#musings with Dea

[tofixtheshadows]

I really dislike the takes I keep seeing from The Hunger Games fandom to the tune of "Systemic oppression, violence, poverty, and trauma shouldn't make you bitter or angry, and that's why Peeta is a good person and Gale isn't <3" and I really don't like what it says about our culture as a whole when it sees anger as a response to oppression as a character flaw.

[tofixtheshadows]

Oh, tumblr recommending me this post was serendipitous. I'm glad other people are feeling this way because I seriously haven't stopped thinking about that moment and Kabru's shocked reaction since I first read it. He really is unequipped.

I only alluded to this idea in my original post (frankly I was self conscious about how long it was feeling), but what I see as one of the core themes about food in Dungeon Meshi is the idea that eating is a declaration to the world that you deserve to be in it. When we kill and consume another living thing to survive, we are making an active choice to take up space. We're saying I want to be here. This is important for Laios, who has spent most of his life running from the world or being rejected by it in small ways. It's through his journey as an active participant in the dungeon's food chain that he comes into his own and asserts his right to belong in the world, with all its mundane heartaches and joys, enough that he can step up to become king by the end.

So when Laios asked Kabru Aren't you hungry? It felt like the narrative speaking to Kabru directly. Kabru, aren't you hungry? Aren't you a creature with needs? Don't you want to be here too? Don't you deserve to live?

And the answer to all of these is No. Yes. It's complicated.

To me, this is even more of a turning point for Kabru than his cooking efforts in the dungeon. He was willing to deal with monster food in order to help another person who couldn't help themselves, and to stay alive for his ultimate goal, but it still made him miserable.

This is the second time Laios offers to feed him, and the first time in the story that anyone offers to feed Kabru in a way that won't end up hurting him. Laios wanting to share a real meal with him but willing to compromise to respect Kabru's desires clearly means a lot to him. It's Laios saying Come eat with me and Kabru saying Yes.

"arent you hungry" in reaction to unthinking self-deprevation response to trauma is going to haunt me forever actually.

something about suppressing your needs to feel safe and in control. something about someone not admiring the endurance or self-control but instead asking "aren't you hungry," a question which you are entirely unequipped to answer. "Aren't you hungry?" Aren't you impressed I can tune it out? I worked hard for that, for everyone else's sake, don't you get it? "Aren't you hungry?" I don't know, stop asking me questions I can't answer, why is answering so easy for you? "Aren't you hungry?" All I'm any good at figuring out is how much longer I can go without eating, and I thought that was the same, but it's not, is it?

[hellcab]

I can see Roth ironically wearing these patches.

[stxrborne]

Yandere! Idol group ideas go BRRRRR

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Six -- Stolas

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Part: Chapter Five -- The Conversation

Warnings: None for this chapter I don't think but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,568

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I promise I am working on getting requests out as quick as I can. Apologies for them taking a while, things have been super hectic recently and I am also massively depressed.

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Y/n thanked the imp guard who let her into the office gracefully as she entered the space. It was dark, all the curtains drawn to cover the windows. The small speck of light that escaped their grasps traversed the floor frantically, bringing Stolas into high relief. He was sitting at his desk, bent over it with his hands tangled in the feathers of his hair. He looked stressed and appeared not to have noticed Y/n's presence. She cleared her throat.

"You asked to see me?"

Stolas raised his head, turning to face her with wide, nearly unseeing eyes. Long ago such a look from such a demon would have sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. Now, she simply watched him. Things had changed, she had changed. The afterlife had finally hardened her.

"Yes." he got to his feet, walking over to her, "I wanted to- what are you wearing?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. The judgment and scrutiny thick on his tongue wasn't helped by his posh accent.

"Clothes?" she indignantly responded.

There wasn't a way for her to exist around the man who owned her soul that wasn't guarded, inside and out. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot slightly.

"My dear, you look lik-"

"Don't call me that." Y/n interrupted, "I've asked you before. I don't like it."

The name was an infringement of boundaries. It simulated closeness and before today drove the nails of loss further into the muscle of her heart. In a way, it still did. Alastor was back but, he had still gone and things were still different. Y/n couldn't quite get a read on him yet, his plans and ambitions, his purpose in returning and in finding her.

She felt like what he wanted was for things to go back to normal, to the way they had been. Y/n knew that was an impossible future for her and had the slight idea that it might be for him as well. To be perfectly honest, Y/n wasn't sure she even really wanted things to go back.

The dress had been nice and she had wished for Alastor to return many times over the years but she had also worked hard for her life. She had tried, put all her effort in, and she liked the person that had come out the other side. There was a fear in Alastor's return, a fear that with him back, all her hard work would be undone. That she would comfortably let herself slip back into the familiar, becoming nothing but his guest star once again. Still, she knew Alastor, knew he would always do what it took to get what he wanted regardless of how anyone else felt about it. It was the one truly consistent thing about him.

"My apologies." Stolas sighed, "I was simply taken aback by your appearance. You look like a human."

"I know." she hummed, unable to keep the slight smile, the slight hint of warmth from her voice.

Y/n was conflicted about Alastor but she was still happy he was back, overjoyed even. The conflict didn't stop those feelings from bubbling to the surface.

"It was a gift."

"A gift?" Stolas repeated, intrigued, "From whom?"

"It doesn't matter." Y/n shook her head, all semblance of a smile falling from her features, "Why did you ask me to come?"

"Always straight to business with you." he mused, "It wasn't Blitzo, was it? I know you two are close..."

There was an unvoiced fear in his question. Y/n couldn't quite trace it's origin. Stolas was always odd when it came to the imp in question however and so, she payed it no mind. There was enough going on without any added pressure or confusion concerning the man who owned her soul and her dear friend.

"No, it wasn't Blitzo. It was an old friend of mine."

"An old friend... it wouldn't happen to be the Radio Demon, would it?" Stolas asked in mild disgust at the thought, "I saw that little show he put on, treating poor Vox so distastefully, so no use trying to hide the fact that he has returned."

Stolas knew Y/n had been close with Alastor before his disappearance. At the beginning of their arrangement, he had been so set on them being friends and had quizzed Y/n about her life at every opportunity. Eventually, Y/n's lack of equal enthusiasm beat him into submission but Stolas still drew on what he did know when necessary.

"Stolas, it doesn't concern you." Y/n sighed, "You own my soul, not my social life."

There was a tense moment, a sharp, shared gaze. Stolas relented.

"You are correct. I just know how hurt you were the last time and men like him... Y/n, they don't change."

Unbidden anxiety snuck momentarily into Y/n's mind and she beat it back with a baseball bat. These were thoughts for later, to run her hands over when she was alone in her room. It didn't matter that he was giving voice to her deepest concerns and confusions, this was neither the time nor the place to address them.

"I figured things out, learned to fend for myself." she replied, working hard to keep her voice even and respectful, "I'll do it again need be."

Stolas was not a man of violence but he was one who had a great capacity for it. Y/n knew this, Y/n was always careful around him because of this. It wasn't like Alastor where camaraderie flowed easily between them, creating an even ground in place of a power imbalance. While Stolas could on occasion be kind, pleasant, even endearing in Y/n's gaze, she always knew exactly where they both stood when she was in his presence.

"I'm just worried about you."

"Why?"

She hadn't meant to ask it. All the pressure, the changes of the day had been building up inside her and begun to trickle over the edges. She needed to be alone.

Stolas seemed equally as taken aback by her question as Y/n had been in asking it. He struggled to speak, his mouth opening and shutting several times before he finally spoke. It was as if even he didn't know the answer.

"You work for me, I don't want you ending up useless."

It was out of character and inane, they both knew it. Y/n didn't press the matter any further, ready to leave and get on with her life. Ready to sleep and see if things were real when she woke up.

"So, what did you need me to do?"

Stolas cleared his throat, comfort and authority seeping back into his being. He was such a strange man, so powerful yet so unsure. Y/n never quite knew what to do with him.

"I need the book, my grimoire."

"It's not the full moon already, is it?"

That was the deal: IMP got to use the book except for when it was the full moon. Stolas shook his head.

"No, it isn't but there is a festival in the Wrath Ring I need to conduct a ceremony at. It is a yearly event."

"And you don't have it all memorized already?"

Stolas glared lightly at her.

"I am a busy man."

Y/n was on the verge of asking if moping in his office, alone in the dark was a part of this alleged busyness but stopped herself. It was a good impulse, the one in her that avoided conflict. She crossed her arms.

"Fine, I'll bring it to you. When do you need it by?"

"Tomorrow." as if struck by a sudden inspiration, Stolas' eyes lit up, "Why don't you all come with?"

"You mean IMP?"

"Yes! It could be a wonderful time. The festival is always so quaint and joyful, I think you would like it."

"Millie would probably be happy at that." Y/n mused, a finger to her chin in thought, "And Mox. They're from Wrath after all but... I can't travel between rings, Stolas, and our deal means you stay away from Blitzo."

Stolas shook his head, laughing slightly.

"That first issue is easy enough to fix."

"Is it?" Y/n looked up at him, her brow furrowed.

It was times like this he wished his life had panned out differently. Stolas saw a friend in the demon, a companion. Instead, she was essentially his slave. Stolas had never been good at people and Y/n was no different. The line between them was wobbly at best under his command.

"I am a Goetia." he reminded her, "There is not a lot that I can't do."

"Okay then, I just never... never thought the scope of your power would include something like that. I thought it all had to do with the human realm."

"And you are a human soul."

"I guess that makes sense." Y/n shrugged after a moment's thought, "But that still leaves Blitzo."

"I wont bother him, you have my word."

Y/n could see the flash of strife beneath his cool complexion as Stolas raised a hand in oath. He was obsessed with physical representations of the immaterial, Y/n knew. It was nearly charming.

"Fine."

"Fantastic, it really will be a wonderful time. Why don't you bring that old friend of yours along too!"

----

TAGS:

@luzzbuzz @fudosl @mfnqueen1

[katareyoudrilling]

Seen (Javier Peña One-shot)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: You’re the last person Javi wants to ask for a favor, but not for the reason you think.

