full of Cesar each year in honor of what he left behind for us!"

Was that good? XD

[aycias]

alycia: kinda crazy how we have so much in common, because italy is also my favorite vacation destination. i always said that if i was able to i would buy a home there so i could visit anytime that i wanted. maybe you can show me around the motherland personally one of these days. it's always more authentic when you are the one to do it. i know he doesn't. he has always been more than supportive of me. i just know it's been difficult spending time with each other when we're both off doing our own thing. he's been such a busy little bee himself with his band actually gaining some popularity, but maybe sometime after the holidays we can find some time to run off to byron bay for a week long stay-cation. of course i get a new onesie every year. this year i have this rudolf one, and when you pull the hood on it's actually rudolf's head with a big red nose. it is sooooo adorable. alycia: if this is your way of buttering me up then consider it a success. i just hope you still feel the same way a few months from now. that sounds badass, but also terrifying to watch. i'd be such a mess watching you play. not sure i'd be a happy camper if you got hurt. i'm just being honest. at least they took it easy on you and you were able to carry on. it clearly worked out in your favor, and you are doing pretty damn good for yourself now. i can send you her instagram page. not to sound biased but she's pretty talented. she taught me how to draw and how to paint, so it's sort of become a family affair. i want to find the time again. music was always such an outlet for me, and i want to find that part of myself again. alycia: [ typing.... ] alycia: also....thanks for the impromptu trip to las vegas. i can't remember the last time i had that much fun in a 48 hour period. it was nice to just let my hair down and go a little crazy for a little while. plus your company made it ten times better, even if we both had a little too much to drink and almost turned into a carrie underwood song. 😂 not that being mrs. mescal would have been a terrible thing. you just deserve more than a weird aussie drunken bride.

paul: italy is a gorgeous place. forever my number one vacation destination. i'll keep my fingers crossed that you can visit ireland soon. even if you feel that way, i'm sure he doesn't. you're off chasing your dreams and that's something to be proud of. maybe you two can sneak off to some tropical island one day soon, get that reunion going. that's how i make it up to my siblings when the weeks turn into months and i start missing 'em. cheesy board games and dancing sound like my idea of a good time. do ya get a new onesie every year? paul: shh, it's not boring. it's my favorite job so far and i'm saying that as someone that has had many, many jobs before. lots of differences! i'd say gaelic football is more so a crossover of regular football and rugby. no protective gear, different rules, etc. if i ever find myself paying again then consider this your invite to watch. you're always so sweet to me. bless. ha, no. they saw right through my lie but were nice enough not to call me out on it. think they took a bit of pity since i was walking in with a couple broken bones. i'm glad she found another outlet for her art. i'll have to check out some of her stuff. i hope you're successful in finding time. it's nice to have an outlet outside of work things.

[f1]

Hamilton urges fans to avoid repeat of abusive scenes at Austrian Grand Prix

Lewis Hamilton has warned there is no room for complacency in dealing with the harassment of fans after plans were put in place to avoid a repeat of the abuse that marred last year’s meeting at the Austrian Grand Prix. The British driver demanded the sport take a strong stance to ensure F1 is an inclusive, welcoming environment. Last year’s race was tarnished by accusations of sexist catcalling, inappropriate touching of female fans and homophobic and racist abuse. There were 60,000 Dutch fans in attendance to support Max Verstappen and many of the reports referenced the stands where they were gathered. Verstappen condemned their actions, citing excessive alcohol consumption as a contributory factor, while Hamilton demanded F1 do more to deal with the problem. This year F1 and the promoters at the Red Bull Ring have instituted new rules as part of the sport’s Drive It Out campaign, which was launched after last year’s race. Fans have been banned from bringing alcohol into the circuit and will be searched on entry, while those exhibiting signs of drunkenness will be barred. Security staff numbers have been increased and they have been given clearance from the local authority to deal immediately with antisocial behaviour. F1 has also made it clear it will identify and ban anyone who engages in abuse at a race. Hamilton believed the sport was heading in the right direction but cautioned that it had to be resolute in dealing with abuse. “It was definitely sad to hear what happened last year,” he said. “I do know Formula One has taken action to make some changes here this weekend. But I still feel there’s work that needs to be done because potentially the same people could turn up. We just need to be very strong in our stance, in terms of how we expect people to be within this space that’s inclusive and for anybody. I’m hopeful that last year was a one-off. Fingers crossed.” When Verstappen was asked about his advice to fans, he said simply: “Don’t get too drunk, just watch the race and enjoy.” The sport’s new rules have been communicated to fans but it has yet to be seen how they will react when arriving en masse on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. On the evidence of last year, when drinking began early in the campsites that surround the circuit, many were arriving already drunk. Doing so again this year and being barred from entry may cause flashpoints at the gates. F1 has long attracted a largely white, male audience. Hamilton believed the sport and its fanbase was changing to be more inclusive but that it still had a long way to go. “I think the demographic is shifting a little bit and I think that’s a positive,” he said. “We’ve got younger people getting into the sport. We have a lot more women now interested in this sport from a viewing point but also [as] engineers. Our head strategist here, she’s a badass and she’s been here since 2019 and it’s great to have her here. We’ve got a long, long way to go in terms of creating better accessibility within our sport. It’s changing but very, very slow.” via Formula One | The Guardian https://www.theguardian.com/sport/formulaone

[fruitcoops]

Sometimes I forget that Leo is 19 and can’t drink in the states. I think he would get away with stealing drinks from the boys or having someone on the team order for him in public for a while but once the season’s started and people are actively watching the games, the bartenders and wait staff start to figure out who he is and catch him being sneaky

I only write drunkenness on a case-to-case basis because it squicks me out sometimes, but something about this ask really stuck with me. To @lalalasocks, I hope your sinuses feel better! Have some outside perspective of Coops to soothe the soul <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for a drunken rookie (no explicit alcohol)

“Pots and I are going to take it up the left,” Sirius said, never taking his eyes off his whiteboard as he drew out the lines of the play. iPads were generally the more conventional tool, but he had a thing for tradition and Sirius Black’s flair for the dramatic never ceased to amaze. “Knutty?”

Leo nodded and leaned forward, swiping a drop of sweat off his temple with a glance toward the game as Talker flew past. “I’ll be in for the rest of the period as soon as Coach calls it.”

“Bien.” He tapped Remus’ shoulder pad with the end of his pen and marked a path up the other side. “Loops, the puck is coming to you fast, so you need to keep eyes on us. Once you get it, turn on the jets and get it in. Good?”

“Good,” Remus confirmed, bumping fists with James. Leo watched them with no small amount of surprise—even though Remus had only been a player for six months, their line was rock-solid. James was the powerhouse while Remus flashed down the ice; Sirius counterbalanced them both in the middle. He was grateful he wasn’t the one to see them coming at him on plays.

“1, 6, 7, 12!” Coach barked. Leo clenched his teeth around his mouthguard and got ready to hop the boards. A swish of skates, a bump of Kasey’s shoulder, and it was game time.

-----------

“I love you,” Leo hiccupped, plopping himself down in Logan’s lap and tangling a hand in his dark curls. He went to kiss his cheek, then frowned. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Sirius laughed with a gentle pat his side. “Good night so far, Knutty?”

Leo made a face. “Where’s my Canadian?”

“I have no idea.”

His lip slid out even further into a pout. “He told me I could sit on his lap,” he whined plaintively, resting his head in the crook of Sirius’ shoulder with a heavy sigh. The bar was warm—a little too warm, actually—but it felt nice to be sitting on something soft rather than feeling the sticky floor under his sneakers. And there was one more reason he needed to find Logan, one other highly important thing… “An’ I gotta give him a kiss.”

“Do you want to go look for him?”

Leo made a noncommittal noise and swung his leg under the table absently, letting the alcohol in his system lift all his post-game tiredness away. His head hurt a little from being awake so long. “How ‘bout I stay here and wait?”

“I think it’s about time to get you home.”

Leo sighed again, picking at a string on the knee of his ripped jeans. “Am I squishing you?”

“Non.”

“Mmkay.” A bright square of light half blinded him and he squinted. “Who’re you texting?”

“Finn.”

“Why?”

“So that he can pick you up and get you home before you fall asleep on me,” Sirius said, quite amused for some reason. “Comfy, rookie?”

He shifted even closer into the warmth and closed his eyes. Usually he got horny when he drank, but that feeling had already passed and a nap was sounding awful nice. “I like it when you call me that. Hate when other people do it, but it’s different with you.”

Sirius gave his upper arm a light squeeze. “Glad to hear it.”

“Used to drive me nuts,” he snorted. “Those first couple’a weeks on the team were rough.”

“…why?”

“Cause I had a huge crush on you.”

Cozy silence fell between them until Sirius moved to look at him. Leo blinked sleepily. “You what?”

“Well, Kasey was my first crush, right? I had his jersey an’ his poster an’ he’s fucking hot, but you’re the captain.” Sirius was so nice to him. Not everyone would have let a 6’4” hockey player sit on their lap and wait for their boyfriends. At the moment, though, Sirius looked a bit like Leo had thrown ice water in his face. “And obviouslyFinn and Logan are my boys and I love them so much and they were sopretty when I met them but, y’know, it’s the thrill of the captain vibe.”

“Am I interrupting something?” a new voice asked through poorly-suppressed laughter.

Leo turned his head to look up with a smile. “Hey, Loops, how’re you?”

“Pretty good.” Remus shared a look with Sirius, grinning, before taking the seat next to them. “You two look…content.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sirius said immediately, though Leo felt his chest hitch with a laugh; he tapped Leo lightly on the elbow a moment later. “Finn’s heading over, d’accord?”

“But I just got here,” he mumbled.

“You’re in my spot,” Remus teased, sliding a glass over. “Drink up, bud.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Water.”

He thought for a second—he wasn’t thirsty, but his mouth was getting dry—and yawned, sitting up enough to stretch before grabbing it. In two gulps, it was gone. “Aw.”

Remus bit his lip and passed a different glass over. “You can have mine too, it’s okay.”

“How are both of you so nice?” he asked, looking between them in something like distress. The music was getting too loud, but they were both watching him intently. “It’s not even fair, man. Can’t you just be an asshole for once so the rest of us don’t look bad?”

Sirius shook his head and pressed the water cup into his hand. “Been there, done that. Do not recommend. Besides, the designated drivers don’t get to be mean.”

Leo felt a little better once the water was gone; he blinked slowly, scanning the crowds for any signs of Finn’s hair or Logan’s ass. Both were identifying features he would never get tired of. “Loops?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is your hair soft?”

“I—” He tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Have you ever touched my hair?”

He leaned back against Sirius, stretching his legs out until his knees popped. “No, but it looks soft. Like Finn’s, if Finn was blonder and had curls. Fluffy.”

“It’s very fluffy,” Sirius confirmed, pulling him up a little more.

“Hey!” Leo protested. “Watch the hands, your boyfriend is right there!”

Sirius rolled his eyes with a huff. “I was making sure you didn’t slide off the bench.”

“Sure,” Leo said with a suspicious glare. “Just ‘cause I won MVP for this game—”

“Okay,” Sirius groaned, standing and detangling his limbs to transfer Leo’s weight onto Remus. “I’m going to go get your boyfriends from wherever they got distracted, and then you’re going to go home and sleep so you’re not dying at practice tomorrow. Oui?”

He disappeared into the mass of people without giving Leo time to respond, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans as he craned his neck to see over people’s heads. “Rude,” Leo sulked, cuddling up into Remus’ side instead.

“I know, right?” He took a sip of something lemony and Leo pulled a face. “What?”

“Aren’t you DD?”

“Last I checked, DD’s are allowed to drink lemonade,” he laughed, patting the top of his head. “That was an awesome save in the third, by the way. You could’ve got the hat from that one alone.”

“Which one?” Leo yawned again, licking his lips to rid them of the stickiness he could feel forming.

“The splits one.”

“Mmm, yeah, that was pretty badass.” More people darkened his periphery and he scooted over to make room. “Hey, mes amours.”

“I hear you were bothering our dear captain?” Finn asked, kissing his cheek with a grin. There was no alcohol on his breath, only the mint from the peppermint candies he always stole from the little container by the bar. “Come on, baby, time to go.”

“But Loops and I were talking,” he whined, though it only took a small tug on Finn’s part to get him to snuggle up into his soft shirt. “He was telling me how good I did in the game.”

A warm hand stroked his hair out of his eyes; warmer lips brushed his forehead, and he felt Logan’s hand on his knee. “Bedtime, love,” he said in a quiet voice, almost too soft for Leo to hear over the noisy bar. “Wanna be in the middle?”

Leo looked up in hope. “Really?”

“Ouais. C’mon, Knutty, up you go.”

He wobbled a little as he stood, but got his feet under him within a few moments with the help of Finn’s arm around his waist and waved off everyone else’s offered help. “Gonna be fine for practice,” he promised, patting Sirius’ hand with a nod. “Totally fine, don’t worry. Go—hic—go grind on your boyfriend, ‘kay? You both need it.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Sirius muttered. “I pity your head in the morning.”

“I’m fine,” Leo scoffed. He was already sleepy—there was no way he would have a headache, not after he had two whole glasses of water. “G’night.”

“Drive safe,” Sirius and Remus chorused as Logan fit himself under Leo’s other arm to kiss his neck twice, sending butterflies through his stomach. The outside world was nice and quiet; Leo barely got himself buckled into his seat before dozing off with his head against the cool passenger window.

[emeraldbabygirl]

I’ve drunken like 6?? cups of coffee in the past 13 hours and the last hour I decided it was a good idea to watch some xdinary heroes and I don’t know if my reactions were genuine or affected by all the coffee cause if I drink a lot I get all shaky and shit but um literally hi I’m so sorry I can’t use emojis cause I’m on my computer but “as our lord and savior Mickey Mouse would say, that shit was bussin on god on god. They prepped, they cooked, they served, they ate it up and left no crumbs, they licked their plates clean and then they did the dishes and put them away girlies WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING. 

I can say it again ok so in Strawberry cake I spy with my little eye and FUCKING SKIRT THAT’S “A SLAY” AS THE KIDS THESE DAYS SAY. The power this group has musically is crazy, it’s “beyond periodT” I’m in awe, I’m screaming, crying, shaking, rolling on the floor, throwing up (obvi not rn cause I already did that) I’m so beyond impressed with these kiddos I’m not like super into all these new groups as much as maybe I thought I would be and I do love the bands and things but I wasn’t going to pay attention to these kids cause I was so tired of the groups that I already listen to and I just didn’t think I’d have the energy to keep up with more but I’m so like beyond describing and processing words in my brain? Like idk it’s beyond incredible like JUNGSU his opening lines in Happy Death Day caught me off guard and I couldn’t believe what he was doing with his voice and then in Strawberry cake Mr. Joo’s first set of lines I’m still not processing how he did that with his voice and maybe I’m overexaggerating but I’ve never heard that sound from any vocalist I had no idea he could do that it’s sick hands down and the bass in that song IS FUCKING SICK I LOVE IT and bro. 

Ok so X-Mas is insane the same thing with the vocals like whateva Idk how they do it, Mr. Joo and Gaon are insane the way their vocals and lines hit perfectly it was such a new sound I’ve never heard in my entire life I’m diggin the rock elements. I’ve seen the live clips of Pirate and Tomboy and Hellavator it’s insane and very emotional they have a good sound and it’s getting better and idk how they are topping themselves for each comeback Haircut was an oddly great song and the vibe these kids have rn and band versions of song def hit different obvi y’all know how I feel about It’s Live but the way they executed Tomboy idk man and idk how but Jungsu’s vocals, the feeling he has??? the way he..okay shut up he covered Woojin’s lines in Hellavator I know damn well he did cause it immediately clicked as I zoned in on Woojin when that song came out okay I ain’t censoring shit he covered Woojin’s lines and this kid pulled at my heartstrings he sounded so much like Woojin to me it’s insane say what you want I do not give a dying mooseseses’s last shit Jungsu has amazing vocals, him and Mr. Joo have range I bet they can do all kinds of tricks with their singing skills it’s so cool to hear and watch they way these guys are just doing what they do.