Word count: ~2.2k

Rating: Mature (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Alternating POV, reader is a few years older than Javi (Javi could be a variety of ages) and has hair that could be worn up or down, wrinkles and laugh lines, a touch of angst, non-graphic sex

A/N: This isn’t quite what I expected it to be when I started working on it many many months ago.  The idea was inspired by @famouslyanonymous musing that there didn’t seem to be any fics featuring a Pedro boy with a slightly older reader.  I wanted to say a lot of things with this fic and I’m not sure I said any of them, but I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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“Fine.”

Fuck.

Javi slams down the phone and pinches the bridge of nose.

He needs a favor.  Why does it have to be from you?

He can flirt his way through the department secretaries easily, but you, with your intelligent, assessing gaze… he swears you can see right through him.

The two of you have been crossing into each other’s orbits for a long time now.  He can tell that you know…  You know he’s not some DEA hero.  You can see right through to the failure of a man he actually is.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out and pushing away from his desk.  “Fuck it.”

He pulls at the back of his neck as he makes his way to your department.  He can already feel the tension headache beginning.  If you won’t do this for him… he’d rather not think about it.

He approaches your desk nervously. “I need a favor.”

“Is that right?” you reply, continuing your work.

“I would really appreciate it.” If he can’t flirt, he can at least try to be polite.

“You aren’t going to compliment my nail polish or tell me how pretty my dress is?”

“Uh… I… what?” Javi stammers.

“I see what you do around here.  Flirting with all the pretty young things to get your way.  Not me though, probably because I’ve got 20 years on most of them and a few on you.”

“What? No! Fuck, you’re the most beautiful woman here.”

“Right,” you scoff.  “It’s too late for the charm, Javier.”

He leans over your desk, gripping the edge.  Moving himself into the halo of your perfume.  “I’m telling you the truth,” he growls.

You lift your eyes to his and his knees go a little weak.

Who is he kidding?  A class-act like you is never going to bend the rules for a man like him.

“Never mind,” he pushes off your desk and walks away.

When he returns to his desk later that afternoon, he’s surprised to find the file he needs sitting on his chair.

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

You lean back against the elevator wall and sigh.  It has been a long day and all that has kept you going is the thought of getting out of your heels and pantyhose and onto your couch.

The elevator pings as the doors open on the garage level.  You step out into the cool, echoey space.  That’s when you see him.

He’s standing by your car, exhaling a plume of smoke, somehow not looking green and sickly under the florescent lights.  He must hear the click of your heels on the concrete because he turns and puts out his cigarette as you approach.

“What are you doing here, Peña?  Need another favor?”

“Thank you for the file.  You didn’t have to do that.”  He shifts his weight and looks down at his feet.

“Yeah, well, lord knows you get enough roadblocks thrown in your way.  I don’t need to be one of them.”

Javier chuckles ruefully, “You have no idea.”

“If that’s all, I need to get going.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” Javier looks up at you, “To say thanks?”

Your feet and back are screaming at you not to get taken in by those puppy dog eyes, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface of his gaze.  Something that makes you curious.  His outburst earlier hasn’t left your mind.  You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little interested in where an evening with Javier Peña might take you.

“Counteroffer.  How about you come over to my place in an hour.  Bring the booze with you.”

Javier’s eyes light up in surprise.

“Don’t get any ideas, Peña.  It’s been a long day and I don’t feel like going to a bar.”

“I didn’t have any ideas.”

You scoff and make your way to the driver’s side door, “See you later?”

He nods.

Javier stands aside as you pull out of your parking space and out of the garage.  You can see him in your rearview mirror smoothing down his mustache, hand on one cocked hip.  It should be an interesting evening.

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

You open the door to your apartment and Javi is momentarily stunned speechless.  You’re wearing flowy, satin pants and a cardigan belted around your waist.  You’ve removed your make-up and your jewelry.  You’ve let down your hair.

You’ve never looked more beautiful.

You’re always stunning at work.  Elegant, put-together, gorgeous.  But here, now, you look so soft and relaxed.  It’s as though you’ve taken off the armor you wear to the office.

Like he’s getting a glimpse of the real you.

He always tries to hide the real him.  That façade might not work tonight… a frightening thought.

You step aside and motion him into the apartment.  Javi swallows deeply and forces his feet to step inside.

“I brought whiskey, hope that’s ok.”  He holds out the bottle to you.

“Definitely ok, I had a feeling.” You lead him to your couch.  Two tumblers already sit on the coffee table.  You uncork the bottle and pour two fingers in each glass.

You hand him his glass before swirling the amber liquid in your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you breathe in the heady aroma and your eyes drift closed.  You take a sip and sigh.  His cock twitches.

“That’s good whiskey, Javier.”

“Call me Javi.”

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

You didn’t expect it to be so easy to talk to him.

Somehow you’ve gravitated towards each other.  Your knee now rests against his thigh.  His arm stretches behind you on the couch.  Whiskey glasses sit forgotten on the table.  You only needed a few sips to relax before the conversation and laughter flowed.

Swapping stories of co-workers and old mutual friends.  You realize you’ve never seen him smile before tonight.

It’s a shame.

His smile lights up the room.

Javi arches back against the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s getting late.”

You make a non-committal noise in reply because your gaze has been captured by the expanse of his chest you can see through his gaping shirt.

Has his shirt been unbuttoned this much the whole time?  Four buttons undone?  Really?  Why bother buttoning it at all?

Not that you’re complaining as you take in the view of his smooth, golden skin.  You watch, hypnotized, as his chest rises and falls with each breath.

Your gaze travels upward, catching on the divot of his clavicle.  The perfect place to breathe his scent.

His Adam’s apple snags your gaze next as it bobs in his throat.  You have to swallow yourself, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of licking your way up his gorgeous neck.

His jawline comes into view.  Strong and angular.  Beautiful.  Especially in contrast to his soft, plush lips.

They part slightly, revealing the most perfect crease in his lower lip.

Then there’s his nose.  Noses shouldn’t be so arousing.  It’s absurd.  But there it is in all it’s aquiline glory.  Like a goddamn sculpture.

You continue your journey up to his eyes and find that he’s staring at you, pupils blown.

Your mouth is suddenly dry as Javi slowly closes the distance between you, never breaking eye contact, giving you time to protest, until his lips meet yours.

A fire ignites in your body with the first touch of his lips.  It burns from your head to your toes waking you up from your slow syrupy thoughts.

You climb onto his lap, knees on either side of his slim hips.  His hands grip your waist.  His heat bleeding through the thin fabric covering your center.

You break away from the kiss, breathless. Javi continues kissing down your throat, tugging at your cardigan.  You sit back and reach between you, untying the belt and letting it fall off your shoulders.

Javi groans as he takes in the thin camisole you are wearing underneath.  Your bra had come off along with the pantyhouse and heels.  Your hard nipples poke against the silky fabric.  They squeeze even tighter as Javi licks his lips.

“Fuck, bonita, you’re gorgeous,” he rasps.  The sound goes straight to your core.

- - - - - - - - -

He didn’t come here for this.

Maybe he hoped initially.  But it didn’t seem to be what you had in mind.

He wasn’t lying when he said you were the most beautiful woman at work.  His eyes rove over your body of their own volition every time your paths cross.  His ears tune into the sound of your laughter and even more to your witty and sarcastic remarks.

But he didn’t expect this… this connection.

You’ve set him at ease.  Pulling stories from his memory that he thought were long forgotten.  The urge to pour out his heart to you nearly chokes him.

You’re too good for him.  Too smart, too strong, too confident.  And oh, are you beautiful.  

And now you’re above him, rocking into his cock, making the most heavenly sounds as you lick into his mouth.  He can do sex and do it well.  He can make up for everything he lacks with a good fucking.

Maybe fucking is all he’s good for.

“Take me to bed, Javi.”

He pauses.  He expected your words, but somehow, they have caught him off guard. It wouldn’t be just a fuck with you.  You’ve gotten under his skin.  You’ve glimpsed his soul.

The words bubble up before he can’t stop them.

“I’m scared.”

- - - - - - - - - - - 

His admission catches you off guard and you sit back.  “Scared? Of what? I know I’m older than you, but it’s not like I’m some dried-out husk and bats are going to fly out of my vagina.”  You push against his chest to get off his lap, annoyed and frustrated.

Javi growls and grabs your ass, pulling you back to him, holding you still while he finds his words.  “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.”  He huffs as he continues, “I’m scared because you… see me.”

The anger burns away as quickly as it came.

“I’m not the man most people think I am.” His big brown eyes that only moments ago held laughter and lust, fill with pain and doubt.

“Who are you, then?”

“Just a man.  Trying.  Failing.”

“I know.”

“You don’t want me.”

“What if I do?”

You’re surprised by your own admission. It’s the truth.  You do want him.  And not because he’s a ‘hero’ but in spite of it.  You want the man you met tonight.

You watch his feelings war across his face.  His body wants you, that is abundantly clear.  You’re pretty sure his mind and heart do too, if he could only trust them.

“Have you been real with me tonight, Javi?” you ask, brushing the pads of your thumbs over his gorgeous cheekbones.

“Yes.”

“I won’t beg.” You’ve lived enough life to know a man that doesn’t want you isn’t worth your time. “But know that I do see you and I want you.  The real you.”

His fingers dig into your hips and he swallows hard. “I’ve never done this.”

“I find that hard to believe.”  That earns you a smirk, some sparkle returning to his eyes.

“You know what I mean.  Real… I’ve never done real.  At least not for a long fucking time.”

“I’m as real as they come, Javi.  Wrinkles and all. Can you handle it?”

He brushes his fingers over the creases at the corners of your eyes and you melt.  “You’re beautiful.”

You bring your lips back to his, gently testing.  He wraps his arms around you, surging up into the kiss.  Heat quickly builds between your bodies as your hands roam freely across his broad shoulders and up into his hair.

He groans against your mouth.

“Take me to bed, querida.”

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

Your body is perfect.

Not in the way of youth – firm, angular, unblemished – but well-loved.  Each part of you telling the story of a life well-lived.

He worships each curve of you.  Reveling in what pleasure feels like with someone when he opens himself up.  He kisses your softness, traces each wrinkle with his calloused fingers, delights in the sounds you make as he explores your body.

When you welcome him into your wet heat with a contented sigh, it nearly breaks him in two.  You feel so right around him, moving with him, coming with him.

Sated and drowsy, he lays with you on your bed.  You brush his hair off his forehead and trace your fingers over his laugh lines and the crease between his eyebrows.  He’s lived some life too.

“Still scared?” you ask, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he rasps quietly, looking up at your soft smile, “but I think it might be worth it.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

[darkuselesssomebody]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 - slightly dark!steve murphy x reader

complete masterlist | navigation

words || 𝟛𝕜

summary || in which the reader parties a little too hard, and then gets the d.e.a. at her door.

a/n || this is for @toxicanonymity's boyd-a-thon fundraiser where $10 is donated to PCRF for every (up until 30 total) fic she gets about a Boyd Holbrook character. this is the link for more information on the writing event: boyd-a-thon!! I think it's so fun: building community, getting some great content and donating to a very worthy cause. if you're interested, please check them and the fundraiser out.

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider, please heed them

➵ technically ooc to steve in the show, and is set pre-connie, when he was working DEA in Florida.

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd have a request

warnings || smutty/slightly dark

➵ !! reader is somewhat inebriated and is coaxed into compliance to a certain extent !!

➵ !! civilian/handcuffed criminal & officer power dynamic; ergo, abuse of power !!

➵ dubcon

➵ manhandling/cloth ripping

➵ abuse of power

➵ groping

she really wasn't the typical co-ed.

especially compared to her classmates, she tried so hard to stay away from the frat boys, the sweaty, horrible sex, and the copious amounts of substances. she'd promised her parents as much, and they'd threatened to otherwise cut off their support, so, she made sure to be as prim and proper as possible.

of course, she wasn't a nun. she drank, smoked if a cig was offered, had a few bad hook-ups, but come on. compared to everyone else? she was the virgin Mary.

and she'd told her parents as much, when they'd found out about her post-lecture activities.

unfortunately, that wasn't quite enough.

she had poured out her sorrows to her boyfriend- well, situationship - mark, as he kept instructing the bartender to pour her drinks, in the small, poorly lit, but quiet, bar.

"they won't pay my tuition or rent." she pouts, "I'll have to get an job, and then I won't be able to study - and then-" he shushes her with a sloppy kiss.

"you'll be fine." he assures, and she's just drunk enough not to realize he's saying that so he can get her into his bed faster.

it works, and, by one a.m., they'd gotten back to his, had sex, and she'd passed out. he wasn't a heartless bastard, though, he makes her some breakfast the next morning, and finally, properly, listens to her woes.

"i'm just so stressed. and I dunno if they'll - well… forgive me." she groans, rubbing her temples. he sighs, looking across at her contemplatively.

"you know what you need?" he muses, "to relax. thank god spring break is coming up, we should go somewhere." he suggests, squeezing her hand.

"somewhere? mark, the only place I can afford is the local diner." she scoffs, making him laugh, rolling his eyes.

"i'll pay for you." she blinks, looking up at him curiously.

"what?" she knew he came from a pretty well-off family, but that was a pretty big gift.

"yeah, c'mon. you've been such a recluse the last 2 years, s'what your friends say. let's go to Miami beach, hmm?" he smiles, hugging her as he noses up her neck. her face flushes, going warm.

"mi-miami b-beach? are you kidding me, mark? that's not you being good to me, that's - so expensive." he laughs at her worry.

"you're worth it." that makes her smile, "gotta make my girl feel better, right? besides…" his voice quietens conspiratorially, "I wanna finally corrupt you." laughing, she swats at his hands.

"corrupt? mark!" her tone is scolding, but it does little to deter mark.

"live a little, baby." he hums into her neck.

her face grows hotter.

"whatever you say."

--

miami was one of the warmest places she'd been to. always with a thin sheet of sweat, and always with one of those gimmicky, hand-held fans, she kept a firm hand in mark's to avoid the scammers, and worse, the creeps. he laughs at her apprehension, helping her into the taxi to their hotel.

it was small, with just a simple bed, but mark assured her it's fine because they'd hardly be there anyways. she wondered what that meant.

she immediately found out what it meant, that night, when mark drags her to one of the massive parties held at the nearby clubs and at the beaches. surrounded by primarily college students, mark keeps a hand on her hips as they navigate the party. "get a drink?" he shouts over the music and chatter, and she nods, pressed against him so she doesn't get lost.

she gets something with ice, not really caring about the actual drink - just needing to cool off. mark sways to the music, holding her close, and she giggles as he tries to get her to dance with him.

"c'mon, baby, loosen up." she pouts.

"I don't wanna sweat, mark." he laughs, wiggling his eyebrows.

"that's the whole point. besides, I'll have you sweating by morning, anyways." his tone drips with innuendo, and she rolls her eyes playfully, pushing away his face. he evades, dipping his head and playfully biting her jaw, making her squeak.

"loosen up." he insists, and she giggles.

"fine."

the night went on for way too long. after one drink, she started dancing with mark. after two, they started making friends. after three, they got invited to someone's hotel room, where she's already a little woozy from the alcohol and heat.

"you wanna try something?" mark asks, leading her into the hotel bathroom, and locking the door, "scored some nice shit for us." he grins, fishing a baggie from his pocket. her eyes widen in slight horror and significant shock.

"what the hell, mark?" she mumbles, lips a little numb, but he dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

"it's fine, baby, loosen up." she looks at him indignantly.

"it's not fine, mark! isn't it really addictive? and really illegal?" she hisses, voice lowered out of worry someone outside will hear them. he rolls her eyes.

"baby, I've been on this stuff with sophomore year, and you didn't even know. s'not that addictive, and you just gotta be a little careful. that's what you got me for." he pulls her into him, both of them leaning on the sink counter. "besides… you gonna rat me out?" he jokes, making her cheeks warm.

"no…" she murmurs meekly. he kisses her cheek.

"good! then we won't get in trouble. you trust me, right baby?" his voice has just that perfect mix of pleading and reassurance, and she sighs.

"yes."

"atta girl! you're in for the night of your life."

it wasn't the night of her life, it was a whole week. every day was the same routine, late morning with a greasy breakfast to combat the hangover, afternoon at the beach, early dinner, and the trawling for a party. they'd drink, dance, and then find a bathroom to fuck in, which wasn't too different than what they did on normal weekends, but this week, she had the added intake of coke to sustain the lifestyle.

it was euphoric, and unlike any experience she'd have. a little gross, what with the snorting, but mark wasn't too bad with the aftercare. he never told her where he got his supply, and she never asked. who'd she tell, right?

at least, that's what she figured until the party they were at got raided by the d.e.a. she squeals in shock as she hears the harsh shouts of some officers, and mark is quick to press his hand tightly over her mouth, pressing a finger to his lips to motion her to shut the fuck up.

he slowly readjusts her skirt to place it back above her hips, but it's a shoddy job, and they breathe into each other's mouths as they wait in silence, hoping the locked door will be inconspicuous enough that they can't get caught.

unfortunately not.

a sharp knock on the door makes her jolt again, mind already a little fuzzy from the start of the party, and the voice that accompanies it is as intimidating as she'd imagined.

"d.e.a., open up!" they command. she goes to comply, but mark immediately pulls her back, gripping her hard enough to hurt, making her eyes widen in shock. he looks at her with eyes saying what the fuck are you thinking?! and she looks back with i'm scared. the knocks don't stop, "want me to break this damn door down?" the voice threatens, and mark grits his teeth in annoyance as he secedes, unlocking the door.

a man - built, taller than her, maybe mark's height - with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, raises an amused brow at the pair.

"look who we have here, brady." he tilts his head to call for his partner, who comes clambering back into the room, whistling in excitement.

"yeah, they'll do. c'mon, you two." he gestures mark and her to walk out, "we need to have a few words."

--

she was now sitting in the back of a cop car, handcuffed, feeling tears brimming in her eyes.

after handcuffing the two, steve and brady had flipped a coin to decide who got to interrogate the pretty little thing, and who got the dweeby boyfriend. brady's luck was really not on his side this week - even his cards had been screwing his over on his nights - and he rolled his eyes as he, rather forcefully, shoved mark in a patrol car.

steve grinned as he opened her door for her - almost like a gentleman - making sure she was nicely settled before starting the ignition.

she wasn't hurt, sure, but god, was she scared. she was always such a good girl - and she'd just gotten arrested?! halfway across the country, while on vacation?! she felt like a complete idiot, and she was starting to feel pretty bitter towards mark for even roping her into this.

her lip had quivered as she heard steve talking about his eta to the station, and she was now dejectedly tearing up at the thought of having this on her record.

she's a good girl.

that was what she was telling herself, and what steve was gleefully realizing, as he glanced back at her in the rearview mirror.

"y'ain't been caught up in this kinda stuff before, have ya?" he finally breaks the near-silence, and it makes her glance up at the little dit of his profile she can discern in the dark car.

"n-no, officer." she finally stutters out, throat dry. he notices, passing her some water.

"hot as a bitch, ain't it?" he hums, tone friendly, and it makes her soften as she gulps the liquid down.

"yeah… it is." there's another moment of silence, before she realizes they're coming to a stop. at a pretty abandoned street corner. she looks around, confused, before she sees steve turning in his seat to face her.

"why don't you an' I have a li'l chat right here, darlin'?" he proposes, and she immediately tenses in discomfort.

"wh… why not at the station?" he laughs, a little breathily.

"why would I go all the way to the station, when you can tell me what ya know right here, right now, without worrying yer pretty little head about yer record. ya do know coke abuse, now, that's a pretty serious crime, darlin'." he drawls, eyes grazing over her body. she bites her lip.

to have no real record of this? that would be amazing…

"um… okay? I guess, what - what did you wanna ask me?" she doesn't know if she can meet his eyes. it makes her core pulse.