Anyway don’t hate, don’t eat my ass over this okay anyway the styling for the Haircut era is elite, it is key, it is a moment, it is iconic, a slay whatever the fuck you wanna call it I’m obsessed. I’m obsessed with Gaon and his hair that matches with Mr. Joo and obsessed with the fits and the FUCKING HAIR HORN I THINK WE CAN ALL AGREE HOW BADASS THEY ALL LOOK WITH THEIR FUNKY DEVIL HORNS THE BARBER SHOP FITS, THE BLACK LEATHER TRENCHES THE SKIRTS THE STYLIST DESERVES RAISES, COOKIES, EXPENSIVE DINNERS AND TO BE SUNG A LULLABY AND TUCKED IN AND KISSED ON THE FOREHEAD GOODNIGHT I DO NOT CARE if I am being over dramatic or whatever I am OBESSESSED WITH WHAT THEY DID TO MR. JOO’S HAIR IN THE HAIR AND X-MAS MV I THINK HE LOOKS VERY GOOD AND STUNNING JUST STANDS OUT maybe it’s cause I love and appreciate a man with locks AND BY LOCKS IM TALKIN BOUT HIS HAIR OK HIS FLOWING GORGEOUS HAIR DO NOT TWIST MY WORDS I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL SCREAM. I DO NOT MEAN DREADLOCKS. Not me getting mad gag me with a spoon. Men who grow their hair out and take good care of it and aren’t afraid to have braids in it and ribbons and clips and cute trinkets like what Mr. Joo has is a mother beautiful thing and I respect and appreciate that I’m so angy now. He looks good I love what he’s doing with his hair and love that the stylists aren’t cutting it or doing anything to distract or take away from his complete look and style I think everything they are doing with his hair as far as style, color and accessories only compliments his looks/features and makes him quite the attractive lad AND NO WHEN I SAY ATTRACTIVE IN THIS CONTEXT IT IS 100% INNOCENT AND A COMPLIMENT. WHY DO I HAVE TO EXPLAIN EVERY FUCKING THING. Also I think the braids that O.de?? is showing off look great it’s funky and reminds me of Mingi in his Pirate King era. I very much miss Junhan’s floofy hair.

I’m hoping to see some different colors and styling techniques on Mr. Joo before they chop his hair off. I’ve seen so many colors and cute hairstlyes and accessories that I would love to see him demonstrate I think he would pull it off. BUT I DON’T WANT TO SEE LICORICE HAIR ON HIM I WILL VOMIT JYP PLEASE DO NOT AYNO HIM. Kiddo’s got beautiful hair please don’t ruin his life with some stupid dye job or shave his head I want no George the egg I want no neon green mullet I want no bald Jooyeon at the age of 25 with permanent green or grey hair because you bleach the hell out of his head. I want no Changmin Triangle hair either it only looked good on Changmin. I’m sorry. 

Anyway gag me with a spoon, Junhan’s solo in Hellavator. I’m tired. TL:DR Xdinary Heroes is doin some cool stuff and it’s fun to hear how versatile they are. Def looking forward to future songs I def think these kiddos are going places and since they are a band it’s just really nice to hear rock vibes some bands have like the “k-rock” specific sound which is fine, wouldn’t be opposed to a full metal album lol jk that would make their throats bleed. AND I KNOW PEOPLE AND GROUPS ARE PROBABLY SO TIRED OF THIS TREND BUT would love to hear them cover at least one Queen song that isn’t Bohemian Rhapsody. BUT NOT FAT BOTTOMED GIRL I’M SORRY THAT SONG IS JUST NOT MADE FOR THEM IT’S TOO PERF. Kiss has some songs that are bangers that would be cool to see covered by these guys also maybe David Bowie. HEAR ME OUT. TWISTED SISTER. We’re not gonna take it is the perfect song for Mr. Joo we’ve gotten a little taste of some unexpected scream vocals. HELENA WOULD MAKE ME CRY PLEASE. 

THE SCORPIANS. ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICAINE. I know. I know it’s a lot, omg not me writing a list of songs I want them to cover sksskksks I just think they can experiment and pull a lot of songs off ya’know I think they would eat it up and poop it out and it would go back into the environment and help with the ecosystem, really restore and help heal the ozone, help save the polar ice caps, restore our natural forest and solve the water pollution problems, solve world hunger, save endangered species. stop wars and bring peace to our planet that we call home affectionately as they should, bring back the salmon and help keep wildlife and ocean creates safe, cut down on fossils fuels help improve science and technology everyone can love each other and get along and share and give back to the Mother and I wish I could bake a cake out of happiness and everyone would eat it an be happy. 

I am so sorry I didn’t mean to write an entire fUCKING ESSAY. It’s the coffee. These kids are cool and I appreciate and respect what they are bringing to the table as long as it’s not a green bean casserole okay I’m done now :)

[sugcrxspice]

In Ava's humble opinion, a nation state ruled by the infinite wisdom of the Adler sisters sounded like a goddamned utopia (no matter how dystopian that might have seemed to anyone else in town outside of their happy, drunken bubble—their own brothers no doubt included among the more skeptical masses). "Ugh, it would be a dream, Sollie. Think about how we could raise up Cy's girls in a community like that. We'd make sure that they turn out to be weird, little badasses, just like their favorite aunts," she mused dreamily. Ava and Marisol were tasked with babysitting their nieces so often, they would no doubt have a hand in shaping the futures of Cyrek's legion of bright daughters, and the fairy considered it a privilege to give them what she desperately wished she'd had growing up: guardians that they could confide in other than their dutiful parents, people that would give them the space to try new things and fuck up, not to mention the wisdom and advice to get through it all in one piece. "You know I aspire to be more like London Tipton every day," the blonde played along, a delirious giggle bubbling out of her mouth like champagne. "We can make a giant closet for our most prized possessions. It would be like the holy land of our little community." Though their heads were collectively in the clouds, Ava was grateful that her sister was able to keep them on track. It was true that together, they were a barrel of laughs, both mischievous and fun-loving creatures, but the same applied for when things went wrong, equally capable of causing a commotion. "It's hard to believe that we're, like... adult adults now, isn't it? When do you think that feeling fully sinks in?" she wondered wistfully, resting her cheek against her sister's arm. Maybe when you don't have to call people to get you out of any minor inconvenience. But she easily brushed off that idle thought before it had time to fully take root in her mind.

"Those days better be far behind us," Ava couldn't resist playful scolding her younger sister, lightly knocking her hip against Marisol's in return. "The only kind of self-destruction I want to see from any of us anymore is the fun kind," she jested with a wag of her perfectly plucked brows, a sincere grin gracing cherry red lips at the gentle touch of their foreheads together. It might have seemed odd to other, more well-adjusted families, but the hairdresser was grateful that she and her siblings were able to cope with everything they'd endured in such a light-hearted manner. Still, even despite their shared penchant for dark humor, there was nothing that the eldest Adler daughter wanted more than for her family to be deliriously, truly happy. Was it a tall order? Living somewhere as dark and shrouded in mystery as Anchorage, it could be. But that didn't stop her from idealistically wishing for it, even despite the odds stacked against them. "Eh, I may not have gotten the musical gifts in this family, but I've got plenty of others," she remarked with an airy sigh, her spirits soaring from the depths that they had plunged to just earlier that same evening. "Okay, I'm loving this confident energy on you. I should be your wingwoman when we're drunk more often. The ladies won't be able to resist," the cosmetologist sing-songed, a hand flying over her mouth to stifle a giggle as if it was a secret she had to conceal.

"You're so right. We could basically start our own community, cool kids only," Cult or not, Marisol entertained the idea wistfully in her mind's eye as they circumnavigated the mansion; a conglomerate of well-dressed, open-minded folk that they could bestow all their knowledge upon. It was an absolute dream — a fever dream to everyone except for the sisters, of course, but a dream nonetheless. A stupid grin flashed on the young witch's face at the mention of a tour of her gallery of shoes. "What a brilliant idea. And we've got to build you a wardrobe worthy of your style. I'm thinking like London Tipton — you know, having a built-in mall in your closet," she mused, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she tried not to distract herself too much to where she found them both lost. That would certainly result in catastrophe, and an extremely embarrassed Ava, which she knew they both could agree wouldn't bode well for either their reputations. "I mean, I still kind of feel 16 most days, but technically we are adults," she said pointedly. "We could totally become, like, retail investors. When they strike gold, they strike the whole fuckin' mine." One might falsely presume that all the two cared about at their cores was material wealth, which couldn't have been further from the truth; still, when you've lived most of your life sacrificing little luxuries for basic survival needs, you tend to fantasize about what would become of you if you weren't given the short end of the stick. Still, Marisol thought, it could be shorter. Much shorter. If you don't include what would've been Cyrek's clear disdain for their borderline villainous plans to gather up the youths and convert them to the Faith of Adler.

Eternally grateful that Marisol could still exercise her specific brand of dark humor on her dearest companion (though there really shouldn't have ever been any doubt), she released bubbly laughter that spilled from her lips as she knocked her hip against Ava's in return. "Yeah, yeah. I won't, trust me. Those days are far behind us, Avie, you're the only drama queen in the family from here on out," she assured her sister, pivoting her head for good measure and pressing their foreheads together in a silent promise. "Well, plenty of people can't even shout melodically. I'd say you're one of the lucky ones." Every Adler, in their own right, was a menace to society and had earned themselves a badge proudly displaying to others that they should proceed with caution lest they wish to be caught up in the spider's web of chaos they spun in tandem with one another. And she couldn't have been happier to be allowed a place in that intricate web. "I think that's all it'll take for us to bag some chicks, for sure. I'll totally study up on it once we ditch this popsicle stand. And I mean — what better time to do it than Halloween? The energy is literally perfect."

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 13: Fury

Lucky number 13 🥴 This is a chapter that got dark unexpectedly, but I hope it isn’t too rough! 

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know~!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000+

Summary: The world Javi navigates through begins to encroach into his peaceful haven with you, and when a terrifying incident blindsides you, how will it impact what you both have together?

Warnings: Javier Peña being that fucking badass, graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of unprotected sex 🤭 Use of provocative and slightly degrading pet names, depictions of violence, drunkenness, and mentions of blood. Descriptions of physical injuries caused from an assault and battery. Dom/sub play, cum play, size kink, spanking kink, dirty talk. Allusions to past trauma, underage sex, and emotional repression. Some Dom!Javi, Dom!Reader, Sub!Javi, Sub!Reader, Possessive!Javi, Wrathful!Javi, and Soft!Javi. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Chapter 13: Fury

The next week was supposed to be uneventful.

At least that had been your estimation based on things in your life. The pilot program was doing great, you and Ellis were busy but content, and leadership had been praising the work, even mentioning that the State Department were pleased with the effort and would be replicating the pilot program across other embassies. You are really feeling good about things and your boss has hinted to some departmental reconfiguring that would allow for better alignment to the kind of stuff you and Ellis have been lobbying for since you'd joined the embassy. It's exciting, and you're very proud.

Then, there is Javi.

You'd felt the shift from the moment he'd called you once he and Murphy had gotten to Medellín. He seemed tense, and like he was going out of his way not to come off that way, but you know him now. You can sense it – hear it in how he parcels something out, or how he shifts the pitch of the bass of his voice. Something happened, you know it, but he won't tell you and you don't think you should ask him on the phone.

When little over a week goes by until you see him again, you're trying to quell your concerns. He's called you every chance he could, and you've let him banter over nothing and flirt you up when he needed, and obfuscate when he couldn't give you details about things in Medellín. It isn't until a couple of days since you last spoke, when you're sitting at the kitchen table and pouring over the latest batch of requisition documents you need to finalize and submit the following day that Javi shows up at your doorstep.

Even his knocks sound off, so when you answer the door and see him standing there a bit aloof – not leaning a hand charismatically into the doorframe, or smugly quirking a brow at you, you duel with your impulses. Covertly, he eyes you behind his sunglasses, comforted by your casual t-shirt and short set, standing barefoot at your threshold.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he tells you in a charming tone, but you can't see his eyes behind the polished sunglasses, so you snicker and pull him in through the threshold and close the door before you wrap your arms around him. He's wearing a toasted khaki colored suit, dark tie and white dress shirt. Even the way he has the knot of his tie yanked loose and the top button of his shirt undone gives you clues.

Javi drops his duffle and sets his folder aside before plopping his aviators onto it to hug you with gusto, quelling the lonesomeness he's had and was having a hard time shaking loose of. "I missed you, querida."

You relish the hug too, reveling in his warm scent, the heat of his skin – the smell of smoke clinging to him through the fragrance of his soap, aftershave, and his natural spiced musk. Sighing, you nuzzle him and let him bury his hands in your hair before he tips your face up and captures your lips.

Javier has longed for the press of your plush lips, having missed your form as it slinks up against his, how you pull him close, and the discerning, no-nonsense look you give him when you gaze up at him. His brown eyes are soulfully pensive, and you feel sad, and you don't know why.

"What happened," you pose, not really ask, and Javi snorts – lips parting in a twisted grimace of bemusement.

He's marveling at how you're able to see right through him. It should bother him after he's gone out of his way to keep it hidden, but now that he has you in his arms, he feels like he can let go – drop his guard. "Shit. What gave me away?" he can't help ask acerbically as he lets you lead him over to the couch. The balcony doors are open and letting in the serene early evening breeze in while the light from the sunset glows orange warmth into the space of your living room.

Once you're both sat and you can stare earnestly at him, you declare, "You get flippant when you're trying to gloss over shit. You've been doing that on the phone since after you got there," you pause when he exhales and flicks his soulful gaze away, so you sit up and cup his cheek, caressing your thumb across it – stirring his gaze back to yours. His brown eyes flare chestnut from the dying sunlight while shadows cast themselves over part of his profile. "You do not have to tell me anything. I just…if you're not ok, or something bad happened, I hope you'd tell me."

The way the sunset's light comes into the space and silhouettes one side of you while framing the other resplendently has him getting distracted by how beautiful you are, and unbidden, his runaway thoughts bottleneck with his stubborn concerns, which allows the one thing he's wanted to say to you to wriggle free disjointedly and out of his mouth.

"I missed you so much, it's kind of ridiculous. I feel like I'm getting soft, and I can't make myself care about that…but I can't afford to be soft," he rumbles and shifts so he can kiss the palm of your hand before pulling you close when your lips part and brows furrow at his words. "Sorry, that was fucking nonsense—"

"It doesn't sound like nonsense," you interrupt and resist getting pulled into his lap so you can gaze at him and have your wits about you. "It sounds like you're saying you want to…stop."

Javier exhales and gruffly shakes his head before getting angry with himself and sitting to the edge of his seat so he can bury his face in his hands. "No. That's not what I meant," he grumbles and fists his hands in his hair in aggravation. "I only mean…the stuff we were doing. It's risky, and it never really bothered me before. It's…starting to give me a bad feeling. I can only account that on having…" Javier pauses and exhales in frustration with himself, so he straightens and looks over at you now. There's no guarded expression, no preamble to a deflection. "I didn't have anything to lose before."

His words strike you like a jolt to the funny bone, and you stare at him, feelings bubbling up in you that you were not prepared for. "…Why does it give you a bad feeling?" you ask instead, swallowing the myriad of anxious feelings that are clawing inside you.

Javier didn't expect you to ask that. Huffing at himself, he shifts back into the couch and moodily cups his hand over his mouth and leans heavily into his arm once he's propped it at the elbow to the armrest. After a tense silence of him deliberating whether he should tell you, he decides it's best to show you. Reaching over for the folder he put down on the side table, Javi retrieves it and hands it to you.

Blinking down at the offering, you glance up at him, and when he nods reassuringly, you open the folder. There are stacks of blown up images with date and time stamps along the bottom of each photo. Confused, you shuffle them over your lap and realize they're of the same location – the back of a truck's transport trailer.

"Steve threatened the driver to snap those from the hidden camera he rigged in the back. That's how Club Medellín gets people and items in and out of the prison," Javier explains as you look closely and see everything from political officials, prostitutes - even lobsters on ice being smuggled to and from the prison. "We had a meeting with Gaviria's guy, Sandoval, and showed him these today. He looked horrified…but I just have a feeling they're not going to do shit about it," he adds gruffly, as you fan through the images and see they were taken over the course of the time Javi was gone.

With a cleansing sigh, you arrange everything neatly and close the folder before tossing it down to the coffee table.

"So…what is giving you the bad feeling: that you and Steve keep risking crossing over dangerous lines that'll blowback on you, or, that you're stuck with no one who'll act on this and ultimately justify all the reckless shit you both have been doing this whole time?"

Javier looks stumped when you turn and stare openly at him. He's clearly trying to decipher your measured, casual tone, so you raise a sharp brow at him.

"Or," you add exactingly, "You're not bothered by either of those things because that's nothing new, but the fact that you 'have something to lose' now is what you deem to be a source of concern for you – that our relationship is making you…soft?"

Yep, Javier did not expect you to say any of this. Really, he wasn't thinking beyond unburdening himself of his pent-up frustrations, but his stupid mind had spat out the one thing he'd wanted to tell you in a wholly different way.

He'd wanted to tell you that he is afraid of things blowing back and falling apart so bad that it would pull you under with him. That every time he did something now, he worried if it would have an unknown consequence that would affect you. What if – and this was becoming lesser and a lesser of a big 'If' – Steve snapped and he'd have to help clean it up? Or if someone got leverage on him, just like they dig up and wield leverage on others? Sure, Javier was careful – you both have been, but could he really pretend that if he did something dangerous or kept flirting with political disaster, that it wouldn't impact you by proxy? After all, one of the big reasons you insisted on keeping things secret was because of your professional relationship. What bigger way to jeopardize that than for you to be linked to a DEA agent that massively fucked up?