"now, you don't look like you were the one gettin' those goodies. who was givin' 'em to ya, hmm?"

"my - uh…" she inhales sharply, unsure if she can rat out mark. she really doesn't want to; he's good to her. most of the time. "some guy at the party." it's not technically a lie, which makes steve scoff more pronounced.

"it was yer friend, darlin'. or was it boyfriend? based on that li'l bathroom debacle, seems like he's yer boyfriend." he teases.

her cheeks heat, flush obvious even though he can hardly make out her face, just from her shifting alone. why was she suddenly so shy about the label?

"it's not really like that…" and why is she trying to assure this officer that she's not taken?

"yeah, darlin', s'what I figured - after all, you're name's spillin' out of his mouth accordin' to my partner." her eyes widen in horror.

"wait, what?!"

"yeah, that's what he's sayin' - that ya went out back and then came in with a baggie." steve has to hide his smile, because he almost adores the little look on her face which tries - and fails - to conceal her conflicting emotions of betrayal, disgust and confusion. steve knows just why - mark probably isn't that type of guy. and Steve knows that, cause he just made that little tidbit up, "so, what's it gonna be, darlin'? i'd definitely have to take you in if my only talkin' witness says yer the culprit."

her eyes sting with frustration and fear, and small whimper of discomfort bubbles in her throat.

"fine, fine. it was him, he's been buying coke for most of the past few nights. but I don't know where he gets it from." she insists, deflating a little in the backseat. that causes steve to wave his hand dismissively.

"ain't gotta be worried 'bout that, darlin', he can rat out his own friends." he assures, before humming in satisfaction, "see? now, was that so hard?" his drawl is condescending, and she picks at a hangnail. "yer a good girl, darlin', ya shouldn't protect guys like that." he assures, nonchalantly tugging her fingers away from each other so she doesn't continue the fidget-y, destructive behavior. "what's he even got goin' fer ya fer ya t'wanna save his ass?" he muses, a predatory smile on his face. she thinks it looks cruel.

"he's not a bad guy, he's not some drug lord, he's just gotten too caught up in all-"

"s'he yer man?" he cuts through her timid explanations. he's asking again, with a direct purpose this time. "girl like you… he wouldn't know a damn thing 'bout handling ya." he teases, hands moving down from where he's keeping her fingers from picking at themselves, and onto her knees that poked out, bare, under her short, somewhat flowy dress. "ain't I right, darlin'? he could never treat ya right, could he?"

she stills in utterly shock, before sliding her ass back until it slammed the backrest, effectively jolting away from him. "what are you doing?!" she gasps, and it makes him grip her knees harder, pulling her towards him.

"s'okay, m'jus' talkin' ta ya, darlin'." he assures, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin to soothe her. it hardly works, and she feels a paradoxical discomfort in her throat and arousal between her legs. "answer me, then. he treat ya like ya deserve?"

her breath hitches, "I - i don't know what that means-" she admits, too flustered to even let out a coherent thought. he tuts in disappointment.

"then he's a bigger bastard than I thought. not worshippin' a girl like you…" he goes quiet, before a throaty groan leaves him. "it's a cryin', fuckin' shame." he grips her thighs so tightly that she winces, and the little noise is enough to make him go crazy. before she can process, he's out of the front seat, and climbing next to her in the back. her hands are stiff cuffed, and it allows him to move her body easily to be pressed against the opposite door, giving him plenty of room to slide in. "ya wanna have a real man, darlin'? tha's wha' it is? these fuckin' college boys should know better than to disappoint ya, huh - tryna play with the big boys with that li'l baggie you were snortin'?" his words are rough, heavy, fast and overlapping, and she's quickly overwhelmed purely by his presence. his mouth is on hers before she can stop him, but it doesn't exactly seem to him that she would have - the way her lips press back against his hungrily and her tongue flicks out curiously.

a soft moan escapes her, and he grabs the collar of the low-cut dress, ripping it straight down her middle. "oh my god-!" she tries to gasp, but his bruising kiss shuts her up as he gropes her breasts hard enough to make her whimper and squirm.

"thatta girl, wanna li'l rough lovin'?" his eyes are wild and ecstatic, looking down at her as he pants in anticipation. he slowly begins to undo his shirt, and her eyes widen as she follows the movement of his deft fingers down his button-up, greedily savoring the slivers of skin that are exposed underneath. he finally pulls it off, lean body more defined in the dim light of the back alley, shadows accentuating the curves of his biceps, as he places his hands on the door either side of her face, leaning down to mouth at her neck.

for a moment, it's romantic, and then, it's desperate. the taut skin of her neck is the meal to his starved kisses and bites, painful and arousing nibbles trailing down her neck and the newly exposed skin of her chest from where he'd ripped her dress.

"officer, wait-" he presses a hand quickly over her mouth - with the reflexes of a trained law enforcement agent - and the protest dies in her throat. she's almost grateful - she would have sounded like a right hypocrite when she inevitably moaned during her attempt at protest.

"don't ya say a word, darlin'. just stay sittin' pretty for me, hmm?" his voice is so rough that it's almost mean, but she nods obediently, letting him work his way down her body. she gasps as his tongue darts out and flicks once at the elastic of her underwear, body jittering in anticipation and needs.

"Murphy, come in." the crackle of his police radio snaps them both from their pleasure, and the both whip their heads to look at it. steve looks like he wants to murder something, blue balls making his muscles twitch. when he goes to ignore it and continue enjoying his lovely company, he has to resist the urge to shoot his partner when brady speaks again, "come in, murph, he gave us a lead on the supplier. they want us on it, now." steve thinks maybe he should finally get into that meditation bullshit.

he slams the car door shut as he gets out of the backseat, leg bouncing in annoyance and need. he lights a cigarette, before picking up the radio. "brady, I hear ya. we'll be there in 10." he clambers back into the car, slowly driving out of the alleyway, tapping on the steering wheel, antsy. realizing he's still taking her to the station, she exclaims an incredulous 'what?!'

"wait, but you said-"

"no one's gonna know about yer fuckin' drugs." he snaps, a scowl on his face. he glances at her nude body only lightly contoured with the scrappy fabric of her dress. he throws his jacket back her to cover herself up.

"then why am I coming with you?" she asks in a soft voice, more reserved and less emotional.

"you're gonna sit in my office, and wait till I get back from that bust, ya got that darlin'?" her eyes widen in shock, but the harsh look in his eyes tells her not to argue. the pulse in her core also reminds her of it.

"yes, officer." she mumbles.

"good girl."

[lustaffairs]

✏️

Smut request with this gif? And dark vibes?

🙏

File room boss

>1k, dark(ish?)!Steve x boss f!reader | masterlist

A/N: ty @milla-frenchy. Steve bc the first line of your javi fic the brat instantly made me want to take steve here 😫

WARNINGS: I8+, mildly? dubcon, piv, orgasm denial, creampie.

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

Murphy had been acting erratic, and you thought he might have been on drugs. You weren't sure if it was the carnage, the divorce, or both. You asked him to see the DEA counselor, but he never went. One morning you got back from a work trip, and he was even more of a mess. He hadn’t shaved since the last time you saw him. His tie was already loosened. His eyes had darker circles. He looked hot, but you were worried about him. You called him into your office and asked him to give you his service weapon. He rolled his eyes, took it out of the back of his pants, and set it on your desk. Then, he braced his hands on the desk like he might push it across the room. He looked at you darkly.

His eyes were glassy. He asked, “That all? Or ya want this too?” His hand went toward his crotch and your heart skipped a beat, but he was only reaching to unclip his badge.

“Keep it,” you told him. “But I’m putting you on file duty until you get your shit together.”

“Oh come on,” Murphy complained. “You wanna catch this guy or not?”

You glared at him for questioning you. Then you said, “Follow me.” You led him into the file room and he sat on a filing cabinet as you showed him the shelves he should go through. You looked back to see if he was paying attention and he was staring at your ass in your skirt.

“Murphy,” you scolded. “Are you there?”

His eyes shamelessly panned over your body. “Yeah, I’m here,” he answered in a trance, then his eyes met yours. “Just need a second.”

“For what?” you asked. He got off the filing cabinet and brazenly adjusted himself before going to close the blinds. He returned with a darker look in his eyes.

“Sit down,” he put his hands on his hips and nodded to the filing cabinet where he had been sitting.

“You’re on thin ice, Murphy.”

“Just sit,” he repeated in a lower, more ominous tone. He wet his lips and watched as you took your seat. The metal cabinet was cool on the backs of your thighs. Complying was the last thing you should have done, but his display of dominance was turning you on.

He loomed over you, crossing his arms. “Know what I think?” He waited for you to say something.

You rolled your eyes. “What, Murphy?”

“I think you're into bad guys.”

Your face heated up at the accusation. He stepped all the way toward you, and his pants grazed your leg. The cabinet was hip height and just wide enough for him to brace his hands on either side of you. Not to be intimidated, you tried not to pull away. You couldn't do anything about the throbbing between your legs, but you didn't have to show it.

“How many ya thought about fuckin’ a Narco?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed.

"The Lion's a good-lookin' fella," he mused.

"No way."

He nodded. “I see those 'fuck me' eyes,” he taunted. “I see’em." He froze at the bottom of his nod and locked eyes with you. “But never when I’m on my best behavior.”

“Which is when?” you retorted.

He smiled with a barely audible chuckle, then walked his hands further as he leaned in. His face was a few inches from yours, and he smelled like cigarettes and whisky. Your heart fluttered and you were gushing wet.

“Now's your chance, boss,” he murmured. He brought his lips almost to yours, then barely grazed them. The spark between you was too much. You kissed him.

Right away, his tongue slid between your lips, he cradled your head, and used his knees to nudge your legs open. The force of his kiss and his body brought you down flat beneath him.

After you were laid down on the surface, he groped your breast and you moaned softly into his mouth. Your hips lifted on their own, seeking contact..He broke the kiss to mutter, “Good girl.” Then, with one hand, he unbuckled his belt, undid his pants and began to tug them down. The bulge in his boxer briefs made your breath hitch.

He stood up to further tug his pants down, then he pulled you by your thighs to the very edge of the cabinet. He threw his loosened tie over his shoulder then hiked up your skirt all the way. You watched his massive hands as he ripped open your pantyhose for access and the cool air hit your dripping cunt.

He looked at your cunt and wet his lips. You wanted him too bad to stop it.

“This doesn't change anything,” you told him.

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head with a contemplative pout. “We’ll see.”

He pulled his underwear down under his balls and you heard yourself whisper, “Jesus,” at the sight of his thick, stiff cock and his big balls.

He nodded and spat on his dick. Then he wet his lips as he ran his swollen tip through your dripping folds and said, “you're gonna gimme my gun back, aren't ya?” You bit your lip and didn't answer, scolding yourself for being so susceptible to this version of him.

He nodded, and when you didn't answer, he began to pull away. Fuck. You could always get him transferred.

You nodded in agreement.

“Good girl,” he whispered, then notched himself at your entrance and shoved inside. You failed to stifle your moan at the stretch, and he quickly covered your mouth with his. He backed up and slid into you again. His lips broke away, then he started slamming into you, pounding you with his big dick. The files in the cabinet were jostling around, then the file cabinet itself started moving and it was all making too much noise. “Fuck,” he breathed and slowed down. You writhed under him, desperate to come. "Door's unlocked, by the way."

"Why??" You whisper yelled, and he didn't answer. He was so reckless, like he had nothing to lose.

“Can't let ya come,” he panted, “you're too damn loud." Fine, you weren't going to beg. This would give you enough to think about and get off for weeks to come. He kissed you and slowly thrust into you for a minute, grunting and sighing quietly.

Then his deep voice broke the silence. “Where ya want it? Inside or on your blouse?”

“Fuck, Murphy,” you whined. “Not on my shirt.”

After a few more thrusts, he bottomed out and pulsed inside you. “Mmm,” you managed to be quiet but not silent. You were so close, but didn't get there. He pulled out right after he finished. Then he put himself together and left the file room alone without a word. Murphy was waiting for you in your office when you got there.

“My firearm?” he asked.

--------

Ty for reading 💕

[lysistratawrites]

spes ultima dea - chapter 2

Audaces fortuna iuvat — Virgil.

Pairings: Ofc x Lucius Verus

A/n: maybe I left some things unwritten between first chapter and this one, maybe i’ll post some stuff in the future 🤔

Warnings: mentions of murder, sexual abuse and slavery; angst, maybe some fluff.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen @mmkkzz

She swings her legs from the second floor of the courtyard as she braids her hair, her eyes observing the lanista and the veteran gladiators training. The sun casts warm light on their swift maneuvers, spotlighting the sweat glistening on their skin, and she thinks they glow like the heroes of the tales she was told when she was a child.

Lost in reverie, she imagines herself among them, wielding a sword with courage, though she knows the life of a gladiator is far from what she was taught. If the Romans would not have come to her lands, she would be a ranger, or a soldier, bow in hand, eyes observing with attention her surroundings, or even a healer, but instead of learning from Ravi she would have been apprentice to the tiny woman with grey hair and crooked spine of her memories whose name is now forgotten beneath the mossy oaks of her village.

“Where the new ones?” The thick accent of the Dacian old slave behind her almost startles her, taking her back to reality.

“Macrinus took them. Dominus says they were to fight in a private party for the Emperors’s favourite.”

“I hope one o’ them cuts the throat of those brats” mumbles the woman, taking a stool and sitting behind her.

“Kata!” Alana turns to face her fellow slave, a woman that could almost be her grandmother with fiery red hair tinted with grayish hairs and the darkest eyes she has ever seen.

“Shut up and let me do yer hair.”

It is not her tribe, those are not her lands, but a part of her feels that the gods have given her a small tribe in replacement, full with warriors to fight back the enemies, and companions to share the burden of captivity.

“Quintus looks worried.” Mumbles Alana, almost pouting, her arms hanging from the bannister as well.

“When does he not look worried, lass? If he does not train the men good enough the ludus loses coin, ‘nd the first to be punished is ‘im.”

“The ludus never loses coin.”

It is strange to have the place that empty. With their dominus by the private event with the newest men and Ravi to help and their domina enjoying the free time far from her husband, the place almost looks like a haven, people from half of the empire gathered in a peaceful moment that might never come again.

“It did” Kata scoffs, her fingers swiftly braiding her long mane as she speaks, never pulling her hair. “The last time you were just a pup, too li’l to know anything. A general fell in disgrace and was sent ‘ere, and he was the best I have seen in many time. Ravi met ‘im too, he was fond of ‘im. A good man.”

“What happened to him?”

“Dead. All the good ones end up dead.”

Alana clenches her jaw, thoughtful as she watches the horizon. She wonders if the same fate awaits to those she holds dear.

…

“Look at me. Look at me.”

The healer hisses as he takes his face with a hand, forcing him to look at his face. A quick glance is enough for the Indian to know that, at least, the strongest of the newcomers can return to the ludus.

“He savaged my people” the gladiator grits as his hands clench in tight fists, his knuckles turning white with fury. “He took everything from me.”

Despite the defiant answer in proper Latin to the emperors, it still amazes him to hear the gladiator speak other than Punic.

“Who did it?” He muses, forcing him to sit down before him.

“The general.”

Their gazes meet, and a pang of sympathy hits the healer. He knows too well how he feels, how it is to have everything taken from you only because somebody at the other side of the world fancies it.

How much it had hurt for him. The memory still lingers, like a scar that refuses to fade, but he has grown used to that dull pain deep down in his chest. It fuels him, makes him stronger, more determined to mend the broken and save what can be saved.

“Keep your mind clear, you hear me? Your priority must be to earn your liberty.” Hanno is spirited, it shows, but in that moment Ravi has other thoughts forming in his head “Forget the general, the emperors and all those rats around. You have to win your battles and get your freedom.”

“But how—?”

Ravi takes a deep breath, his own victory sometimes still feels too recent.

“Win. Make the people like you, make the other gladiators follow you. Prove your worth, and soon the chains that bind you will break. I lived it myself.”

“Why are you here then?”

A sad smile tugs from the corners of the healer’s lips, and he casts his gaze to the ground. “I had nowhere to go. My village was razed to the ground and my people are dead or captured and slaved at the other corner of the empire. I forged my own family here, and the dominus saw it is more cheap to have me here tending at you than to make somebody else come.”

Ravi glances at Hanno, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He has been at his side, he has been furious and violent, but he kept his mind straight. No chains, no walls could hold his spirit captive.

Hanno nods slowly, his resolve hardening like tempered steel.

“I saw good men dead because they were impulsive. Don’t make the same mistake.”

The distant echo of footsteps call the men’s attention, and Ravi is the one to stand up first, placing himself between Hanno and whoever approaches them. It could be the emperors, it could be their dominus, it could be one of the ladies witnessing the fight looking for a favour, it could be Nemesis herself finally claiming their souls.

“Should we call him our favourite this season, then?”

It is their dominus, visibly satisfied with the new acquisition. If he mourns the loss of the rest of the small group, his face does not show it. He approaches them like a vulture waiting for carrion, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Did anybody show any interest in Hanno?”

Ravi knows that for the man they are just faces, only his servants having name when it suits him.

“Apparently the general’s wife, and possibly a senator or two… The season is still young, don’t you think?”

Behind him, Hanno stays stiff, his eyes observing them, and it only takes a stretched palm for Ravi to make him think twice about engaging in any hasty confrontations.

“My advice is to rotate the men as last season, dominus. They all are strong, and whenever they expect the least, they will see Hanno fighting at his best, taking every bout with technique and strength. We all know he has it, and the commoners will adore seeing him in action.”

It hurts him to ignore the Numidian in such way in front of him, but he knows how things go by the tunnels under the amphitheatre, and the least he wants is to get him or himself hurt in the process.

The dominus chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that sends a shiver down Ravi's spine.

“Of course. You see it all, don’t you? Well then, let us make sure this season is as entertaining as ever. Send our favourite to the baths, and make the lass tend to him.” Ravi bows his head, concealing the discomfort beneath his calm demeanor as the dominus throws them a crooked smile “A gift. For his worth.”

A gift.

Ravi sighs when their owner is far enough from them, his breath mingling with the cool air. He turns to Hanno, seeing the silent questions etched on the man’s face like shadows.

…

A gift.

The last time somebody talked about her as a gift things had ended quite bad for her, with bruises and pain for days, and nightmares for months. But it is the curious stranger this time, not any brute with more muscle than common sense, and she thinks she should not be afraid of him, because he has let her tend to his wounds with unexpected gentleness.

Yet uneasiness flows her senses, almost making her flinch when she hears any noise, her eyes falling to the ground of the room, only the water from the pool providing a steady, soothing rhythm to calm her racing thoughts.

Would he be gentle or prefer to split her in half? Or maybe he wants her to do all the work? What if he prefers the company of men instead of women?

She is lost in her doubts and fears when she can hear footsteps approaching, soft against the stone floor. She closes her eyes for a moment, her instincts hitting hard, and she can spot two different people—no, it is three of them. Her heart races as the footsteps draw closer. The air grows tense, heavy with uncertainty, as she braces herself for their arrival.

But only one crosses the entrance.

“Alana…”

She raises her eyes only to meet his, the purest blue she has ever seen greeting her with a gentle warmth. It feels almost like a promise that perhaps things will be different this time.

“I heard you won. The dominus wants me to take care of you.”

Her hands, clasped at her front, twitch slightly. Her instinct is to pull them away, to melt into the shadows where she feels safe but, instead, she steadies her breathing, forcing herself to remain present.

“Ravi has tended to your wounds?” He nods, and his gaze softens. “Good. Now, you have to get into the water.” As she talks, she pushes herself to approach him, to help him get undressed. “I have soap and oils to help you get rid of the dirt.”