"Just…listen to me. I'm going to say stuff that I know will piss you off, but if you can reserve your feelings until I finish?" Javi tells you and takes your hands before you can fold them impatiently in your lap. Huffily, you nod, and he gives you a stern, etched look. "This is going to get really messy, no matter what the result is. Every time I do something now, I worry. I didn't worry before, because – fuck it – if it didn't work out, the worst they could do was transfer me out, or get sent before the board of conduct – just bureaucratic bullshit that I never gave a shit about anyway," he pauses his earnest grouse to collect his thoughts and choose his next words carefully. "But now? I worry all the time. Steve's…getting close to the edge, and if this doesn't play out the way he thinks it should, I think he's going to unravel…and he's my partner, so I'm going to keep him from doing that."

That hits you like a heavy smack, and you reel from the flare of your temper, but you swallow it down when Javi takes a cleansing breath and waits for what he clearly expects to be a haranguing from you.

Frowning, you shift to sit closer to him and surprise him when you comb your fingers through your hair and take a very measured inhale before exhaling.

"I'm…really trying not to lose my temper right now, or jump to conclusions, or put words in your mouth, so I really just need you to tell me one thing, Javier," you tell him in a calm, albeit imperious intonation, eyes clear and expression becoming cool as marble. "Are you saying you don't want to be together anymore?"

Javier stares at you heatedly. "Fuck no!" he declares and grunts in frustration before grappling with it to snap, "When the hell did I say anything like that—?!"

"You kept harping on being so worried now about the cunning shit you assholes are doing to nail the cartel blowing back on me? The only logical conclusion would be to take me out of the equation – to stop seeing each other," you snipe in crossly and scoff when he stares at you with that infuriatingly endearing puppy eyed look of his. "What? How is that not something I was to read into?!"

"Because I never said it, so why read into it and get that, querida?" Javier counters, and pulls you back down into the couch when you huff and go to stalk off. "What do you want me to say? That I haven't thought about the worst-case scenarios and yes, worried that because of me, you could deal with fallout at work—?!"

"Javier, I'm not a fucking civilian. I know what goes on," you interject snippily and scowl at him when he hesitates. "I can handle myself. My reputation is mine to ruin, ultimately," you pause and look him pointedly in the eyes before you lob crossly, "What you're really worried about is me being the reason you hesitate on continuing to do the reckless shit you do in pursuit of this whole business with the cartels."

He feels like you punched him in the gut with the accuracy of how precisely you can read him. It's scary how you can tell him what he feels better than he can tell himself, and now, with the sadness that flashes across your tough façade, he feels like a complete moron.

Once again, he berates himself about how he's utterly unworthy of you, and it twists up in his chest.

"That's only a small part of it…I worry about you getting swept up in all of this because of me," he rumbles lowly. "If anything was to happen to you because of me, if I couldn't protect you…I don't know what I would do."

Startled, your eyes tremble at the irrevocable sorrow in his hushed baritone. It's tinged with deep self-loathing, and it hurts your heart to see Javier fume with himself. He goes to stand – wound up and desperate to storm off – to be alone, but you root him in place by grabbing his hand and squeezing.

"Stay."

Javier feels the panic dissolve from his coiled up muscles, and when you tow him back, he sits easily – heavily into the couch, but can't meet your gaze. So, you literally climb onto him and force him to look at you. He blinks bemusedly at you and your bossy stare as he seats his hands instinctually at your short-clad hips while your soft t-shirt-clad bust brushes his chest.

"You aren't the only one in this. I want to protect you too," you murmur and press your forehead to his. Javier exhales and bores his molten gaze into yours, lips pressing together as he encircles your waist and pulls you to lean into him. "I don't care what happens, as long as you're safe and in one piece, Javi. I will never judge you," you emphatically muse, brushing your nose against his as you whisper, "Do you understand?"

Javier nods and closes his eyes, savoring how at ease you've made him after days of being welled with worries.

"I just want to keep you safe. I don't want any of this sordid shit to ever come near you," Javi confesses, eyes opening to capture your surprised stare while his hands caress up to brush your hair back so he can frame your face. "If I ever feel that's going to happen, I will protect you from it."

He gets lost in how soft your eyes become, and how gentle your expression gets as he leans close and brushes his lips reverently against yours. Your soft perfume and sublime scent snuffs all the rancorous fire in him that'd been stoked from days of wrath and uncertainty, freeing him from the burdens he walled inside himself.

Your lips part when he covetously plants kisses to them while his hands caress you lovingly to him, making you melt and tremble with yearning.

"Javi," you attempt between kisses. "Mmm, j-just…promise me you'll tell me before," you pause when he captures your lips and deepens the kiss for a few delectable seconds. "Mmph, mi amor – promise me you won't shut me out," you sigh against his mouth when he starts to grope his hands down your curves in a tantalizing fashion that has your core throbbing and cloying with need.

Pulling back to adjust you in his embrace before rising to his feet with you in his hold, Javi drawls, "Only if you promise not to argue with me."

Wrapping your arms and legs around him, you glower, getting a bit appalled. "That is ridiculous—"

"It is not," he objects goadingly and strides down to your bedroom as he muses, "I don't know what kind of shit it could be, so if I need to keep you from it, I can't say whether I can tell you too much."

When he sits you down onto the bed so he can take his blazer off and loosen his tie before undoing his shirt cuffs to unlatch his watch and set it aside, you moodily lay back and exhale dramatically. "If you ever did that, I can promise you that I will be absolutely furious with you," you assert in a hard tone and ignore his glance as you sit up to recline on your elbows. "You're always talking about my wrath? That's when you'll see it."

Javi suppresses his wily smirk and turns to toe his shoes off as he sets his service weapon and badge to the dresser. "Then I can only hope that we don't fuck this thing up and we can nail the cartel in one fell swoop, bravita," he mutters amusedly, which snaps your surly glance to narrow on his broad back as he starts pulling his shirt from his trousers before he starts unbuttoning it.

After he shrugs his shirt off, his hands are pushed aside when you slink up behind him and loop your arms around his torso to reach the front of his waist. He stands straighter when you glide your hands up his torso to trace his stomach muscles. "You think I'm joking," you murmur against his back as you fan one hand across his bare chest before skimming the other teasingly down his stomach to slip your fingers beyond the waistband of his trousers. Javi stifles a grunt of excitement when you brush the other hand down to slip its fingers down his pants too. "Take your belt off," you order on a lilt.

Javier yanks at his belt buckle with hasty fingers and loosens the leather to slacken and unfasten. His back broadens against your cheek as he inhales a deep breath when you pluck the button undone and unzip his pants so the other hand can venture lower, unimpeded. His body reacts deliciously, shoulders tensing while his hips buck at your tantalizing caress down his apex to comb your nails through the thatch of coarse hair that smatters down his navel to frame his manhood.

He groans and grips his hands onto the edge of your dresser when your other hand ventures down his pants to fondle his balls while you enjoy how his weighty velvet cock fills out in your hand as you languidly stroke him.

Your lashes brush his back when you shift your cheek after he bows at you wrapping your hand around his hardened shaft and stroking up. "You would really dare make me furious with you?" you ask in a chiming intonation as you stroke Javi's now-throbbing arousal and lightly squeeze his balls when you emphasize the word. His response is a hoarse groan and for him to bow his head and pant harshly. "I think you like making me mad," you muse in a honeyed drone as you start to jerk him off, and Javi makes an exhilarated sound he stifles by biting his lip and gripping his hands harder into the wood of your dresser.

Javier is burning with depraved thrill at your treatment, feeling so wound up after the week without you that he's shamelessly rutting into your hand like a horny teen. His face is scalding from the blood that's flushed hot against his skin, and you can feel it as you lean into his back and drive him wild.

"You get off on getting me infuriated, don't you," you murmur and squeeze your fist around him before dragging it down to his base. He exhales a grunt and his cock pulses in response, all as you cup his balls and hold the warm spheres in a way that gets him anticipating a possible squeeze around them too. You can taste the eager need on his skin when you kiss the line of his spine, and just when you can feel him start to coil up with desperate arousal, you whisper, "It turns you on to have an effect on me? To make me so angry that I just don't know what to do with you?"

Javi lets out a raspy exclamation of air before gritting incandescently, "I-fuck-I don't want to really upset you, ever, querida—"

You suddenly recede your hands, slipping them from his hips to squeeze his sides affectionately. "Good boy," you chime sweetly before stepping back and grinning.

The way his back broadens and his shoulders square while he lets out a startled and frustrated huff is just too good for you not to enjoy, so you miscalculate just how incensed with desire Javi is when he turns and looks at you. His coffee-brewed depths are pitch-black from how molten with lust they are, and you blink at him before he literally sweeps you up and presses you up against the dresser he'd been hanging onto for dear life in order not to lose control. Now, he jams you up on it as he hauls your shirt off your head and snaps your shorts and panties off in one swift motion that has you gasping.

Now wearing only your satin bra, Javi spins you over to the foot of the bed where he pushes you to splay your hands down onto the mattress while he bends you over and retaliates with wicked yearning. His hand cups your pussy from behind and earns a startled mewl from you as you toss your head back and almost crumple onto your knees down on the foot of the bed. Javi's other hand gripping your hip stops you, and before you can get your bearings, he's sucking a hard kiss into the back of your nape.

"Yes, I like getting you worked up, you fucking vindictive little temptress," he growls close to your ear as he taps the pads of his middle and ring fingers over your mound, jolting you and coaxing a shocked, albeit aroused squeak from you. With a possessive rumble, he drags those same fingers through your slick-drenched folds, taunting wickedly, "Look how fucking soaked you get – hot and wet for my cock to pound into your aching little pussy. You want me to wind you up so I can fuck you silly. Admit it."

This table turn is by far the most overwhelming and enticing thing over your sparking senses you've experienced in a while, and you moan when Javier pulls his fingers from your tingling, dripping cunt – only to sear the sensation with a sharp spank across your ass. You cry out and buck back from the contact, plush lips parting on a silent mewl as you try and recover your breath.

"That wasn't rhetorical, atrevida," he husks thickly and swats your ass a little lighter this time. You mewl, and Javi watches as your plump flesh blanches before swelling red where his hand struck before he stares and hums in approval of your cunt clenching excitedly around nothing.

"Ja-Javi—"

"Take your fucking bra off."

You are shaking with titillated anticipation as you reach behind yourself to unfasten your bra and slink it off to the floor by your feet. Javi licks his lips and rubs himself through his trousers at the sight of you naked and trembling with submissive delight after you've worked him into this tizzy.

"Nothing else to say now? You were such a fucking daring brat before," he seethes erotically, his voice hitting a dark pitch that has goosebumps breaking out over your skin as you let out a shaky breath. "Maybe I should punish you for once. Bend you over my knee and spank your bratty ass until you beg—"

"Maybe you should," you provoke in a pitchy purr and venture an instigating glance over your shoulder at Javi as you bend your lower back and stick your ass out more.

Well, Javier was insanely turned on, and after that obscene taunt, every fiber in him is coiling with charged need, demanding he let his baser urges loose.

You expect him to manhandle you onto his lap for the promised spanking, but Javi surprises you by brushing up behind you, tauntingly rubbing his hard-on over your ass as he presses flush to your back and gathers your luscious, thick tresses into one hand to be swept away from your shoulders.

"You're so fucking lucky I don't have my handcuffs with me, guapita," he grouses against your ear, and you shiver, biting your lip as the hand with your swept-up hair tightens and tugs. You exclaim and latch your hand at the wrist of the hand he's gripped at your waist. "If you want me to fill that tight, hungry little pussy with cum, you better behave and take your spanking," Javier murmurs heatedly to your ear before leaning back and letting go of you.

Your brain is syrupy mush after that, so when Javi goes to sit on the side of the bed, still clad in his unbuttoned trousers and nothing else, it takes your fogged thoughts a minute to comprehend the unspoken command.

Come here and bend over.

You twitch, all the haughty energy in you winding in appalled anger, but with how the clutch of your cunt clenches wantonly for the promised depravity? Those voices are snuffed out by your base need to be dominated right now. Shakily, you straighten and saunter over to him, gaze locked onto his as you shamelessly stand before him.

Javi thinks it's totally a fifty-fifty chance you'll bend to his will, so he tilts his head in a confident leer and lets his smoldering eyes rove over your body before scathing darkly, "Need an invitation now too?"

Why something so debasing gets you so wet is beyond you, but you narrow your eyes and surprise him by pointedly draping your naked form over his lap and purposely squeezing his knee once you're settled – ass up in the air, begging to be spanked.

You can feel his erection jut up through his clothes, so you submerge your cheeky smirk and murmur, "Dámelo, Javi…punish me while you still can."

You feel him rile at that, and before you can be pleased with yourself, Javi swats your ass, just over the plumpest juncture across your supple derrière, and you gasp out and clench from the sting that radiates across your skin and zings excitement into your pulsing flesh. Before you can acclimate, he spanks you again, but a little lower this time, which has you squirming and involuntarily moaning when the sensation makes your pussy throb.

"I think you like getting spanked," he condescends ruggedly and fondles a globe of an ass cheek before slapping the buffet of his fingers down into it and watching it shake as you gasp out and writhe. "Look at that," Javier purrs and surprises you by spreading your thighs ajar enough for him to dip his fingers to rub your cunt. You groan and rock your hips at his possessive touch. "So fucking wet from getting your ass smacked a few times?" he husks almost reproachfully before rasping in a gravelling pitch, "You like being a bad, devious little bitch so you can get this sexy ass dominated, don't you."

When your insides light up and your core gushes with excitement, you press your lips together and tuck your chin against your chest, causing your lush hair to cascade over your shoulders, hiding how lust is blossoming over your tantalized expression. Javier's hand lands across your ass – right where if your knees weren't pressed together he would be millimeters away from tapping your pussy.

"Ahh—mmm!" you cry out and fidget in his lap. "Y-Yes, I do," you answer tightly on a sigh, hands gripping the bedding, wringing them into the material for fear of digging your fingers into Javi's thigh.

Javier hums approvingly, and rewards you by bending down enough to brush a kiss along the cleft of your ass. You mewl, and he darts his tongue out to trace the tight crevice made by your glorious plump flesh, drawing a needy sound from you.

"This ass is mine," he declares huskily as he rubs his large, warm palm over it while the other gropes up your spine to lightly grip the back of your nape and squeeze. "Is it not?"

You stutter an excited intake of breath, and nod, but Javi presses his thumb into the back of your neck. "Yes, it's yours—"

"Yours…what?" he prompts suddenly, and your brain is filling with the haze of your carnal hunger simmering on a slow burn.

"I-I…I'm not calling you 'daddy,' atrevido—ah!" your huffy sneer is cut short by your cry of surprise when Javi slaps your ass and keeps his hand against the stinging flesh.

"That sounded like bratty back-talk," he mutters goadingly, tone a scintillating bass over your senses as he drawls, "It sounded like you did not want my cock after all—"

"Nngth, I want it bad," you insist and bite your lip as your face burns with a shameful blush.

Javier chuckles smugly and starts edging you with his fingers flicking teasingly along your soaked pussy as he growls cavalierly, "Then…be a good girl and tell me who this ass belongs to, pinche zorra—"

You rile violently at that and whip your hair back to snap your blazing glare at Javi. "Who the fuck are you calling a fucking slut!?" you hiss and he comically recoils at the sudden shift, hands going to grip you from possibly tumbling off his lap from how you're curling around to rail, "Mira, hijueputa malparido—you call me a slut again in any language, y voy a acabar contigo, you hear me?"

He definitely knows you're incensed by the nasty pet name. When you speak Spanglish like that – interwoven in vehement swears, he knows he's hit a nerve, so he assures, "I got carried away, querida—don't ever think I mean any of it—!"

"Yeah well, I know that, but I do not like that," you seethe and adjust to shimmy your pelvis down from being draped over one thigh so you can prop your torso sideways over his lap and glare up at him. "How would you like it if I called you a fucking slut?"

Befuddled by kind of being turned on by that, Javi presses his lips together to dampen them, but you see the way his coffee-brewed eyes glimmered with a spark. "I won't say it again, cariño. Any variation of it, I promise," he appeases and strokes his fingers along your back while his other hand cups under you to pillow your head. When your temper cools and your eyes soften, he hazards a wry huff and mutters, "Shit, that was really getting sexy too…"

Sitting up seductively, you tilt your head to the side and size him up. Sure, you're the one completely naked and until recently, were getting spanked and fingered by this tenacious and handsome man, but something in him is pinging a signal of aroused yearning that only you can feel vibrating in the air.