She bites her lower lip as her fingers work deftly to unlace his tunic. Her actions are clinical, but her eyes betray a flicker of hesitation. She wants to think that he is a good man, but she knows well that good men can turn into cruel shadows in an instant. Her heart warns her as much, a constant reminder of past betrayals, moments of despair that costed her a part of her willingness and her strength.

Still, she can't avoid the hope budding in the recesses of her heart.

“What happens?” He mumbles in a perfect Latin, making her stop for just a moment, her fingers pausing in their task, her brain trying to assimilate that she was right and he is more than a Numidian soldier subdued by the pet of the emperors.

“You… You can understand me?” She raises her eyes, wide open, to meet his again as a slow smile creeps onto his lips.

“Yes,” he replies quietly, a hint of warmth in his voice.

“But how—?”

“It is a long story.” He glances to the water with a weary face. “But something troubles you.”

She hesitates, her hands still over his garments, almost like wanting the clothes to keep his nudity to himself.

“I— I am your gift. From the dominus.” She mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze still observing his face, expectant of what his reaction will be. “I—It means that you…”

“I know what it means” his rough hands upon hers stop her words. His touch is gentle, not at all like how she imagined it. “I will not force you, I swear” he reassures, his eyes seeking hers with sincerity. “I give you my word.”

She releases a breath she doesn’t realize she has been holding, a flood of relief washing over her as his thumbs trace soft circles upon the back of her hands, almost like wanting to soothe her worries. All she can do is to lower her head and mutter her thanks, a single and betraying tear rolling down her face. He notices the tear, and she flinches when he brushes it away with a finger, softly, as if afraid to break her. Her heart pounds, both from relief and the unusual tenderness he's shown.

“Come on, to the water.” She mumbles as she tilts her head to the pool, letting his clothing slip past her fingers and lay on the floor.

His expression softens, caught somewhere between curiosity and vulnerability, as he steps towards the shimmering surface. A silent groan escaping his lips as the warm water envelops his weary body, easing tension he didn’t realize he carried. She observes him as he sinks deeper into the pool, watching the water ripple around him.

It certainly is a relief for him to not have to bear with his burdens alone. He glances up at her, grateful for her company, and motions her to join him.

“Oh, no.”

“Why not?”

Her gaze flickers toward one of the corners of the room, where the dancing light of a candle casts shadows that dance upon the water.

“I am here to take care of you. Maybe some other day.”

She looks at the gladiator and she doesn’t see a man defined by blood and battle, but rather someone yearning for solace, desperately trying to find peace in a world that refuses him rest. Others are fueled by vicious rage and sorrow, and she thinks that he may be keeping his own pains deep down where no one can see them. She finds herself wishing she could offer him more than a moment of tranquility, something lasting.

Hanno sighs when he settles himself in the water, steam easing his muscles and breathing life into his weary spirit. She observes his features sculpted by the flickering light and she decides he is handsome despite the filth clinging to his body.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do tell.”

“You were the only one who came speaking Latin. How—?”

He bites his inner cheek, thoughtful, and she approaches him meanwhile, kneeling behind him with soap, oils and cloth.

“I grew up in the port. My father was a merchant.” He turns to face her, slightly surprised to find her behind him, ready to start “Got an idea. Why don’t we play a game? For every question you want to ask me, I can ask one in return. What do you think?” A soft smile curves her lips as she dips the soap bar in the water, his eyes observing her hands, her swift and bony fingers moving with gentle precision.

“Fine by me.” She mumbles, and with care she puts one of her hands atop his head, softly making him face the front as her fingers stroke his hair with care.

“My turn then. How old are you?”

“Don’t really know. I came here before starting bleeding. I have always been at the ludus.” She dips the soap again in the water before starting to scrub it gently against his hair. “How is Numidia? Ravi only said it is past the sea.”

“Boiling hot” a soft giggle escapes his lips as he lets her do, and she smiles at the sound of it. “But you get used to it. Most of all rocks and desert if you go to the south. I lived near the sea, and you can find some more life there. What about your home?”

Her home. It sounds strange to her, because she had forced herself to adapt to a life she never wished for.

“Forests. Enormous green fields” she tries to focus on what she is doing so the memories hurt less. “You can hunt deer and rabbit, and if you are lucky even boar… I once almost shoot down a wolf, but I was small and my arrows were too little for the animal. There was a tree in my village that was up to the sky, and I liked to climb it and see the stars at night, but Mama always got angry and said I would twist a leg or break my head…” She finds herself clenching her jaw, trying her best to keep herself serene. “Dip your head, I need to take the soap from your hair.”

He does as she says and she allows herself a trembling sigh when he can’t hear her. Despite having taken her own situation and forced herself to adapt and see the bright side of it, sometimes she can’t help but feel a longing for the life she had been forced to leave behind.

To distract herself she buries her fingers in his hair again, and allows herself to pass them along his scalp, brushing it softly, only returning her hands to both sides of her lap as he sits up, wiping the excess water from his eyes. “Thank you,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never imagined a healer could offer comfort beyond just remedying the body.” He passes a hand along his hair, and a soft smile appears upon her face “How did you became a healer?”

“Well, healing comes in many forms,” she replies, allowing warmth to fill her voice. “I started to follow Ravi around the ludus, and he showed me. By the time they realized it was cheaper to have Ravi stay in the ludus, I was already helping him.”

There is a question lingering in the air, and neither of them wish to speak it out loud, because it only brings pain.

“I like your braid. It suits you.”

A smile lingers upon Alana’s lips. Maybe it is the first compliment she gets in many time. One of her hands go to her own hair, her fingertips brushing over the elaborated work of Kata.

She could swear she is blushing with Hanno’s words.

“Do you like it?” He hums in approval, leaning against the wall of the pool to let her do better, and Alana’s quick mind starts to imagine him doing what Ravi did, earning his freedom and being remembered fondly by it.

She realizes that when Hanno looks at her, something deep down stirs, like a distant echo of hope calling her heart to soften its guard.

“You were trembling before” Hanno takes one of her hands, studying it as if the answers lay in her palm, his fingertips tracing shapeless figures on the skin, almost trying to soothe her sorrow. “How many times—?”

She frowns, clenching her jaw. “It’s hard to say,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “A few. Too many,” she adds, her eyes distant. Hanno nods, sensing the weight of what remains unspoken.

“I— I am sorry” he murmurs, guilt lacing his voice. Yet, there is an understanding in his eyes, a silent vow to share her burden. “If you want, I can help,” he offers, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, offering his strength.

“I don’t see how you can help.”

“They won’t touch you as long as I am around.” She lifts her gaze, studying him intently. There is a resolve in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, a fierce protectiveness she finds comforting. “I mean it,” he insists, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination.

[scullysbagelmuldersicedtea]

My thoughts on En ami S7E15 , also Mulder is royally pissed- love it.

My analysis- i spent too much time thinking about it due to the controversy. Please note revival spoilers***, do bookmark and revisit this when you're up to date. I spilled my gut..

3-5 min read :)

CSM- A father figure

He mentioned his affection for Mulder and Scully. He essentially created them. Mulder's obsessive quest for the truth, especially surrounding his sister's abduction was orchestrated by him.

He loved Mulder. He was seen to be mourning (privately) when Mulder was "dead" S4E24 S05E01. He protected him, not selflessly of course. Likewise, he protected Scully. CSM had no qualms about assassinating powerful figures throughout his life—it would’ve been easy for him to eliminate Mulder and Scully if he had truly wanted to. But he didn’t.

Father (metaphorically) of the miracle 

"How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a life alone? You'd die for Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."

Beautifully said by CSM. He observed, knew and understood Scully and Mulder as though as they were his own children.

Let's ponder what happened in the revival (spoilers ***), stay with me before you roll your eyes, gag or BOTH. The notion of CSM being the father of William can be seen metaphorically. Please hear me out ..

Sometimes it takes an outsider to point out the obvious- to enlighten Scully. The invisible wall came down and she finally gave herself a chance to love Mulder — ultimately led to William's conception. In that sense, CSM is, indirectly, the “creator” of William. Okay maybe too much credit to CSM... read on

Yes, CSM spun the narrative to suit his agendas—he always does. The “William parentage” twist, written by Chris Carter, was deeply disturbing for many. But it got people talking. The show never fully explored this claim, and considering CSM’s long history of lies, I believe it was another one. After all, the producers and Carter himself have repeatedly confirmed that William is the biological child of M&S.

En Ami (french) —as a friend He wanted to be an ally. He chose to keep Mulder in the dark for obvious reason. He chose Scully because she was a scientist (discussed later) and also because she was altruistic(not to say Mulder wasn't). She was a scientist and a medical doctor and hence possessed the skillset which ultimately made her the "ideal" person to contact for this mission- using Scully to destroy disc.

In the car, he picked up a cigarette, then proceeded to discard it —said "maybe it is time to stop", hinting that it was time to be an ally. His smoking was a reflection of anxieties and guilt due to his past and position within the Syndicate (as revealed in the Musing of the CSM episode). So that scene (to stop smoking) showed that he thought about being good, to be an ally to Scully - ultimately Mulder and humanity.

Why Scully? No, I do not believe Scully acted out of character. A good scientist is inherently inquisitive. She was compassionate. It is my opinion that no man in this universe deserves such great power to heal, let alone holds the secrets to curing all diseases. We are not meant to be immortals. Natural selection must runs its course! The knowledge the disc contained could very well doom humanity. Let’s be honest—humans are selfish by nature. Neither Scully nor Mulder could protect that information from the world forever.

En Ami or Enemy? (pardon the tongue twist, also not a native speaker) A true villain always believes in the righteousness of their cause.

Two ways to view the action of CSM:

He was trying to be an ally to humanity by destroying the disc.

(More plausible reason) He extracted what he needed from the disc to heal himself, then destroyed it to ensure he remained at the top of the food chain. In doing so, he once again became a villain to Mulder and Scully, having used Scully in a selfish mission under the pretense of goodwill. Therefore proceeded to smoke again as he deals with the weight of the world's darkest secrets.

The concept of “scientific impregnation” could also be spun into this narrative. Alien technology might have been used to repair Scully’s DNA, enabling her to conceive again. No (sexual) violation involved—just a cutaneous prick/jab of alien tech. Like your parents vaccinated you as a kid- you weren't given a choice were you? A “gift” (in CSM's opinion) to Scully, offered under the guise of friendship or guilt- WHO KNOWS....

Alternatively—or additionally—CSM may be seen as a metaphorical father to William. He thought his manipulation and carefully chosen words could have opened Scully’s heart to Mulder, ultimately leading to the child’s miraculous conception, possibly aided by alien tech.

Last but not least, it was a beautiful performance piece by Gillian Anderson, William B. Davis, and David Duchovny. The episode was more layered and nuanced than I remembered. Mulder was royally pissed and I love it!

[tofixtheshadows]

I think it's actually sooooo funny how cop media always features, like, very serious tribunals and internal affairs as another form of copaganda to make you think that even if there are a few bad apples or a rogue cop going heroically off the rails the system itself is still good and just and there are guardrails in place to monitor and punish cops that step out of line. Meanwhile in real life the average cop is allowed one emotional support murder per year.

[jezebelblues]

let it snow | h.s

summary: summer of 1979. where y/n just got a new position in the DEA with harry’s little crew in miami. but are there ulterior motives?

cw: 18+ drugs / drugs usage. unedited. fem!reader. maybe angst? idk, this is just a testing-the-waters type series.

word count: approx 4.2k

miami 1979 - a bright veneer. hazy pink skies, palm trees that swayed with you, and sandy beaches that stretched out like golden ribbons into the atlantic. the tropical sun held a golden gleam over the city, its absence allowing for crystalline stardust to waft through the breeze and send electric currents through the air, fueling a restless energy.

cocaine moved like a phantom through the streets, arriving in covert waves, slipping silently onto speedboats and creeping through clandestine airstrips hidden in the everglades. brick after brick, miami became a gateway for an avalanche of white powder that invaded the city, uprooting the once ordinary streets and turning nightclubs into sanctuaries of indulgence. a gorgeous juxtaposition of beauty and ruin.

sirens scream in the distance, cutting through the humid air like a warning. the city was electrified, humming with a violent undercurrent as families, law enforcement, and politicians tried to navigate a world suddenly awash in drug money. the city basked in its secrets however, becoming a neon dream seemingly overnight. corruption boomed underground, and the feds knew it.

agent harry styles was essentially head-honcho of his little team. the feds sent down their own group of people to each hotspot they could, miami, cuba, the texas border; in order to get the smuggling under control. harry was an exuberant man, vibrant and eccentric. he always had a toothpick balanced between his rosy lips, a gleam of sweat covering his sunkissed skin.

the sun beamed down directly above them, glistening in the blue waters of the shipment dock they stood upon. they were tipped off about in exchange in product, waiting patiently for the little fishing boat to glide into the shoreline. harry was in his usual bright attire, a hot pink button down tucked into his black slacks held up by his duty belt. a black cowboy hat casted a shadow over his face - the usual toothpick in between his lips, a punctuation to his smile. some of his curls fell beneath his hat, over his ears and flat against his damp forehead. his shirt was down a few buttons, revealing his pretty silver cross and the swallows inked onto him.

harry drew his shoulders back with a grin as his men detained two smugglers, the product dragged onto the pavement as they stood silently in handcuffs. “whoo-wee!” styles beamed, a familiar southern twang laced in his words. flamboyant. two gutted swordfish sat in front of him, stuffed with carefully wrapped bricks of cocaine that were poorly sutured into the carcasses - a rushed job done on the boat. “ain’t this ‘bout a bitch.” harry laughs to himself, kneeling onto the ground in front of the dead fish. the breeze whisked around the saltiness in the air, a nose-twitching sourness emitting from the fish.

he unholsters a pocket-knife from his duty belt, slinging the blade open and slicing across the botched sutures. every piece of the fish’s anatomy was gone, replaced by blocks of cocaine. he twists the toothpick between his teeth with his tongue, his fingertips spreading the belly open a bit to catch a better sight of the mountainous blocks inside this fish. his lips curl, a dimple greeting the men he shot a look toward. harry stands up in a swift movement, waltzing toward the two smugglers. “m’just tickled pink. could kiss you both right now.” he muses, placing his large hands on one of their shoulders. “y’all just get more creative by the day - i love it!”

y/n stands on the sidelines, a forced bystander. press analysts have to go to these operations, jotting down whatever happens on a quaint little notepad that sat in the back pocket of her jeans. only essential information was written down, basically the who, what, when, where and why’s of the situations they found themselves in. nothing more, nothing less. y/n’s first choice was surely not drug bust coverage, but she was new to the unit and couldn’t exactly protest direct orders.

she lucked out, in a way, to be apart of style’s team. he’s more of a lighthearted leader in comparison to his peers. he wasn’t his commander’s favorite, (due to his attitude) but he got the job done and always received immense respect from his subordinates. at first, y/n was taken aback from her boss’ electric personally, but quickly grew accustomed to it - a weight lifted off her shoulders.

the notepad that previously sat in her pocket now rested in her palm, a red pen twirling between her fingers. her eyes narrow as she watched the event before her unfold - internally cursing herself for not wearing sunglasses to avoid the blinding of the sun. her lips part, eyes flickering toward harry. “how many kilos?”

harry flicks his toothpick onto the pavement that glittered in the light, looking at y/n over his shoulder while words softly get exchanged between him and two other agents. strands of her hair danced with the breeze, and harry was convinced he could smell her shampoo from where he stood. he grins, his gaze barely noticeable from the tip of his hat. “n’moment, sugar.” he dismisses, averting his attention back to his peers.

y/n wasn’t super successful at reading harry very well since she started working with him. he’s extremely animated, always upbeat and enthusiastic despite the job they had to do. he dressed differently from his men, too. the other agents were always in some sort of black clothing, maybe throwing in a Hawaiian button up or denim jeans. harry, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. his fingers were always clad in rings, a cowboy hat his best friend had gotten him usually resting upon his curls (if the heat wasn’t too unforgiving). his nails were often covered in some sort of chipped nail polish, something he only did on away-operations because if the men at the home unit saw, they wouldn’t understand.

he ambles back over to the fish, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. y/n draws in a bit closer, watching the agent intently. his eyebrows are furrowed beneath the bill of his hat, going to an abrupt stop. the pavement creates an audible scratch against his feet as he toes the fish. the tip of his boot gently pushes it upward - seemingly trying to estimate how many kilos there could be stuffed in there. they don’t have a scale, but she would trust his judgment - he’s been doing this too long to be inaccurate. his head tilts to the side slightly, his hands finding themselves on his hips. “80..70?” he utters, dropping his hands and turning on his heel to face her.“ ‘bout 80 kilos for both.” he states with his lips curled, jutting his chin upwards a bit - expecting y/n to write it down.

she glances back toward her paper, red ink filling any blank spaces as she mumbles the information back to herself. harry twists his torso to look at niall, a close friend on his team. he mutters something incoherent to y/n, his fingers pointing in different directions as he speaks. he then lifts his hat off his head, running his digits through his curls. he lets the breeze sweep through the strands, chasing away the heat that sat idly between the hat and his head.

y/n glances up from her notes, immediately meeting harry’s gaze. his expression was stoic, unable to read. as he starts to adjust the hat back onto his head, she averts her gaze to niall, who removed two bricks from each fish and placed it into a black duffel bag. no one seemed care very much, or simply didn’t notice. but curiosity dances onto her features, her hands lowering to her waist.

harry doesn’t miss a beat, eyes flickering between the two nonchalantly. “s’got your face in a twist?” he teases, lips pursed into a smile. she doesn’t respond, sinking her teeth into the flesh of the inside of her cheek. with an exhale, she brings the pen and paper up toward her chest again, preparing to scribble anything extra down.

“ah-“ harry tuts, grasping her attention. he steps her direction, y/n’s expression blank as he stands mere inches before her. she can see his face clearly for the first time today, a slight stubble dusting his jaw and upper lip, his cheeks a tinge of red from the sun. the collar of his shirt flutters slightly with the wind, his scent dancing along with it - vanilla laced with tobacco. he gently takes the notepad from her fingertips, his larger hand seemingly swallowing it whole. his head tips down, his hat hiding his eyes as he flips through her papers. “s’no need to write that down.” he mumbles, reading over her cherry red words. “just protocol, darlin’.” he pauses, “takin’ it over to analysis, test if its laced.” he shrugs, handing the notes back over as he looks at her through his eyelashes.

“don’t i still need to mention that-“

“y’mention every time we read someone their miranda rights?” he quips, a familiar smile back on his lips. her silence responds for her, putting the notepad back into her pocket. he steps back, creating more space between them as she fidgets with her own fingers. she doubted harry’s response, not fully, but enough for her heart to sit a bit lower in her chest. when evidence is removed from a scene they go in it’s appropriate containers, not a beat up duffel from the trunk of a car. but harry was an odd leader, this might as well be something else he does differently.

satisfied, harry gives her a nod and saunters his way back over to niall, who had already threw the dark bag into the back seat of his car. the badge clipped to his belt shimmers in the light, the sun starting to dip into the horizon with a creamsicle orange haze. his hand delves into his pockets, pulling out a red and white cigarette box with beat-up corners. used. he flips the top open, revealing a huddle of fresh toothpicks and about three cigarettes smushed to the left side. he bites onto one of the picks, rolling it over to the corner of his lips with his tongue. it hangs lazily as he shoves the box back into his pocket. he’s been doing this for over a year now, wanting to quit his smoking habit. the toothpicks would hold the scent of the tobacco, harry almost tasting it if he focused hard enough. “you look like if mick jagger was in a western film.” niall laughs, adjusting his belt to sit a bit higher.

harry grins, his tongue fidgeting around with the toothpick. “s’what i go for.” he mumbles sarcastically, his eyes meeting the blue ones across from him. his brows knit together, his face hardening barely. “how many did y’grab?”