He watches your demeanor cool into a sultry calm, lips parting serenely while your eyes pin him in place as you effortlessly scamper to your knees and straddle him, to Javi's enticed surprise.

"Ah, mira que rico," you purr and curl a hand to caress the hinge of his jaw while the other buries in the back of his dense tufts before tugging lightly on the dark strands and earning a hitched breath from him. "And here I was, on the edge of calling you a very naughty pet name while you were spanking me, but now I see you'd prefer a few others, eh?" is your throaty drawl as you brush your nose against his cheek and watch Javier shut his eyes and submerge that titillated chill that shoots up his spine. "Mmm, mi amor, are you a filthy deviant who likes to be called nasty things?" you ask against his mouth before nipping his bottom lip.

Javi groans and chases your mouth, but you pull away and smirk deviously at him. His molten eyes are surly with urge, but you see he definitely wants to play, so you drag your hand from cupping the side of his jaw down to his throat as you snarl devilishly, "You want me to take your cock and do whatever I want to it, you fucking slut."

His hands tighten on your waist as he defiantly stares at you, but you feel his cock throb in the confines of his pants, so you smile and keep dragging your hand down his corded neck until you swivel your thumb over the hollow of his throat. Javi's breath hitches in electrified enticement at the contact as you tighten your fingers in the strands they're gripping and tug a little harder. "Mmph!" he growls and you smile dreamily at him before you release both your hands on him and shove him hard onto his back onto the mattress.

He feels your warm weight leave his lap just before you yank his pants off and dispense with his underwear brazenly, causing his charged breath to sail out of his lungs while his cock bobs and strains up, begging to be touched.

"Hmm, what to do…" you click your tongue as if deliberating with yourself. "Any other time after you teased me like that? I would've fallen to my knees and begged you to bathe me in your cum," you tell him as he lies belly-up and stares rapaciously at you. Your tits bounce when you crawl over Javi and deliberately avoid touching him before you gaze down torridly at him. "But right now?" you pause as you watch his expression etch in furiously wanton concentration. "I think I want to fuck you like this – under me, and just when you're close to coming, I'll get off of your cock," you tell him simply.

Javier riles at that and sits up. "W-What about—"

You hush him with your fingers grazing over his lips. "I wasn't finished. I'll get off, and sit on your face – make you get me off with your tongue, like the pussy-hungry fucker you are, puto beyako," you growl and relish how his eyes flutter as he arches in filthy excitement.

"Fuuuck…querida, please, let me jerk off while I eat your orgasm out of you," he asks in a husky grouse, and you can see the flush creep up his chest to radiate up his neck before fanning out over his cheeks and up his ears.

"Why should I?" you ask nonchalantly. The look in his eyes is priceless, and the way it darkens has your clit throbbing. "Ah, it's because you're such a needy, pent-up slut who's been in a fucking rut for a week without my pussy, is that it?"

Javi burns with shame about how shamelessly turned on he is. "What d'you think?" he challenges, defiantly grousing, "I didn't ask for your panties to frame them, tentadora." When you give him a smug grin, he mutters, "All I've done is jerk off like a fucking lech to the smell of you every damn day for a week."

"How many times a day?"

Scandalized by your blasé query as you straddle his lap and start to grind your soaked pussy over his straining cock, Javi tilts his head back and lets out a frustrated hum as you take his hands off your thighs and toss them onto his sides, down on the bed.

"H-How many times did you use that toy while I've been gone—?" You swatting his chest warningly curbs Javi's cheeky sneer, which riles him to stare up provocatively at you just as you drag your nails teasingly down his chest. His eyes narrow as he fights the urge to arch in pleasure, lips stuttering apart before he smacks them back together fiercely, his defiant streak clearly becoming part of the game to see how far you'll go.

"Unlike you, I'm not an insatiable whore, so the toy stayed snug in its drawer," you taunt licentiously and press your palms flat over his broad chest as you nudge your ass over his cock before pivoting to undulate it so it parts your folds before sinking down on the thick, throbbing length with a delighted hum.

"Oh—" Javi bites back his moan when you slam him to the hilt inside of you and flex your floor muscles around him, but do not move. "Ah-s-shit, preciosa, please," he begins to negotiate but your hands groping possessively across his torso before you dig your fingertips into his pecs causes him to shudder and groan. "Christ…mmm—fuck, baby—"

"You want me to move, you needy descarado?" you purr and squeeze your muscles hard, earning a stuttered, pitchy exhale from Javi as he arches and writhes. "Maybe I won't. I can stay in complete control of myself, unlike you…" you punctuate by reaching your hand backwards to massage his balls. He lights up and shouts out your name as he grips your thighs desperately. "See? I can feel your cock already twitching inside me—all wound up from me calling out how much a filthy hijueputa you are—"

His fingers knead into your thighs so hard that your tendons flex back and he steals your breath mid-tease. "Hmph, I can't…can't keep still like this, pinche atrevida," Javi growls and rolls your hips possessively over him, which makes you whimper and tense up.

Just when his patience with the game is about to splinter, you smack his hands away and squeeze your knees warningly into his sides. "Tú eres el puto atrevido, so if you're going to be like that…" you level in a breathy hiss and lean down to tease a kiss over his parted lips.

Javier's expression etches into rough want, but his eyes lower to your lips before flicking to your eyes. "…I'll be good," he grinds out tersely, and you smile brilliantly before nudging a cocky kiss into his lips.

"Will you, malcriado?" you goad and nuzzle him. When he grunts huffily, you purr, "I can't decide if I love you being a brat or being an obedient guapito."

His eyes flare with intrigue and his brows quirk. Hands coming up to pull you close so you can press your breasts over his chest, Javi murmurs, "That's because you like bossing around both, bravita."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as you kiss him.

The kiss inevitably becomes torrid, and his hands on you while his cock throbs inside you has you getting really turned on, so before you can help it, you're both sharing the dominance.

Javi maneuvers you onto the bed and holds your arms over your head by cuffing your wrists in one hand and barreling his thrusts while he rubs your clit with the other. And when he feels you getting close to the edge, you surprise him by wrapping your legs around his waist and pivoting to roll him onto his back so you can buck hard on him and suckle a possessive kiss into the slope of his shoulder.

"Mmm, ride my cock, baby," he growls and presses his hips up to meet every buck of your heat down on him.

You gasp and cling your hands to his sternum as you whimper and fuck yourself hard onto him. When you climax, you whimper ardently and cry out his name as you keep riding him through your bliss. Javier loves watching you come, and the silken clutch of your cunt clenching greedily around him has sinful yearning coiling hot in his gut. His hands grip your waist, and you can feel his body start to tense and flex under your hands, so you moan and give him a devious look, panting and undulating your hips.

The look raises his hackles into thinking you're going to go through your threat from before, but you grab his wrists and shift the angle of your silken heat over his cock before bucking hard onto him and whispering, "Tell me what you need, querido."

Javi's resolve melts at that and he groans, "N-Need to come inside you. Please…please let me fill you with cum, baby."

Your core answers before you do by fluttering as you moan and toss your hair back and murmur, "Yes, yes, give it to me, Javi. I want all of it—"

The salacious pitch of your voice has him going taut under you while his fingers dig into your hips and he shouts his wanton delight as your rippling sheath strangles his swelling cock and milks him of his climax. You cry out and ride him through it while Javier involuntarily pounds his hips up into you – rocking into your flooded heavenly cunt while a broken sound catches in his chest from the mind-blowing ecstasy. Heat blooms deliciously inside you from the force of his spend filling you, and you are alight with sensation as you curl down onto his torso and melt into him.

Thrilling, kinky foreplay aside, the sex is exquisite after going so long without each other, and you just stay a spent heap on him for a beat while you both recover.

"…Does it really turn you on to call me a slut?"

Javi is still trying to recalibrate his brain after such a soul-sparking orgasm, so he's on delay and questions whether he heard you right. "…It doesn't if it bothers you," he mutters softly against the side of your head as you nuzzle your face into his neck. "It really just slipped out, mi amor," he murmurs and cuddles you. "But it did turn me on how foul-mouthed you got," he chuckles, and you snicker airily.

Only the sweatiness of your conjoined forms is what motivates you to eventually part long enough to get into the warm cascading water of a hot shower. You both linger in the shower together a little longer than normal thanks to how soothingly he massages your shoulders, and how he helps you tenderly wash between your sore thighs. It's insane how much you missed the ache, the sometimes, albeit deliciously wrecking stretch of him pounding home into you before claiming you deep with his seed. Once nice and dry, you order food in from the great Peruvian spot you found that delivers, and while you lounge in your silk robe and eat together on the bed, you finish up your paperwork while Javier tells you about the insanity of 'the tunnel' being the truck the cartel used to smuggle to and from the prison.

He's propped back against the headboard and eating his fill merrily while you reach over him to get your drink from where he set it down next to his on the nightstand once you've tossed your completed work aside and go to curl up next to him. It's a slightly cool evening, so he's actually wearing a pair of his boxer-briefs and his college shirt – the one he'd let you borrow. Sidling close and sipping your drink, you eat a piece of chicken off his plate and hum.

"So, fill me in – how've things been at work?" he asks as he sets his plate aside and drapes his arm around you. He's itching for a cigarette, but it can wait until he goes out to the balcony and locks up your place for the night.

You shift to sit up and wiggle your brows dramatically at him. "Well, for one thing, that asshole Danvers got suspended after all," you tell him, and he grunts dryly. "Two-week suspension. Turns out he'd already been on thin ice with his superiors," you shrug and finish your drink.

"…He's lucky that's all he got," he mutters in a dark tone before huffing and taking your empty glass and setting it aside for you.

When you feel the broody cloud start to creep over his mood, you playfully nudge your shoulder into his side. "In other news, guess what the last agency to hold out on agreeing to the C.O. pilot program is?" you chime and grin at him. He scoffs and suppresses a smirk. "Yep! And I will no longer abide your silliness, agente," you quip and brush your hair behind your ear when he grumbles and shifts to try and slink out of bed. "Nope!" you pounce playfully on him and scamper onto his lap.

Javier laughs and roughhouses with you, of course minding his strength, but you always manage to surprise him with the fervor and power you contain in your petite form. "That's not my department, señorita. You'll have to take it up with the DEA's resources person," he drawls aloofly while succeeding in pinning your hands to his chest so he can steal a peck from your lips. "I'm just an asset in the field—"

"I happen to know, for a fact, that you and Murphy flat out told that guy you had no intention of doing the training," you levy cuttingly, eyebrow arching chidingly when he gives you his flinty poker face and squints humorously at you. "You gonna deny it, mentiroso?"

"…Nope," he deadpans and shrugs when you grunt snootily. "Baby, c'mon—you really expect Steve and I to carry around a fucking laptop with us when we're on assignment?" he lobbies and gooses you affectionately, and you squeak and swat his chest, giggling while he sighs, "And besides…I'm not really trusting how secure our tech is."

Sobering at that, you settle more comfortably, sitting on his thighs so you can adjust your robe while you ask, "Why? They're straight from IBM – completely encrypted and only someone with a network key could come close to crack it."

"I'm sure," he muses and caresses your hair, petting it affectionately before idly running his fingers through the length.

It dawns on you that he'd mentioned something similarly edgy over the phone recently – of course, prefacing it in a naughty quip of, '…can't risk talking dirty on here anymore. Never know who's listening', and of course you knew about the main surveillance system and tactical way Centra Spike collected their leads. "Well, I'm going to be really aggravated if I can't get you guys to play ball," you jibe acerbically. When he just gives you a goading, smug look, you pinch his sides and sneer, "Just because you're my boyfriend, doesn't mean I'll allow you to be a get-over."

He really smiles when you say that, dimple appearing to tease you and softening his handsome features. "What're you gonna do to make me, bravita?"

"Maybe it's about what I won't do anymore," you counter. "Specifically, you."

He grumbles haughtily at that and pulls you close. "Do you know how horny I am after a week without you? You can't threaten something like that," he grouses in a surly rumble as he starts tugging your robe to try and sashay it open while you fend him off by slapping his hands down coquettishly. "I think you need another spanking—"

"Hah! You're the one being a stubborn pain," you exclaim sardonically as he flirtatiously wrestles you onto the bed. "Have you ever gotten a spanking?"

"Pfft, not after I grew out of playing in sandboxes, no," he slinks you across the bedding when you grapple onto his shoulders and let him get between your thighs and pin you down. You scoff wryly and pull him down onto you, so he nuzzles the crook of your neck and rumbles ruggedly, "Didn't like it then, definitely won't like it now."

You giggle wistfully at that, and relish being flirty and silly with him after the tense week apart. Javi feels settled too, dropping his guard enough to enjoy the time with you and bask in your loving grace. You fool around, and delight on how you're able to give each other pleasure so easily – without effort or self-consciousness. Javi makes you come with his mouth, and you drive him over the edge with yours. It's so good – entrancingly gratifying to enjoy being each other's, to get lost in your passion and trust the other to keep you tethered.

Later, once night has advanced and he's had his cigarette, closed the balcony doors and shut the lights, Javier comes back into the bedroom just in time to see you slinking out of the robe and shutting the lamp off. Your nude silhouette is enchanting in the low light coming from the open window slats, and when you crawl under the covers, you muse, "Are you just gonna stand there staring, galán?"

He exhales a wordless grumble and strips out of his shirt and underwear before slipping under the covers with you. "No lotion?" he teases, sliding up against you and caressing your luscious form under the bedspread.

"Too chilly for that. I'll lotion you up before work, if you want," you murmur and turn in his arms to slink your leg over his hip and cuddle closer.

He can feel the heat of your body, how warm you are between your thighs, and he's instantly aroused. After he's ravished you with gusto, you lay cuddled up on his chest and talk in the dark. It's sublime and you feel completely safe, sated and warm in his arms – open to him and his idle questions, and he entertains yours with devious zest.

"—Ok, gracioso, when was your first time?" you snicker, eyes heavy-lidded but alert as you feel him exhale tensely. "We already agreed not to get testy with either of our lines of questioning, chavón," you cajole sweetly. "I promise not to swat you."

He grunts amusedly at that. "First time fooling around? Or first time getting laid?" he specifies, hand idly weaving his fingers through your thick hair while you toy with the curls at the back of his neck.

"Both, you hustler," you joke and relish how he squeezes your waist cheekily.

"…Think I was thirteen with the first, and maybe fifteen – no – sixteen with the latter?" he muses and you have to press your lips together to not have a reaction. "…I know you're bursting at the seams. Have at it," he quips.

"Nope…not at all," you evade and kiss his chest.

"You want details. I can feel you getting wound up with questions," he snickers and shoves his hand behind his pillow so he can prop his head up to glance down at you.

"It sounds like you want to volunteer details," you counter wryly and tilt your face up so you can trace his features dotingly with your nimble fingertips.

Grunting, he shrugs. "First was with a buddy's sister at a party. They locked us in the closet together, and we fooled around until they opened the door and we pretended nothing happened," he regales you in a honeyed murmur, and you smile, so he adds, "And got laid for the first time after a football practice, in the back of my pop's pickup."

You bite your lower lip and wiggle your brows in feigned shock. After all, picturing a teenaged-football-playing Javi fumbling with a girl's bra in the back of a pickup truck's cab is just too endearing. "I'm not going to lie: those are both quite tamer than what I imagined," you deride affectionately.

He reaches his hand down and pinches your ass, earning a yelp and for you to adjust so you can drape across his torso and smack his hand away. "I guess my damn reputation is so sordid, I can't be surprised—" he grouses with a gruff mutter and scratches at his forehead before fisting his fingers into the front of his hair reticently. When you purse your lips mockingly at him, he shoves both hands behind his head and stretches out lazily under you as he drawls, "Alright…what about you. First times?"

You knew the gamble of asking him could result in the question coming right back around at you, so you serenely recall the catalogue of raunchy sexual exploits from your teens. "Well…first time fooling around? Fourteen…and with an instructor," you recite and blink unselfconsciously down at him when his brows quirk in surprise. You don't know that Javi's recalling the fourteen-year-old you from the photo sitting in the frame on a shelf in the living room. "And first time having sex? I think that was…soon after?" you ponder out loud and tap your chin. "Yeah, it was. After a party at the house – in the study," you muse and snicker, "Sounds like a game of Clue—"

"Fourteen?"

Sobering at his musing tone, you give him an easygoing smile. "Yeah…fourteen. A whole year plus or so before you – how scandalous," you deadpan sarcastically and roll your eyes as you smile and add, "I'm pretty sure that's the first time, anyway—"

Javi doesn't know why it's riling him, but he'd promised not to get testy, and he isn't judging, but he can't help…wonder. "You're pretty sure?" he nudges and tries to remain nonchalant.

You read him, though. Stare sharpening, you muse, "Yeah – pretty sure. It was an…eventful year. I went a little wild," you pause, knowing that's the understatement of the night, but you smile and continue smoothly, "So, was the first time with a cheerleader? Because that's totally what I pictured."

He snorts, and nods. "Yep. She was waiting for me after practice, and luckily knew what to do," he jokes, and you chuckle charmingly at that. "What kind of party was it that you were able to sneak off to the study and pop your cherry?" he asks sardonically. But, when you glance away, he shifts to sit up into the pillows, watching as you hesitate – as if you're considering shifting away.

Feeling his trepidation build, you reassuringly lean back down and let him caress your shoulder, trailing his fingers along your upper arm while he tips your cheek up with his warm palm. Smiling, your stare gets faraway as you reply, "It was my father's wedding party…"

Javi silently catalogues everything you've ever told him about the man and your relationship. You'd never gone out of your way to give him details, but from everything he's gathered, you are very much estranged, and have been since your mother died. Well, with intermittent periods where you've tried to be civil. Knowing that you'd said the photograph in the other room was taken when you were around fourteen, and that meant it had been the last time your mother and you had visited Colombia together? Compounded with this information? That would mean she'd died sometime after that trip, and your father had remarried within the same year?

"…I've heard worse first-time stories from friends. Mine was actually nice," you continue, distracting Javi to fixate on your blasé shrug and pursing lips.

He is burning with questions, and you snicker at yourself before shifting to snuggle against him, feeling the weight of his care and protective grace envelop you.

"Who was it?" he asks, unbidden, but he can't bring himself to just leave his thoughts turbulently thinking the worse.

"A Naval Academy buddy of my father's."

You can cut the silence, so you elaborate, "I'd always had a crush on him, and it sort of just happened, I guess." You sigh, feeling comforted by his warm embrace as he encircles you in his arms, so you volunteer more. "He was divorced—stayed hanging around the house while people were in the yard, and I took him up to the study to get him the good cognac," you murmur and melt against Javi as he rubs his warm palm along your lower back.

Javier is internally fuming, not at all prepared for the admittance no matter how much he told himself it would be better to know. You are so casual about it, and it makes his heart ache. He's warring with what to say, and you sigh and kiss his jaw.

"He didn't force me, if that's what you're thinking," you whisper when he just goes so quiet, hands cuddling you protectively. "At that time…I was so…angry. I wanted to feel anything other than that, so…I did."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Javi murmurs thoughtfully and presses a kiss to your forehead.

You scoff dismissively, but not in a hostile way. "I think I'd need a few stiff drinks to muster the effort…"

A heavy silence reins for a beat, and Javi presses his nose to your hairline and inhales a sobering breath, working up the confidence to confess how angry your admittance made him, and how he wishes he could've protected you then, before, after – in all facets of time, and how he loves you and has no idea how to ever express it with the gravity he thinks you deserve.

"Wait – was Lorraine the cheerleader?" you suddenly pipe and sit up, eyes wide with mirth.

Javi's brows draw a furrow above the ridge of his nose and he scowls. "How the hell did you figure that out? I literally gave no details," he mutters haughtily and grunts when you give him a dazzling, albeit wily grin. "Your powers of perception are unnerving sometimes," he drawls in a rasp, smirking as he steals a kiss from your goadingly quirked lips.

"Is it bad I want to meet her?" you tease impishly, and giggle hysterically when he starts mercilessly tickling you.

You manage to wriggle his hands into the pillows so you can sprawl out on him and kiss him wickedly, so he relents and lets you settle down over his warm torso so you can rest your head on his shoulder. Arms tucked affectionately around him, you sigh at him pulling the covers over you both, blithely humming when he holds you against him. Just as you're closing your eyes, Javi grunts curiously and nuzzles your hairline.

"Hmm?" you murmur inquiringly.

"…What was the naughty pet name you were gonna use?" Javi's baritone is low and dreamy, hands idly rubbing up and down your back.

Smiling once your thoughts recall what he's referring to, you purr, "Oh, it was going to be 'mi patrón,' just to get you real wound up."

Javier scoffs in faux outrage at that before irreverently squeezing you and loving how you slink affectionately into him and kiss his neck cheekily.

Neither of you dwell on the heavier portion of the conversation after that, too grateful and anchored by each other's love to let anything weigh you down. You're each other's counterbalance to the frustration, anger, doubt, grief, and self-loathing that could invariably tip you into moroseness. Sure, you compartmentalize it all so you can stand back and look at what makes you up from an objective point of view, but even now, as you reflect on the night before, you can't help pine amorously – to be subjectively infatuated and bone-deep in love with Javier.

He's able to center you and make you feel so safe. Part of you worried about becoming dependent – losing self-reliance in reining your own turmoil in yourself without Javi's comforting grace.

Snapping yourself out of the ruminating reverie of your thoughts, you go back to concentrating on the shipment requisitions before you. While you shelve your girlish fawning so you can finish work and look forward to seeing Javi later, you have no idea that he's finishing a call with Sandoval – one that dashes any mild hope he'd had that the Colombian government would come down hard on Escobar.

He and Steve are irascible, and he can see plainly how it's wearing his partner thin, so when Navegante, of all people, reaches out to him for a meet-up, Javi reluctantly calls you just as you're collecting your purse and work tote at the end of the day.

"—Sorry to spring it on you last minute, querida," he mutters tersely, frustrated and only mollified by your sweet, reasonable patience.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see if I can catch a ride with Ellis," you tell him in Spanish. "Just…be careful, and keep your boy on a short leash?"

Javi chuckles, as he shoots Steve a glance. "I'll try. Talk soon."

Soon doesn't come fast enough, and after a few days of not hearing from him, you start to really worry. The only thing that stops you from checking in on him is the office chatter that spreads like wildfire in the embassy – about supposed narco associates going into La Catedral and never coming back out. You overhear the guys in Mil Group whispering about it when you go in with the two boxes of doughnuts you'd been meaning to treat them with. The idea that something so brazen was done in a government-sanctioned club-med for murderers is kind of poetic to you, but you don't say it out loud to anyone.

It nullifies some of your anxiety about not hearing from Javi though – figuring he and Steve were squeezing leads and trying to find the tethers that would reel Escobar in once and for all into a real prison sentence. It gives you a bit of solace to hope Javier finally gets to vanquish this foe, even though you also worry what it could mean in the long run for your relationship. After all, having no Medellín cartel to take down anymore would mean a new assignment…perhaps even something that takes him back to the states? Where would he end up?

Would he want to stay?

Would you want to go with him?

The thoughts plague you for their clingy whininess and you stamp them out like a kindling that won't go out completely.

You're placated to at least be at the end of the workweek, so you can spend your weekend on your flights of fancy without risking screwing anything of importance up.

Ellis just finished trying to cajole you out to the Friday night happy hour, but you decline so you can finish a particularly tedious report you'd been putting off all week. He offers to swing by and pick you up, but you wave him off and tell him you'll take the shuttle bus before it gets too late. Pretty soon, you're the only sound in the office – the clicking of your nails typing away on the laptop keyboard echoing in the quiet space. You're so engrossed in looking over your work before hitting the submission to enter it into the server when your desk phone rings and startles the bejesus out of you.

Snatching the handset up and answering in your regular office greeting, you are surprised to hear Javier on the other line.

"Jesus, you're still at the office?" he grouses, a surly edge in his tone as he muses, "Been trying to call your place."

"I had to finish something up and can't access the server I need from my place," you answer and furrow your brows, a bit miffed. "I haven't heard from you in days. Is everything ok?"

"…I need to see you. There's something I want to talk to you about, but not over the phone. Can I come pick you up?" Javi obfuscates, and his tone gets guarded, so you quirk up and take your computer glasses off.

"Yeah, I should be done in a few minutes. Meet at the usual place?" you ask as you multitask and finish skimming the one section of your report you'd almost been done reviewing.

"Yes, I'll see you in fifteen minutes," Javi muses before saying goodbye.

You try not to pout at the fact he didn't say 'love you', or any other term of endearment. Annoyed with yourself, you scoff and go back to finishing what you're doing in order to pack up and start heading down.

Finally done with the forsaken report, you submit it and log off before locking up your laptop in your desk and collecting your things. A few minutes later, and you're taking the elevator down by yourself to exit onto the lobby and pass the security staff. You greet them and wish them a good night as you adjust your camel-colored peacoat so you can more comfortably fling your tote over your shoulder with your purse.

Once you've breezed out the entrance into the chilly night air and taken the steps down to the aboveground carport, you take your little route through the compound grounds to get to the checkpoint gate and take your usual course. Crossing the sidewalk and over the little promenade that's adjacent the way you need to go to get to the side street Javi meets up with you and drops you off from, you get lost in thought as you hustle. It's a quiet street with little foot traffic or cars because it's a no-park zone, but with Javier's jeep having embassy tags, he can park and idle there without issue. It's a brisk night, and you pull your lapels closed to keep the chill from your torso as you bound over the pavers of the picturesque walkway that intercepts the sidewalk of the side street. It's a bit of a walk along a dimly lit path, since the tree canopies obscure the lampposts that flank the street ahead and behind you, but you've done it routinely enough that you don't give it a second thought.

You're taking the moment of unburdened quiet to wonder what Javi needs to tell you, and why he seemed so on guard with you. Is he really getting paranoid about talking on phones? What could he be doing that has him having to stew over it now—?

"Hey!"

You almost jump out of your skin at the sudden shout, and you whirl around to see a big, burly and somewhat familiar figure approaching you forebodingly. It isn't until he passes the illumination of a lamppost that you recognize Danvers. All the panic alarms go off in you, and you train your expression into stoic calm as you change your stance and grip the straps at your shoulder.

"What do you want?" you call out and internally swear at your stupid heels and tight pencil skirt, hoping they won't obstruct you too much in case you need to—

"I got a fuckin' two-week suspension cuz of your stuck-up ass," he slurs, and the closer he gets, the more you can see his inebriated glower and smell the stench of liquor on him. "Bad enough I gotta eat shit because of you, now I gotta see you prancing around—?!"

Instinctually, you take a few steps back, mechanically pulling your purse's strap across your body so if you have to run, you won't drop it. With a sobering inhale, you deflect, "Look, if you have a problem with your suspension, take it up with your boss. Now, why don't you go your way and I'll keep going mine—"

"You really think you're something, don'tcha bitch," he growls and starts stalking towards you. "Wanna act like a fuckin' man?! Fine with me, I'll treat yah like one—" he suddenly advances on you much quicker than you anticipated, so when he lunges at you, you instinctively jab the heel of your hand into his nose, cutting off his tirade. Danvers erupts from the stinging pain and lashes his long arms out to strike blindly at you, and your pivoting gait falters when your heels get caught in the edges of the pavers.

Equalizing your center of gravity, you haul your tote off your shoulder and use your momentum to swing it around to hit the tall man across the face so you can pivot and start running towards the side street sidewalk that's maybe half a football field away. But in your haste, your heel catches on an ajar paver and sends you tumbling. You shout out when you land on your knee and skid across the walkway just as you start to turn and see Danvers already advancing on you.

"You fucking bitch!" he snarls at you and grabs your arm as you scramble to get up and swing away from him, but his fingers dig into the meat of your arm – even through all your layers – and twists painfully as you become feral now and kick out your Italian heel to jam into his foot before you spear another kick into his shin.

Danvers howls at the blows and tosses you down to sprawl sideways onto the walkway with a hard thud that knocks the air out of you.

Then, as you anticipate his next blow, time slows and speeds up all at once. You whirl around and get ready to gouge his eyes out if he tries to grab you again, when you're shocked to see Danvers' head whip back by a brutal crack to his jaw from a blur of movement that is now pounding punches into the disgruntled drunk man's face before doubling him over with a punch to the ribs.

In the fight or flight, your hearing muffled to the deafening sound of your own pulse racing in your ears, so only as your adrenaline spikes again from the pain in your side do you finally hear the roared litany emanating from the blur thrashing your attacker.

"—I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" shatters rancorously over your now heightened hearing, and you scramble onto your feet to watch in horror as Javier beats Danvers and bellows ferociously with every blow.

Javi is blind with fury and thundering threats at the man that's quickly becoming a beaten pulp as he holds him by his gored collar and bashes his fist into his face. When Danvers tries to swing a desperate punch, Javi blocks it and smashes another hook into his body that connects with the burly man's kidney. The body blow instantly ragdolls him to the ground, but Javi keeps hitting him and balefully screaming at him.

Panic arrests you for what feels like an eternity but is really seconds of time. Then, you're snapping forward and pulling on Javier to stop, hands digging into his torso to physically haul him away and back. The look in his eyes is blazing fury, features contorted in savage rage, fists wound up to pummel more blows when you literally brace your body against his and grapple him back.

You don't realize you're screaming at him to stop until he jolts and recoils back, wild eyes widening as he stares down at you and sees how you're looking at him.

In the distance, you hear a commotion coming from the nearby checkpoint, and the chill that fills you is enough to rein in your terror and make you focus.

"Go. Now," you hiss at him in Spanish and start shoving with all your might to push him backwards. Your tote is discarded on the ground, but your purse is hanging at your hip as you physically push Javier back down to the side street like he's a stalled car you need to get moved before it's too late. "You have to go before they come," you tell him in an eerily calm voice and grab his face so he focuses on you. "I beg you, go!" you hiss and when Javi's frantic gaze tells you he doesn't want to leave you, you dig your apartment keys out of your purse and shove them into his hand. "Wait there for me. Go…"

Javier is dangerously charged with roiling energy, but your fierce look and calm-but-firm voice shatter through, and the next thing he knows, he feels like he's on autopilot as the manic adrenaline starts to crash in him. It's an out-of-body experience, and he doesn't recognize what he's done until you tell him to wait for you – to go, and he detachedly lets you shove him to the side of his jeep.

He doesn't register driving away until he's mechanically navigating his jeep to your side of town.

And you don't realize how badly this could've been until the MPs are interviewing you.

They'd radioed in backup and immediately rushed over when a passerby had flagged them and reported seeing a man follow a woman who'd just exited the embassy before he'd heard your scream. The police arrive and take your statement while Danvers gets put on the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. From all the blood, gashes and swelling, it looks like his face was rearranged, and the chill of it only helps you remain calm as you explain to the authorities what transpired.

You purposely leave out who came to your defense in the attack.

When they press you on a description, you look over at the MP sergeant who'd reported onto the scene and was assigned to process you and take you back to the embassy if the civilian police tried to hold you. Your narrowed gaze holds a sway, and right now? With you hobbling up on scuffed and battered heels, stockings running and torn at your knees that are gashed and bleeding, and nursing your side, he hears you loud and clear.

He ushers you into the military jeep and offers to take you to the hospital. You refuse and ask to have a pass of the medical kit you know they keep in their guardhouse. You're just finishing taping up the knee that won't stop bleeding when Lou, of all people, stalks into the back room and sees you all tousled and looking like you had a fight with pavement and lost.

"—Heard it over the CB radio on the way home. What the fuck happened, missy?" he asks and pulls up a chair, looking like a man uncomfortable with coddling women.

You snicker and go back to taping the gauze square to your knee. "Fucking Danvers decided to file an unofficial complaint direct with me once I left embassy grounds," you tell him acerbically. "Seems he didn't take kindly to the two-week suspension and wanted to take it out on me—"

"That motherfucking sonuvabitch is finished. I'll personally see to it they ship his ass back home and bury him in brimstone," the colonel and head of Mil Group rails severely. "The Good Samaritan who jumped in did a fuckin' number on the bastard. Good for him. Only wish the lot of us had been there. They'd be putting him in a body bag right now."

You laugh, despite how macabre that is, and despite how awful you feel and roiling with despair you are. Luckily, you've had tons of practice swallowing that down and hiding it from ever flickering across your expression.

Lou arranges for the same MP sergeant to drive you home, and you thank him kindly for his help, declining his offer to walk you up to your door. Your heels are completely fucked, so you carry them in one hand while you cross the courtyard and labor up the steps. Your tote took a beating too, so you only have one strap still attached that you can hold onto as you adjust it to your shoulder and walk cautiously, trying to hide your pain as you get to the door. Javier opens it as soon as he hears the padding of your feet, and he looks like he's going to go into a rage all over again.

"I'm fine," you assure and let him usher you in before he locks the deadbolt and takes all your burdens off of you. The tote and shoes are dropped to the side, purse gingerly uncrossed from your torso, dirty peacoat eased off, and Javi whisks you up in his arms to carry you to bed. As you go, you notice the open whiskey bottle on the kitchen island and the bloodied paper towels. "Are you ok?" you murmur, hesitating in his arms when he goes to put you down onto the soft surface of the bed.

He notices you're favoring your right side, and adjusts to place you gently to your bed before he kneels beside you to survey your appearance. His eyes are dark and etched with simmering fury while the rest of his features are chiseled. He looks harsh and drawn as he reins in his dizzying wrath at seeing you banged up and hurt, but asking him if he's ok.

Javier had had the whole drive and panic-stricken wait in your apartment to understand the ramifications of what happened and stew about the what if's – to think about how differently that could've ended had he not been picking you up. Had you left early, or had he been five minute earlier, would any of that have happened?

What if he'd gotten there late.

The bone-chilling horror welled in his gut and boiled over the more he sat and thought about it. Then, he replayed how your mystifying calm in the chaotic moment anchored him down from the tempestuous panic. His trained mind reconstructed every single moment, rewinding them over and over. Pulling up to the curb, sitting with the engine off and having a smoke when he heard your shout from the distance. The terror that clawed up his chest as he'd stormed out of his jeep and ran over. Seeing Danvers advancing on you while you grappled to sit up on the ground.

Then, he sees red. Just flashes of his fists smashing into skin, muscle and bone, the sick crunch of cartilage giving way under his knuckles, the way he felt seeing you on the ground – how it kept driving his fists down and into his target.

The awed, quivering look in your eyes when you stared up at him.

His analytical mind told him to snap back from the impulse and rage – to see what he really needed to focus on.

She tactically got you out of there in case Danvers was conscious and could file a report. She got you out of there so she could lie for you. She was deadly calm and needed to snap you back from the precipice. Your entire career could be in the gutter right now—

She's hurt because of you.

That thought was from the other part of his mind that seethed loathingly. Javier had snapped away from it, desperate to not fall into the wallowing anguish of such a dark consideration.

Realizing that if Danvers did report him, they'd go to his place looking for him, Javier had called Steve.

"—What?! What're you talkin' about? Why—who would come looking for you here?" his partner had queried gruffly, sounding surly and probably a bit drunk.

"I can't tell you. Just cover for me if they do," Javier asks, voice raw and hoarse after all the screaming he did while he'd lost his mind, and when Steve agrees, he grouses, "I'll stop by and fill you in when I can."

He'd drank while he waited, trying to fight the shaking of his hands as he came down from the adrenaline, and it wasn't until he'd put the glass down and flexed his hands that he felt the pain or even noticed his battered knuckles.

It's what you're reaching for now – the hand he's resting on your thigh as he checks you over. The pain lances across his hand from you inspecting his knuckles, but he doesn't show any discomfort. "Let me clean these—" you start to fuss and go to stand, but your body and Javi protest, so you huff and let him settle you back onto the propped up pillows. "C'mon, I can't lay like this all dirty. Let me peel out of this stuff."

"No, let me do it," he grunts tersely, and you notice how raspy and low his voice is.

He gently hooks his fingers to pry the zipper of your torn skirt down so he can shimmy it off of you. You hiss despite yourself, so Javi frowns and works a little more delicately. Once your ruined stockings are off your legs, he helps you sit up to ease out of your blouse. His eyes narrow on the finger-sized bruises on your upper arm and they widen in dismay at the discolored welt forming along your right side over the curve of your ribs. Javier gently brushes his fingers over it and you wince, but don't fidget, and it incenses him all over again.

Irate, Javi seethes gutturally, "…I'm going to kill him. I swear to God, I am going to end that motherfucker—"

You laboriously pivot to grab him and pull him into your unflinching embrace. "Please…just stay with me, Javi. It's over," you murmur against his shoulder and sigh when you feel him exhale his fury and lean into you. "Are you ok?" you ask again, and caress the back of his head lovingly. "It's fine if you're not—"

"Fucking hell," he hisses angrily and adjusts to sit on his haunches to stare at you. "Are you ok?" he emphasizes as he cups your face tenderly. His eyes are haunted, his expression conflicted, and you can feel the emotions battering his insides with just as much force as the brutal thrashing he dealt out earlier.

"Javi, I'm ok," you assure and smile coyly. "I might look like a fucking wreck that got steamrolled, but I'm fine," you snicker and pull him close so you can press your forehead to his. A wily, lopsided smirk pulls across your lips as you lilt, "How bad do I look, on a scale of 1 to 10…?"

Javier scoffs. "Querida, I'm not in the mood," he sorely grumbles and stands so he can help you take your bra off after you roll your eyes and go to reach behind yourself. He's about to fan his fingers over the welt again to make sure you don't have a cracked rib, when your phone rings. You start to try and sit up, so he reprimands, "No, stay right there. Just ignore it—"

"Babe, please just get it for me then? The handset is hung up in the hall," you cajole, and Javi relents with an impatient grunt. He returns with the ringing cordless phone, handing it to you and sitting on the side of the bed next to you while you answer it.

"—Holy shit! Are you alright?! Samson just got off with Lou. Are you ok? Do you need to go to the hospital?! I can take you—!" Ellis is exclaiming in a flurry, and you grit your teeth as he starts getting worked up. "I'm going to get a bat, and I'm gonna break that bastard's kneecaps!"

Javi stares at you as you listen to your friend rail like a hysterical idiot while you lay into the pillows with your hair all crazy, in just your panties. It isn't until you try to stifle a laugh at something Ellis says that he is just at a loss. After all, Javi knows people deal with trauma very differently. He's seen it plenty of different ways in his line of work – how people fall apart, boil over, or rail irrationally. But…you're detached nonchalance has him bemused – reeling and unsure how you are able to keep it together. Do you not realize how serious and deadly the incident could've been? Do you not care? Or have you dealt with something so much worse, that you can treat this as a trifle?

"—No, I am banged up, but fine. You do not need to come over. I just want to shower and relax…maybe with an icepack and some ibuprofen," you pause and listen to him demand to know that you're really ok. "I promise I'm ok, now calm down, stop hogging Luke's phone, and just go home. Alright, goodnight."

You end the call and set the cordless phone aside with a tired sigh. Reaching your hand to Javi's shoulder, you give it a playful squeeze. "Not to be a chore but…could you help me? I really want a hot shower right now," you murmur softly, and Javi's brooding look flickers down at your topless form. "And if you don't mind, I could use the company," you flirt and bat your lashes at him.

His dour expression relents and he suppresses his smile, so you hold out your arms as if to say, 'I'm ready to be carried.' Snickering, he helps you up from the bed and takes you to the bathroom. It isn't until you're both under the hot, soothing cascading water that you dissolve tiredly into him, arms wrapping heavily around his torso while he holds you up in his steel embrace. Javier is solid, warm, and flexing muscle against your form, and you are grateful for it as he rubs his hands over your back and gingerly helps you wash the dirt off your body. You ignore the stinging at your knees and the dull throb in your side, able to compartmentalize the pain while Javi holds you against him and murmurs terse little things to you that make you buzz alluringly.

"No more meeting on that street. I'll pick you up in the underground garage from now on. Not letting you go anywhere alone. Either I'm with you, or someone you trust escorts you, you hear me?" he rumbles tensely while he soothingly caresses your back, and you sigh and nod to appease him.

After he's shepherded you back to your room, Javier sits you on the bed in your towel so he can help you dry your hair, and when you shiver, he settles you into the bed, retrieving a fluffy blanket from your closet to drape it lightly over your nude form before he turns to go get you something to take for the inflammation and pain. "Bring my medicine tote too?" you lilt and give him a serene, tentative look he has no chance of dismissing.

The towel is hanging snug around his waist as he goes and comes back with the items, as well as a cool glass of water. You take the ibuprofen and chug the water down before shifting to sit up comfortably so you can slink up to drape against his back as he moodily sits at the side of the bed. You wrap your arm around his midriff and give him a hug. Javier's back relaxes as he huffs and dips his head.

"Tell me what you're thinking, mi amor."

He lets out a pent-up exhale and turns to face you. His expression is guarded, but the hurt and anger are plainly carving into his dark, soulful eyes. "If I'd been five fucking minutes later…" he grounds out before diverting his gaze angrily from yours. You stay quiet, giving him time to work out what he's feeling. It's a minute or so later when he rumbles darkly, "If I'd lost you like that, I…I would've…" he can't bring himself to say it, so he instead murmurs, "If I can't even protect you from a motherfucker like that, how can I keep you safe—I…I don't know how…I don't deserve you."

Your heart hurts for the first time after the horrible incident, and tears well in your eyes, unbidden. "Yes you do," you insist and squeeze his forearm. "Dammit, Javi…look at me," you tensely whisper, and he turns to face you. His deep brown eyes are haunted as he keeps replaying the horror in his mind, only now it's compounded by what could've been. "I am fine, because of you," you emphatically press and grip his chin to force him not to look away. Your eyes blaze with conviction as you bore them into his and suddenly declare, "I love you, but if you don't snap out of this post-brawl sulk, I'm going to beat you up."

The way his expression cracks into a startled scoff makes you beam with relief, and you tug him down to meet your lips. He realizes he hasn't kissed you at all, and suddenly feels like he's been starving for your lips – for the soft grace of your embrace as you pull him close and cling to him lovingly.

You pacify him with your soft murmurs of, 'I love you, I know that was terrible, I'm sorry, You protected me, Please stay with me tonight?' as you kiss and cuddle into his warm, broad chest, and Javier melts under the heat that wells in his heart at having you in his arms. He ends up just holding you for a while, and you feel safe, completely at ease, and when he nuzzles you before he goes to instinctively caress the backs of his knuckles along your cheek and winces, you pull back and frown. You take his hand and pin him in place with your stern gaze, and he relents to your fussing this time.

He sits still and lets you clean his hands, treating each gash over his knuckles carefully and tending to the stinging pain by rubbing a salve that will help them heal up before you dutifully wrap them with bandages you tape snug and secure. When all the lights are off and you're resting against him on your left side so he can hold the icepack to your ribs for you, you tell him what happened succinctly, keeping your tone calm while he listens and tenses at certain details. Once you've taken a cleansing breath, you finally drop your guard completely and tell him something you'd resolved not to say out loud.

"Don't be mad, but…I wasn't scared at all. I was angry, but when he threw me down? I was resigned – prepared to go down fighting, but there was a split second…just a passing thought," you pause your murmur to snicker self-deprecatingly at yourself. "I just…I wished I'd seen you one last time, if that was going to be it—"

Javier has gone so tense against you, so you demurely keep your eyes cast down, afraid to see how upset the admittance has made him.

He tips your face up, and you see his eyes are molten and filled with a resolute promise, which takes you aback, before he tells you, "If I see him again…I'm going to kill him."

You stare at him, and Javi's heated look doesn't waver, so you cup his cheek and pull him to meet your lips so you can press your plush flesh covetously – worshipfully against his. Even though his mouth and touch are soft, you feel his irascible mood on a slow burn within him, so you pull back and murmur tersely, "If you do that and go to a Colombian prison before muthafucking Escobar? I will kill you, Javier."

Your wily glare is just too much for him to resists, and his anger dissolves into ridiculous chuckles as you swat him and plant merciless kisses into his neck, delighting in how thick and rich his raspy baritone laugh is after going so long without it and after such a truculent night.

At some point, after he's cuddled you and kept you cool and snug, you pass out. You're knocked out cold once the exhaustion weighed you down into a deep slumber. Javier manages to sleep only after his own mind succumbed to the post-fight lethargy that seized into his muscles like a heavy shroud.

The following morning, you are still fast asleep. You actually sleep almost into the early afternoon when the sound of a key sliding into the front door's lock stirs you awake. Drowsily, you shift under the cozy blanket and reach for Javier, but your side protests sharply from the movement. You hiss and mumble, "Javi?"

"I'm here, baby," he calls out, but not from being in bed next to you. You start to startle into keener awareness just as he lopes into the room. He's fully dressed – looking like he'd just come back from being out, and when he sits at the side of the bed and smiles down at you, it takes your energy-depleted body effort to detect the fantastic smell of coffee before your bleary gaze registers the cup of coffee he's holding out for you. "Figured you'd need this," he rumbles charmingly and helps you sit up so you can take the paper cup once he's taken the lid off for you.

You breathe in the comforting aroma before smiling serenely at him. Javi pets your mussed hair back for you, smirking at how cute you look wrapped up in the blanket and nothing else as you sip the brew with a dreamy look in your eyes. "Mmm…" you hum delightedly and savor the bold flavor in your parched mouth. "…Where'd you go so early?"

"It's close to noon, cariño," he teases and smirks when you gape at him. "I went to my place…talked to Steve. Good news is, no one came by looking for me, so I guess I'll find out on Monday where things stand if I go through security and get arrested," he deadpans the acerbic joke, which has you pouting and setting the rest of your coffee aside. "How do you feel today?" Javi muses as you sit up to stretch.

Your entire body is recoiling from the effort. "Hmph…I feel like I face planted on pavers," you drawl and idly rub your side when it aches dully from your movements. "I could really use a nice, long soak in a hot bath," you muse and playfully fiddle with his shirt's collar when he pivots to lean close and nuzzle a kiss to your temple before grunting wryly.

"I'll get it ready for you, but first, you have to eat," he muses and pecks your lips before going to the kitchen to bring the to-go breakfast containers he picked up along with the coffees.

Having him sexily lounge next to you after he hands over yours and sets his open while he kicks his boots off and exhales in relaxed comfort next to you? The way his mustachioed upper lip quirks smugly at you when you start devouring your food while he picks at his? How tight his salmon-toned button shirt gets when he straightens his shoulders back against the headboard? It has you thinking raunchy filth.

Now, you're aching between your legs for him. Damn him and his damn sexy ass…

He's a man of his word, and draws a divine bath for you, so when you settle into the hot water with a entrancing sigh, Javi smirks and watches you lounge back. The slopes of your neck are bare thanks to your hair being swept up in a flirty twist, and the water looks oh-so-inviting to him as you stretch your feet to slink up against the tub. "Come join me?" you suggest sultrily, adding, "I know I probably look very un-sexy right now—"

He snorts and starts unbuttoning his shirt while he derisively shakes his head. "That's impossible. And while I normally wouldn't encourage such nonsense, I'll take pity on you and slip in, but you gotta promise to be good and not do anything fresh."

You exclaim a comical scoff. "Mira quien habla," is your snarky huff as he tosses his shirt down on the vanity and strips out of his jeans, goading smirk becoming a grin as you sneer, "As if I'd be the fresh one, but sure, fine, I promise to keep myself under control against your sexy guapito wiles, you damn tease."

Cheekily, you make room for him so he can slide his broad, naked frame behind you in the tub before you both maneuver to get comfy in the soothing warm water. The knuckles of both hands still have the bandages, so he sets them along the rim of the tub while you lay your back against his chest.

"…This does feel real nice," he mutters mildly after a relaxing beat. His back was killing him, hands were sore and his joints ached, but he would never tell you. At least the hot water was soothing the tension from his muscles – and having you warm in his arms was a wonderful bonus. "I don't think I've taken a bath since I was a little kid."

"Pobrecito, you've been missing out," you chuckle wryly and skim your hands down his thighs on either side of yours, and he sucks a sharp charged breath that puffs his chest out at the contact. "Although it's a snug fit, and we probably look real goofy in this tub together—"

"You cannot help yourself," he hisses provocatively in your ear when you keep drawing circles with your fingers over his thighs beneath the warm water.

The sensual thrill sends heat into your tummy and flutters lower when you feel his hand dip beneath the water to skate along your sternum, just beneath your breasts as you exhale, "I'm not doing anything fresh, though."

"Yeah fucking right," he grouses and trails nippy, teasing kisses from the back of your ear down the slope of your nape. "Pórtate bien, atrevida."

His voice dipping into that octave has your pussy clenching around nothing, and you stifle your excited stutter of breath with a scoff.

You both lounge in the warm water until it starts to cool, and once you're in your slinky, silky robe while Javi struts back into the bedroom with two drinks and in his delicious dark blue boxer-briefs, you are content in lounging merrily in bed with him while you ice your side down and he lets you redo his bandaged knuckles with tender care. It isn't until after your phone rings with your boss on the line checking in to make sure you're ok, offering for you to take Monday off – which you politely decline – that you remember the whole reason Javier had gone to pick you up last night was because he had something he wanted to tell you.

Ending the call, you gingerly pivot back down to sidle against him as he nurses his drink and finishes the cigarette he lit while you were on the phone. "So with all the lunacy from last night, I completely forgot to ask what you needed to tell me?" you preface congenially and sip your rum and coke.

Stubbing out his cigarette and sobering, Javi sits up against the headboard so he can face you better, before he hesitates, as if reconsidering. "…It can wait, querida—"

You pout. "Javier, it was important enough that you were being squirrelly on the phone—"

"I wouldn't call being cautious being 'squirrelly,'" he grumbles and sets his empty glass aside to cross his arms. You level him with a haughtily raised brow, so he exhales and relents. "Those photos I showed you…the ones from La Catedral?" he reminds you, and when you nod, he mutters, "Well, I know you know this already but…you never saw them. The first time you ever saw them would be when they're published in El Espectador…in case it was ever to come up."

You stare at him, understanding how majorly dangerous what he's telling you is in the political and diplomatic environment the embassy is currently locked in with the local government. "Not to be contrary but…why would that warrant you needing to tell me about it?" you query and set your drink and the icepack aside so you can sit up and soberly gaze at him – watching how his shoulders tense and his expression mutes to the flinty regard, the one when he's ruminating about something.

"…I don't know what kind of blowback could come when it hits the public, and while we were discreet, the Colombians are gonna suspect DEA leaked it…which we did, but still," he muses acerbically before huffing and caressing his fingers through your hair so he can anchor his touch to your nape and pull you close. Brushing a kiss to your cheek, he murmurs, "It could lead to La Catedral being taken out of commission, and if that happens, we're going after that motherfucker for real. I—things could get dangerous, and I'll have to be cautious, maybe even lay low..."

You frown and flatten your lips worryingly before staring at him with a wary look. "Why are you so unnerved about talking on phones now?"

He brushes his fingers self-consciously along his brow before flicking them down the ridge of his nose as he deliberates on whether to tell you – how much detail to divulge. When you patiently wait and stare earnestly at him, he decides it's only fair you know. "An informant…he said something that gave me the impression that our communications could be compromised—that there are plants who intercept and listen in to our calls just like we pick up conversations from satellite phone calls in the surveillance zones. I don't know for sure…but it would partially explain why the fuckers have been one step ahead every single time," he tells you, and explains plainly, "That's why I'm going to be more careful. And…we have to keep our conversations vague from now on."

Realizing that's why he avoided saying any endearments to you over the phone, you muse in a flat monotone, "So, what you're saying is, that a narco-affiliate possibly heard me having phone sex with you?"

Javier's eyes flare with stunned humor before the mirth dances over his features from the infectious laugh he stifles by slapping his hand over his mouth. "I-I didn't even think of that," he snickers and scoffs before shaking his head while you laugh and admonishingly jostle his shoulder. "Anything is fucking possible," he scathes teasingly, and you bite your lip worriedly while he presses his lips together humorously and winks.

"Jesus, so…keep calls vague and broad. Got it," you sigh and sheepishly rub your forehead. "Wait…why would anyone listen to our calls anyway?"

Javi's mirth dries up at that. Soberly, he scoots you closer to him so he can look at you seriously. "How they work—getting people on the take, or making people back off? It's all about leverage. They get dirt on officials, cops—you name it. They also threaten the people closest to their targets…indirectly or directly. I'm not saying that's what's happening," he begins to assure when you go to ask, and when you're assuaged, he continues, "But…I don't want to underestimate 'em." He wants to say, 'I don't want to open us up to anything close to that,' but he thinks that will rile you, so he only thinks it.

You hear him loud and clear, though. His concern giving you serious pause, but also strikes a chord in you.

Surprising him by scampering delicately off the bed and going as hurriedly as you can muster down the hall, he hears you open a drawer in the kitchen before you return with something in your hand. Crawling back up to him, you ease off of your bruised and scraped knees to lie on your left side before handing him a key on a metal loop.

"Here," you say simply and reach for your drink. Sipping from the glass, you stare at him over the rim while he inspects the offering before giving you a disarmed look. "We spend most of our calls planning when we'll rendezvous, or when you'll come over, so, makes sense to give you a key so you can let yourself in," you remark smoothly and shrug before finishing your drink.

Javier can't rationalize why a simple silver key stokes molten yearning in his chest, and after you just smile dazzlingly at him, he feels overawed – brimming with a tangle of incandescent feelings he can't begin to make order of, so when you're turning back from setting your glass aside, he leans over and kisses you. You hum and curl against him, melting into him as he encircles you tenderly and embraces you close.

You get lost in the feel of him, and Javier decides then that his devotion pales in comparison to your loving grace. He devotes himself to filling that void he perceives with unabashed, unselfish feeling until you radiate with it.

Javi fills you up with love, and you find rapture from his whispered praise and murmured worship until he's comforted you into a reveling, peaceful repose, held protectively in his arms. Your sleepy kisses anchor him to unwind and relax against you, and he doesn't fight how heavy his eyes become as he breathes in your soft scent and becomes soothed into stillness. You both settle down into each other and let the buzz of the alcohol and the bone-deep exhaustion lull you into a needed slumber, content and calm as your bodies relish the needed rest.

It'll be one of the few moments of true happiness you can identify when thrown into the turmoil of lonesomeness that awaits you both. But, for now, in each other's embrace, you are at peace, and whole – filled with each other's exceptional grace.

 ________________

Read Chapter 14: Lovers

Spanish-English Glossary:

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

Mi amor = My love

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Dámelo, Javi = Give it to me, Javi

Pinche zorra = fucking slut

Mira, hijueputa malparido = Look here you motherfucking sonuvabitch

Y voy a acabar contigo = And I'll end you

Cariño = darling/sweetheart

Mira que rico = Look how yummy/delicious

Puto beyako = shameless fucking guy

Tentadora = Temptress

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Descarado = Shameless cad/scoundrel

Pinche atrevida = Fucking daring bitch

Tú eres el puto atrevido = You're the shameless fucking daring one

Malcriada/malcriado = brat/spoiled

Guapito = affectionate way of calling a man handsome (in the diminutive term)

Señorita = Little lady; little miss

Mentiroso = Liar (male)

Galán = Handsome man

Gracioso = Funny guy

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

Pobrecito = Poor thing (male)

Pórtate bien = Behave

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

Taglist: @redsilentwolf28 @just-here-for-the-moment @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @mandosmistress @sarahjkl82-blog @omgreally @knittingqueen13 @mamacitapascal @chronic-nosebleed @hnt-escape @eri16 @gracie7209 @casssiopeia​ @athalien​  @qwertymx​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @pascalesque​ @maknimuk1​

[cyberhai]

TF2 Mercs tattoo HC’s

Yeah! What the title says. Tattoos I think the mercs would have.

First up we got our boy Heavy.

I’m thinking like just sleeves for days. Lotta generic tough-guy stuff, definitely has a forest of pines somewhere on one or both arms.

He and Medic also got matching tats to immortalize their epic bromance.

As for Medic, he doesn’t seem like the typa guy to have too much visible ink, but if he did, it would probably be like a woodcut skull or anatomically correct heart on a calf or ribcage.

As for Scout, this bad boy. Right above “sex bom”.

He’s a little shit, but he’s OUR little shit.

On to Spy. Also doesn’t seem like much of a tattoo guy, wanting to avoid identifiable characteristics and whatnot, but he also runs around in a full suit and ski mask, so he should be safe.

Something simple, tasteful, and badass.

Soldier? He’s a (self-made) military guy, most every military guy has hella ink. My first thought was something just VIOLENTLY American, like just full-torso-American-flag-we-the-people-flaming-bald-eagle-eating-a-cheeseburger shit. 

But upon second thought, I’m giving soldier some American traditional, ww2-era-inspired flash tats. He’d like that.

For Engie, I believe deep in my heart that he’d be a Johnny Cash fan, so he’s got some Johnny Cash lyrics. Simple, soulful, and very country.

For Sniper, a compass rose, on the inside of his wrist. Pretty and practical. Just like Sniper.

Pyro has a little unicorn. Some days he colors it in with markers for shits and giggles.

Last, but not least, we have Demoman. I had two ideas for him, but couldn’t decide which fit better.

He’s either got a god-awful, drunken stick-and-poke that he did himself...

...or an epic back piece of a dragon or some cool shit like that. 

All hail the Demoknight!

[1lostone]

WE DID IT!

**flops dramatically onto a fainting couch**

So a little over a month ago, my friend @twdobsessive and I were having a tiny bit of a slump, writing-wise. I had just seen several Kinktober projects and was suitably impressed. I didn't think I was up to writing 31 fics by myself (yikes!) so I bugged her about it, and she shockingly said yes. Our only rule was not to worry about the timing (which is like waving a red flag in front of a procrastinator like myself) and lo and behold we ended up with January, instead of October. Our little project had us both stretching our wings with new fandoms- sixteen total! Whoo!! The word count is 101,137!! (Although, I did have one of the fics turn into a multi-chaptered, so it will be slightly higher by the time that's posted.)

Here is the entire series!

Tweedo, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for doing this crazy thing with me.

Under the cut are the tags (which I can never tell if this will get this post banned or not, but here ya go.)

Age Difference

Airplane Sex

Airplanes

Alcohol

Alternate Canon

Alternate Universe

Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex

Alternate Universe - Canon

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies

Alternate Universe - Gender Changes

Always Female Stiles Stilinski

Anal

Anal Fingering

Anal Play

Anal Sex

Angry Kissing

Angry Sex

Angst

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Angst with a Happy Ending

Anonymity

Anonymous Sex

Attempt at Humor

Attraction

Bad Dirty Talk

Badass

BAMF Sheriff Stilinski

BAMFs

Barebacking

Bathing/Washing

Bathroom Sex

Bathrooms

BDSM

Beds

Begging

Belly Kink

Blades

Blindfolds

Blow Jobs

Bodily Fluids

Body Part Kinks

Body Worship

Bondage

Boot Worship

Bottom James T. Kirk

Bottom Jim

Bottoming

Branding

Canon Compliant

Canon Universe

Car Sex

Cars

Caught

Chains

Chastity Device

Chatting & Messaging

Cis Female Stiles Stilinski

Clothing

Cock Cages

Cock Rings

Coercion

Come Eating

Come Marking

Comeplay

Coming of Age

Coming Out

Coming Untouched

Confessions

Confidence

Consensual

Consensual Kink

Consensual Somnophilia

Consent

Consent Issues

Crying

Cuddling & Snuggling

Denial

Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings

Derek Hale Leaves

Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills

Desperation

Deviates From Canon

Dirty Talk

Docking

Dom Rick

Dom Rick Grimes

Dom/sub

Dom/sub Undertones

Dominance

Drugged Sex

Drugs

Drunk Sex

Drunkenness

Dry Humping

Dry Sex

Dubious Consent

Edgeplay

Ejaculate

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Enthusiastic Consent

Established Relationship

Everybody Lives

Everyone Is Alive

Exhibitionism

Falling In Love

Feeding

Feeding Kink

Feelings

Felching

Female Stiles Stilinski

Fights

Filthy

Fingerfucking

First Kiss

First Time

First Time Blow Jobs

First Time Bottoming

Firsts

Fluff

Fluff and Humor

Flying

Foot Fetish

Foot Massage

Forced Prostitution

Foreskin Play

Friendship

Friendship/Love

Frustration

Fuck Or Die

Gender Related

Glory Hole

Good

Good Derek Hale

Growing Up

Growth

Hair

Hair-pulling

Hand & Finger Kink

Hand Feeding

Hands

Happy Ending

Headspace

Humiliation

Humor

Hurt/Comfort

Idiots in Love

Impact Play

In Public

Intoxication

Japanese Rope Bondage

Kink Meme

Kinks

Kissing

Knifeplay

Knives

Lace Panties

LGBTQ Themes

Light Angst

Light BDSM

Light Bondage

Light Dom/sub

Loss of Virginity

Love

Love Confessions

Lust

Magical Stiles Stilinski

Manhandling

Marijuana

Marking

Massage

Masturbation

Mental Coercion

Mental Health Issues

Mile High Club

Milking

Mind Control

Mind Meld

Mindfuck

Multiple Orgasms

Napping

Nipple Clamps

Nipple Play

Nipples

No Lube

Non-Sexual

Obedience

One-Sided Attraction

One-Sided Relationship

Oral Sex

Orgasm

Orgasm Control

Orgasm Delay/Denial

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Outdoor Sex

Outing

Ownership

Pain

Painplay

Panic

Panic Attacks

Panties

Penises

Peter Hale is a Little Shit

Peter is a Little Shit

Pining

Pining Derek

Platonic Cuddling

Platonic Relationships

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Porn

Porn with Feelings

Post-Canon

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

POV Derek

POV Derek Hale

POV Logan (X-Men)

POV Male Character

Power Dynamics

Power Play

Praise Kink

Prostate Massage

Prostate Milking

Prostitution

Protective Derek

Protective Derek Hale

Protective Peter

Protective Peter Hale

Protective Rick

Protective Rick Grimes

Protectiveness

Public Blow Jobs

Public Sex

Punishment

Rain

Rain Sex

References to Knotting

Relationship(s)

Rimming

Road Trips

Roleplay

Rope Bondage

Rough Kissing

Roughness

Rutting

S&M

Safe Sane and Consensual

Scars

Self Confidence

Self Confidence Issues

Self-Lubrication

Semi-Public Sex

Sensation Play

Sensory Deprivation

Sex

Sex Pollen

Sex Toys

Sex Work

Sexting

Sexual Content

Sexual Frustration

Sexual Inexperience

Sharing

Sharing a Bed

Sharing a Room

Sharing Body Heat

Shower Sex

Showers

Size Difference

Size Kink

Sleep

Sleepy/Unconscious Sex

Slow Build

Slow Burn

Somnophilia

Spanking

Submission

Subspace

Suicidal Thoughts

Suicide

T'hy'la

Tears

Teasing

Texting

The Author Regrets Nothing

Top Rick

Top Rick Grimes

Topping

Touch-Starved

Touching

Trauma

Travel

Trust

Trust Issues

Trust Kink

Uncircumcised Penis

Underwear

Uniform Kink

Unrequited

Vehicles

Vehicular Sex

Virginity

Virginity Kink

Voice Kink

Voyeurism

Vulcan

Vulcan Culture

Vulcan Kisses

Vulcan Mind Melds

Weapons

Weapons Kink

Weather

Wet & Messy

Whipping

Worship

[ricemilk413]

I voted "only a little" but should've voted "No" or "my feelings are complex" so I'm writing my opinion anyway. (Pardon my english, it's my 2nd language.)

Partially because, she's my favorite character but like, I like her arc as it is?

This is Homestuck. I could count the characters with a "satisfying arc" on the fingers of one hand. Let alone have most of the fandom agree on that.

Her arc is better and happier than our main character's! not even speaking about Jade. And Putting my personal opinions of "and thats ok because that's not what homestuck is offering us" and "let's stop obsessing over which character "deserved" what from the narrative" aside (since I'm noticing what blog this is)

Again, she's my favorite character, and the thing is. I relate to her a lot. I've related to her since the beginning. With the darkness that draws us in, with the need to be overly smart to the point of being pretentious lest we won't be treated seriously, with the role of alcohol in our family lives full of neglect and loneliness. And may I say. The role of lesbianism in our eventual salvation. I liked the symbolism of her going grimdark, and then being a god of light. As someone recovering from depression and embracing the more obnoxiously positive parts of myself. I like how her problems didn't stop at her literal rebirth, that she was allowed to be messy and try to cope with her past. And DAMN the amount of people I've heard trying to introduce others to homestuck and mentioning her lesbian wedding!! The celebration of that, how important it is to people! For people to talk like this about the "end" of her arc is huge!

And yet Rose says her arc is stupid. Well, first of all I don't agree. I myself adore Jasprose. It's a representation of all the fun, quirky and horny that Rose tries to keep in check at all times gone loose. She's unapologetically herself, a little sapphic cheshire cat. And although that wouldn't work too well in society. She's free from it! Being a sprite is the ultimate freedom! (unless you're merged with someone you don't vibe with) which is ironic for something made to be a guide, but that's what irrelavance in homestuck gives you. There is however a payoff that i'm gonna mention later.

But it's not too late. Retcon happens for once, and the Rose which we've been following (WHICH PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET. JASPROSE IS OUR ROSE) gets to live anyway. And there's something sad about that because she's now "the other rose" (that due to its textuality and fandom bias is much more explored with davesprite, but its not like it's not shown with jasprose) and i think those are emotions that jasprose cannot express. So she does the next best thing. She looks for someone who will fill that hole in her heart. Hmm I dunno. Someone her and especially the cat part of her already had a connection with? Maybe thinking that she could do a do-over? (but thats just speculation on my part)

So, from the beginning:

We had Rose who was very active in the story because she had to, doing badass things, we had Rose rebel against the game, grow to power while under manipulation that she thought she was too smart not to fall for, isolating herself from her friends in the meantime. She had her big going berserker moment. (that ultimately was a bit undercut but that's hs for you) She had a dramatic suicide mission that ultimately helped her grow closer to her estranged brother, leading to a rebirth that flipped her entire aesthetic and our perception of her (which was teased before by her planet and the fact that she liked it) she then actively became a guide to her friends, and pursued the relationship she wanted. Then fumbled with that relationship due to her past crushing down on her, we spend act 6 exploring her relationship with her mother, juxtaposed against her current relationship with kanaya that offered her that which she didn't have before, because let's be clear, drunken affection cannot replace real communication and emotional availability and Rose finds herself mirroring her mother in that regard, probably not knowing how to create and keep intimate and genuine relationships that she's not undercutting with her sarcasm and superiority complex.

Then game over comes and she's the ONLY death that is given time and weight, as Rose regrets not letting kanaya in due to her problems. And now it's too late.

And what happens in the epilogues and hs2 is a completely other can of worms! And that doesn't mean I hate it personally.

Going back to Rose prime, I just like that she was helped by her fellow light player and a bit sad that we couldn't see it happen (but i dunno, i think davekat fans got fucked over even more there)

takes a deep breath

AND IN THE END. Rose gets to "reunite" with her mom, or rather explore their relationship in a more healthy and constructive manner. She gets to have a family, she gets to MARRY KANAYA and be HAPPY.

Concluding this huge thing. I think Rose's character arc was cool actually. We can all be bitter about our favorite characters being side-lined or not treated with the weight and consideration that we give them. But maybe that's the point. For us to give them that??

But anyway I think on the scale of Dave Strider and idk…Nepeta? Feferi? of character arc completness/satisfaction she's much closer to Dave.

Consider not only how she was handled, but how you wish she was handled, and if you think she had any potential that was unused.

[bi-bard]

Crooked Teeth - Team Free Will 2.0 Song Preference (Supernatural)

Title: Crooked Teeth

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline

Song: Crooked Teeth by Death Cab For Cutie

Word Count: 2,037 words

Warning(s): (Dean) drunkenness, cussing, mentions of hell/torture, (Sam) torture, violence, cussing, (Castiel) mentions of Casifer and betrayal, (Jack) feelings of uselessness

Author's Note: I believe that any compliment can be a gender-neutral compliment. Just... so you know.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Dean Winchester (Season 4):

You're so cute when you're slurring your speech But they're closing the bar And they want us to leave

Dean Winchester. Master of the Pity Party. Blames himself relentlessly and then often drinks to keep from having to find a healthy way to cope with his past.

The two of us decided to go to the bar near our motel. Sam had stayed home, so I thought Dean and me could have a nice, calm night.

Wrong. Dean had a rough night and now seemed to be absolutely wasted. I believe he was trying to escape his memories from hell. I was now watching Dean stumble out of the bar.

"Shit," I muttered, following quickly.

I caught up with him, snagging the impala keys from his hand before he could argue.

"What are you doing," he asked, slurring a little, pouting dramatically.

"You are an absolute dumbass if you think I'm letting you drive home," I said. "Now get in the car."

After helping Dean get buckled, I walked around to the other side and plopped into the driver's seat.

"You're pretty," he slurred, looking at me with hooded eyes. I chuckled. "Like... it's not fair."

"Okay, Mr. Model," I replied sarcastically. I started the car and pulled out of the bar parking lot.

"You're badass and smart and funny..."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the relentless compliments. It was nice but it was funny. Dean "the ultimate killer" Winchester slurring out compliments with half-closed eyes as he leaned to the side slightly.

"Why are you laughing," he asked. I glanced at him, holding in a laugh as I saw him pouting at me.

"I'm not, I'm not," I promised. "You're very sweet, Dean."

"It's 'cause I love you," he muttered, curling to the other side.

My breath caught in my throat. He had basically passed out before I could get any words out. He had said that before but after intense hunts- the Big Bads- right after he had said something to Sam. I had assumed it was like a sibling thing.

"Please remember you said that in the morning," I mumbled, focusing on the road.

Sam Winchester (Season 5):

I'm the war of head versus heart And it's always this way My head is weak, my heart always speaks Before I know what it will say

I grunted as another punch was delivered to my gut. I groaned, my entire body slacking. Chains were holding my arms up to the ceiling and my feet almost didn't touch the ground. I could hear Sam yelling, pleading. It was breaking my heart.

"Sam, stop," I said. "I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"You know how to stop this pain, Sammy," one of the demons teased in an almost sing-song voice. "Save the one you love."

"No... Sam... please don't," I begged. I knew the cost for my freedom too... take on his "true role"... be Lucifer's weapon. "Just... don't."

"You'll let (Y/n) go," Sam asked.

"Sam, I will kick your ass," I threatened.

"All you have to do is say yes," the demon promised.

Sam was going to open his mouth again but the door busted open before he could. Note to self: thank Dean and Cas for their speed and efficiency.

The demons were wiped out before I could blink.

"Hey," Dean walked over and grabbed my face softly, checking on me. He then undid the chains and let me drop, making sure I didn't fall to the ground. "You're alright now. You're okay."

I got my footing steady before walking over to Sam, promptly punching him in the face.

"You are an absolute dumbass," I snapped.

He just looked down for a moment. We ended up leaving without another word. Cas healed me and zapped us to the motel where we had been staying. The impala was still there, so they must've zapped there.

I went to lay down in my room, but Sam followed me and stopped my door.

"Can we talk," he asked quietly. I nodded, letting him in and closing the door behind him. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," I shrugged. "Cas's healing does wonders."

He sent me an amused grin for a minute before it dropped.

"I just wanted to apologize," Sam said.

"Sam... I'm not mad," I shook my head. "I just want to know why you were so willing to do that?"

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Like I knew why but didn't want to accept it until I heard it come from his mouth.

"I..."

Sam trailed off for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Because I love you," he finally said. "When I was ready to say 'yes', I was just thinking of you."

I walked over and grabbed his hands, "I... I love you too, Sam."

He smiled at me.

"Just don't do something that stupid again," I made it sound like a joke but he knew I was serious.

He nodded, leaning down to kiss me gently. I moved my arms to wrap around his neck and his hands touched my waist.

We both pulled away slowly.

"I would rather face this together," I said. "Completely together."

He nodded, kissing my forehead, "So would I."

Castiel (Season 12):

'Cause I built you a home in my heart With rotten wood that decayed from the start 'Cause you can't find nothing at all

"Can we talk?"

I looked up from my desk, looking at Castiel, who was leaning on my door frame. It was still strange. Trying to trust that it was only him, not Lucifer.

"Sure," I mumbled, putting a bookmark in between the book pages so I could talk to him.

"I'm sorry," he said as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

"Cas, I'm not mad," I replied. There was a moment of silence. "Okay... I was for a little bit but... I was so scared."

"Scared," he asked.

"Yes, scared," I nodded. "You put yourself in probably the most dangerous situation you could. I just... I didn't know what to think or do."

"I lied to you," he frowned. "I promised I wouldn't keep secrets from you and then I did. Again, I betrayed you and let you down."

I let out a sigh. He wasn't wrong. When we first got together, he promised to not keep any secrets from me. His plan to say yes to Lucifer was a pretty big secret.

"I just..."

I trailed off. I wanted to comfort him but I couldn't help the stabbing feeling in my chest. I wanted to forgive him. It was like I was trying to scale the wall of a skyscraper.

"I wish I could say that I forgive you and we could move on because I am so desperate to have you hold me right now," I confessed, tears in my eyes. "I just... can't. Something's stopping me."

"That's okay," he replied, grabbing my hand. He pulled it up and pressed his lips to my knuckles. "I'm going to make it up to you. If you'll let me, I want to rebuild this."

I grinned at our hands before nodding, wiping my eyes, "I want that too. I don't think I know how to live without you now, Cas."

He grinned at me, running his thumb over my knuckles.

"I love you," he said. I smiled but didn't reciprocate... it was like the word stopped in my throat. They burned there. "It's okay... I understand if you aren't ready."

I nodded, "I'm sorry."

He just shook his head. We relaxed together for a while. We just held hands, knowing that once we moved on from this moment, there would be a lot of work to do... on both sides. But we were ready for it... I think.

Jack Kline (Season 14):

'Cause at night, the sun in retreat Made the skyline look like crooked teeth In the mouth of a man who was devouring us both

After coming back to life, Jack was met with a whole new pile of pressure.

I hated knowing that they were clearly struggling so much. They couldn't use their powers, was struggling with training, and the knowledge of the fight with Michael was weighing on them.

"Hey, put some shoes and jacket on," I said as I passed Jack's room, plastic bag in my hand. I tried to keep myself from frowning at all the bruises on their face from their training.

"Why," they asked, popping their head through the door.

"I have a surprise," I replied, smiling at them. "Just get ready, come on."

Jack quickly slid on their shoes and grabbed their jacket before following me. We made it to the garage and I jumped into the impala's front seat.

"Isn't Dean going to be mad," Jack asked.

"I asked him ahead of time," I replied. "Everything's going to be fine."

They got into the passenger seat and took the plastic bag from me.

I didn't go too far. Just to a small place where I could get the car to park with a view of the sky. I had spotted it a while ago and immediately knew that it was going to be useful in the long run. I sighed as I shut the car off.

"Why are we here," Jack asked.

"Because we're taking a break," I explained, getting out of the car.

Jack followed me.

I carefully got up and sat on the hood of the car. Jack sat next to me, plastic bag resting in their hand.

"Oh, yes," I grabbed the bag. "Now, I don't know what kind of ice cream you like but I went and got us ice cream. Ben and Jerry's... probably the best ice cream brand."

I handed them one of the containers before fishing two spoons out of the bag.

"Why are you doing this," Jack asked, accepting the spoon and following my lead as I opened the container.

"You've been having a rough time lately, so I wanted to treat you to something nice," I shrugged. "Ice cream and the sunset."

Jack looked out in front of us, smiling at the sight.

"There's that smile," I complimented, jokingly poking their cheek, making them chuckle.

We spent the next... I don't know how long... just talking about everything. The pressure we were facing, the fear of failing, some silly things... just everything.

"I just don't know what to do now," Jack mumbled. "I don't... I don't have my powers. Sam tried to encourage me and promise that I wasn't useless but..."

Jack trailed off, not having anything else to say but still want to put their feelings into words.

"Years ago," I started explaining. "Sam had been possessed by Lucifer and Bobby, Cas, and Dean went to save him. I was told to hide in Bobby's panic room. That was it. I just hid in there for hours... probably a little over a day. I just sat with my back against the wall and held onto this little knife, thinking it could save me."

I stopped and took a deep breath. I hadn't talked about this in a long time.

"When Dean came back without Sam... I felt like if I had been there, I could've saved him. Unlike you... I wasn't born into the world as an adult. I was still small. I knew better but I couldn't convince myself of that. After spending a few months with Dean and Lisa- a girl he was seeing at the time- he found my closet door where I was hiding my research."

Jack grabbed one of my hands, making me grin.

"He sat me down and made me tell him everything I was thinking," I continued. "And he loaded us up in the car... drove us to the middle of nowhere... and handed me a container of ice cream. To this day, it's my happiest memory."

"That's why you brought me out here," Jack completed for me. I scooted over and leaned my head on their shoulder. "I liked it."

"Me too," I mumbled, watching the sun crawl past the horizon.

God could do whatever he wanted as long as I got to have this moment.

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

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[amalthea-fictions]

Commander Shepard's Nickname

I had this idea after James and Garrus get that banter dialogue on the Normandy in ME3! Summary: everyone is trolling poor James...

---

He doesn’t believe it at first. Thinks he must be misreading things. But slowly, the pieces all start fitting together.

His first hint is when she immediately rejects his nickname. But, not because of duty or rules against fraternization, no. But out of a sheer lack of interest.

“You sure know how to fight, Lola.”

“Lola?” She snorts.

He shrugs.

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “You’re calling me Lola because…?”

“I like giving people nicknames.” He lets his gaze wander over her, wondering if she’ll play his game.

But it backfires.

“Let’s not, Vega,” she says, her tone strict with all the practiced sternness of a commanding officer. “Just ‘Commander Shepard’ is fine for you.”

“Alright, but it’s your loss.” He straightens when she scowls at him and adds, “ma’am.”

Then they meet up with the turian on Palaven’s moon. James had known that Shepard was close with a turian --after all, the crew that helped her defeat Sovereign and blow up the Collector base included everything from turian to krogan.

But something is… different about the way she speaks to this turian.

“We need to find General Victus immediately, then,” Shepard says to the commanding turian officer who had just informed them that this Victus guy is the next in the line of succession to become the primarch.

The flanging voice of another turian approaches behind them. “Don’t worry. I’m on it.”

Shepard spins around a little too hastily. “Garrus!”

The turian, Garrus, smiles ---well, flicks his mandibles-- looking genuinely happy to see her. “Amalthea,” he says, and there’s pure relief and joy in his voice. She’s beaming back at him as they take each other’s hands. It could have been a friendly handshake, but James doesn’t fail to notice the way he takes her hand in both of his, all tender-like.

After the mission, he begins to notice more clues. Especially how Garrus keeps calling her--

“Amalthea.”

The commander looks up from her datapad. The lot of them are sitting around the war table. Garrus says something about krogans, and Shepard doesn’t seem to mind when his hand brushes against hers as he points out things on her datapad. Not once does she scold him for using her first name.

The next day, he sees them eating together. He fixes his own plate at the mess counter and tries not to make it too obvious he’s straining to listen to their conversation. But-- yes-- there it is! He doesn’t call her Commander Shepard. Or even just Shepard:

“I’m sure Wrex will be more happy to see you than me, Malthie,” the turian says.

Malthie -- and that’s definitely a nickname if he ever heard one.

James quirks his eyebrow as he finishes his plate. So, no nicknames from Lieutenant Vega, but they’re acceptable from Garrus Vakarian?

He finds his gaze wandering over the commander’s body again one day when he’s had a few too many drinks in Purgatory. He’s in the middle of talking about EDI’s new body, and how now he’ll be even more distracted because the commander can also fill out a uniform like nobody’s business--

“Nice try, James,” she says, holding up her hand as if to physically shield herself from the drunken flirting. “But you’d best stop unless you want to get on the bad side of a certain turian.”

Right. Certain turian.

The worst part is, everyone else seems to know, too. It’s like an unspoken understanding, and James can’t get anyone to really admit that they’re together.

“Estefan,” he tries one day, protected from intruding ears by the loud sheering sound of Cortez’s drill. “What’s between the commander and the turian?”

Cortez shrugs, not stopping his work. “There’s something between them, obviously. In case you haven’t noticed, amigo, we have bigger things to worry about than who the Commander is dating.”

But James can’t just leave it at that. He needs to know.

“Hey, Joker,” he tries later. “You’ve known Shepard and Vakarian a long time, right?”

“Yeah, we’re SR1 originals,” he shrugs. “Why?”

“So have the commander and Garrus always…?”

Joker doesn’t look up from his flight controls.

“Always been badass? Hell yeah.”

James doesn’t get anywhere.

“EDI,” he even resorts to one day. “You have access to the ship’s surveillance, right?”

“That is correct, Lieutenant Vega.”

“Okay, so, you’d be able to see if anyone was… you know… right?”

“If you’re asking about the sexual activities of the crew, Lieutenant Vega,” EDI says, “then yes, I have logged each romantic relationship aboard the Normandy and linked them to each crew member’s individual health logs. Shepard says this is a breach of privacy, but Professor Solus notes that it is necessary to ensure crewmember health. Therefore the moral ambiguity of the action is justified by the potential benefits of preventing sexually transmitted infections and monitoring vitals aboard the ship…”

She goes on and on about crew vitals and moral justifications.

So, great. Even the AI is complicit in stonewalling him.

Is it just like… a weird fling? Sexual tension from saving the world together so many times? Or are they together together?

And then one day he and Garrus end up in the mess hall together, bantering. It’s a friendly conversation, at first, seeing who can out-brag the other: who’s done bigger and better things (a ‘who-has-the-bigger-quad competition,’ as Wrex says).

“I kind of tracked down this rogue Spectre named Saren and stopped a Reaper from destroying the Citadel,” Garrus says.

James rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t count. You were with Shepard.”

But then Garrus gives James a look: his eyes gleam the way a predator’s would when their prey is trapped in a corner.

“That’s right, Vega,” Garrus smirks, and speaks slowly, dragging out his next words. “I’ve always been with Shepard. Right from the very beginning.”

James blinks. Once. Twice.

Has-- has everyone been trolling him--

Just so Garrus can rub in the fact that they’re together??

“Wait a minute,” he says.

But before he can ask anything else, the commander herself enters the room.

“What’s going on here, boys?”

Garrus smiles at her. “Oh, don’t mind us,” he says, eyeing James. “Vega and I were just...comparing our adventures.”

Shepard quirks her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Well. I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

But before going about her business, she crosses the mess hall to the turian. “I have some free time later,” she says to him, her voice low enough that James knows it’s only meant for Garrus but loud enough for him to hear. “Meet me in my cabin after?”

“You know I’ll be there.”

She stands on her toes and kisses him on the mandible.

And when she walks away, James swears the damn turian is smirking knowingly at him.