“four.” he pauses, “told her 80 kilos when it’s clearly a bit less than that, four will go unnoticed.”

he booms out a laugh, catching the attention of the rest of his team. he turns to take a step beside niall, shoulders almost touching as he takes the hat off his head, bringing the rim to his lips as he mimics blowing a kiss toward the people in front of him. “‘nother successful bust.” he beams, “i’ll handle the report tonight, i don’t wanna see any of you for the rest of the evening.”

the group smiles, a bit eager to enjoy the rest of their friday. nightlife made the city alive, it also helped that not one person that roamed the busy streets on a friday evening was sober. pupils were so big you could see your own reflection in their eyes, the alcohol off their breath alone enough to give you a buzz. y/n’s heart quickened at the thought of having some free time - she hasn’t been able to do anything in the city (that wasn’t work related) since she got here almost two weeks ago. not a drop of alcohol has touched her lips in a month, the three short dresses she owned collecting dust in the wardrobe of her hotel room. at this point she thinks that a pair of heels would be more comfortable than the converse that adorned her feet.

“-but not miss y/n.” he chuckles, pointing at the girl with his hat as he shamelessly rips her out of her own daydreaming. her shoulders falter, lips threatening a frown. “that file cabinet brain of yours will help me write the most earth shattering report the cap’n has ever seen!” he taunts with a smile, plopping the hat back onto his head with one hand. he didn’t need any of her help writing a report, he’s been doing it for nearly a decade. but, harry didn’t trust her well enough to believe she wouldn’t overthink the not-so-discreet taking of four bricks of cocaine. he also had a rapport with his team, y/n now apart of that - he wanted to at least try to get on her good side.

her lips press into a flat line, nodding absentmindedly to her boss’s words. harry peals over to niall, whispering into his ear, smiling softly at whatever he said. niall steps away, pulling car keys from his pocket and whistling toward two men to come along with him. everyone started to disperse in the few shared vehicles, niall going a different direction than the others who took off toward the hotel.

harry glances over his shoulder, watching as evidence is collected officially and placed into a van. he chews on the toothpick, striding toward y/n and throwing her keys that previously were hooked to his belt loop. her eyes widened as she caught it, almost slipping her grasp and clambering onto the pavement. “you’re drivin, honeybee.” he smiles, not breaking his stride as he rounds the car, waiting patiently at the passengers side door.

y/n stood frozen for a moment, lips parted in surprise, before spinning on her heel toward the sleek black trans am, unlocking the door and pulling it open without a word. she dips into the seat, pressing the unlock button so her boss could fall in beside her. he places his hat on the dashboard while y/n adjusts the seat, pulling it forward toward the pedals and up a bit higher to see the road - which earns a small laugh from harry. the engine roars to life, keychain dangling from the ignition. she one hands the thin, leather wheel as she turns to pull out the dock, their silence broken with a soft tsk from harry. “seatbelt.”

her eyes roll, not entertaining his reminder as she already pulled out onto the main road. the agent sighs, reaching past her and tugging the seatbelt down over her frame, and she froze momentarily. there was a comfortable distance, but his breath caressed her check coolly, peppermint. he handles the seatbelt carefully, clicking it in beside her hip. “i coulda gotten it.” she mumbles, shifting in her seat as harry adjusted back into his own. “do you really need my help?” she asks genuinely, but also wanting dispel the heat rising in her chest from how close he was.

he juts out his bottom lip, almost as if he was thinking about it. (he wasn’t). he slowly shakes his head into a nod, casting a sideways glance at her. “absolutely.”

the trans am glides along the coastal highway leading to their hotel, the rhythmic hum of the engine blending in with the distant crash of the waves. miami, in all of its chaotic beauty, stretched out before them - a city on fire, burning with neon lights and the darker flames of a burgeoning drug trade.

y/n keeps her eyes on the road, the wheel steady in her grip while her mind spins. harry is an easygoing man, sure, but his nonchalance over it all felt a bit unsettling. there’s a nagging feeling within her, a sense that there’s more to this than meets the eye. she didn’t consider herself to be type A, but protocols existed for a reason - especially for law enforcement. nevertheless, she was new to the team, and didn’t want to press into things she may not understand.

“y’did good today.” he admits, lounged comfortably in the seat. his arm casually rested on the door, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.

y/n glanced at him, then back at the road. “just takin’ notes for press. that’s all.”

harry chuckled, the sound light and easy. “y’sure do, sugar. but it’s necessary - if those guys were up there, they wouldn’t know their ass from their elbows.”

she didn’t reply right away, trying to stifle her smile. his accent wasn’t thick, but it was obvious he’s from the south. “how’d y’know it was 80?” she asked, trying to move the attention away from her, and back onto him.

he shrugged, shifting the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “been doin’ this for a while. estimatin’ gets easier.”

she hums, her brows knit together. “and the four bricks are getting tested?”

she earns another chuckle from him, harry adjusting in his seat as he looks toward the pretty girl in his drivers seat. she was smart, and he started to pick up on her stubbornness. “yeah, darlin’. it’ll get analyzed, nothin’ to lose sleep over.”

but she was already mulling it over, something gnawing at her. perhaps if the product was treated like evidence she wouldn’t think twice, maybe if harry didn’t share whispered exchanges with his partner she wouldn’t have noticed. but, she swallowed hard - pushing the thoughts behind her. what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“y’need to loosen up.” harry grins, pulling her from her thoughts. “know what i’m doin’, trust that, at least.”

she sighed, nodding along with his words. he was right, he was her superior after all. her demeanor was disrespectful, and if she acted this way at the home-unit she would’ve already been chewed out. she exhales softly, cheeks puffed out as she did so.

y/n pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, the city lights polluting the sky above them as it fell into dusk. there were few parking spaces, everything occupied by either agents or tourists. the doors to the lobby were propped open, allowing the breeze to sweep through. a few men sat at the hotel bar, and a couple in dainty florals swayed - no music playing. harry walked in front of y/n, flicking the toothpick into a nearby trashcan. the lobby smelt of cigarettes and a citrus candle as they approach the elevator, a comfortable silence between the two.

“y’okay workin’ in my hotel room? or do you want something’ more public?” he asks genuinely, taking the keys from yn and sifting through them to find the hotel key.

“yours is fine.” she mumbles, not really caring. harry didn’t come off as a creep, albeit a little mysterious. but she didn’t feel unsafe with him. so, she follows him into the room, the door closing softly behind her. the agent tosses his keys onto the bed, setting his hat to dangle off the closet handle. he raises his hand to gesture toward a desk tucked into the corner of the small room, reaching into the tiny fridge below him.

y/n complies, taking a seat onto the grey rolling chair after taking out her notepad and pen. harry hums a tune unbeknownst to y/n, ambling over to desk and setting down two mini bottles of liquor. harry still doesn’t say anything, stepping off to grab an uncomfortable looking wooden chair to sit beside her. a larger notebook already sat in the corner of the desk, accompanied by two different books, a pen, and a few files.

she does the favor of slipping the notebook toward him, along with his black pen before she opens her own notepad, reading over her information.

harry flips open the book, landing on a blank page. he effortlessly writes out the beginning part of the report, elaborating on the tip they received, jotting down the execution of the bust. she watches intently, his words neat and small. she shifts in her seat, clearing her throat to grab his attention. “remember to put down how many agents we had on the ground.” she pauses, her eyes meeting his as he glances toward her. “and um.. who was there, and did what.” she trails off, noting the smile playing upon his lips.

“file cabinet brain.” he murmurs, chuckling to himself before he averts his attention back to the paper, continuing to write. “let me see y’notes.”

she slides over her notepad, harry not breaking eye contact from his pen and paper as she does so. she watches the man before her, curls falling in front of his eyes and the muscles in his forearm flexing with every word he wrote. a small chuckle escapes his lips, letting his pen fall onto the paper as he leans back into his seat. “a fuckin’ fish.”

her eyebrows furrow, his expression shifting from concentration to amusement. “a fish.” yn says back, harry grinning.

“i love it.” he laughs, shaking his head. “never a dull moment.”

her lips curl upward, a breathy laugh emitting from her. she shakes her head, fidgeting with the red pen between her fingers. “why a fish do y’think?”

he shrugged, his smile still present. “desperation and innovation go hand in hand, darlin.” he mumbles, a hint of mischief in his gaze. he shakes his head from his own thoughts, leaning forward again to continue the report.

the night wore on, exchange of details between the two. occasional laughter fell from them, recounting the events from today. it was unusual, and a drug stuffed fish was a first for harry. y/n often stole glances at the man beside her, he was pretty, undeniably so. harry could feel her gaze, too, but didn’t mind it. her eyes on him felt good, a warmth settling in his chest. it was no question that she was beautiful, arguably the prettiest woman in their unit. and it was exactly that, that grounded him. the bureau, an agent. she wasn’t just a pretty face, she was a colleague. not only that, but his subordinate. he remained silent as he printed his name on the final page of the report, turning it toward y/n to allow her to do the same.

“and it’s only 11.” he sighs with a smile, carefully taking out the pages from the notebook and setting them into a manila folder. he slouches into his seat, taking the small liquor bottle and twisting off the cap, throwing it aside. he shoots her an expectant glance, which prompts her to do the same with the other bottle - and they both swallow it bitterly.

y/n’s face twists, placing the bottle back onto the table and shaking her head. she wasn’t use to drinking without a chaser, and although she tried to remain stoic in front of her boss - the taste simply prevented her from doing so. harry laughs, letting his head lean back against the chair with a smile. “can’t hold your alcohol?” he hums.

“i tried to keep a straight face, at least.”

he shifts with a smile, sitting up and letting his arms cross over his chest. “that you did, sugar.”

light laughter lingered in the air, filling the small room with an unfamiliar warmth. y/n tried to shake off her slight embarrassment from her previous whiskey induced face scrunch, forcing a half-smile. “i can handle alcohol.” she insisted, sounding a bit more defensive than she wanted. “just been a while.”

harry raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “coulda fooled me, honeybee. that was quite the scene.” he chuckled, leaning farther into his chair. “no shame in admitting it.”

she grins, the lightness in the moment contrasting the tension in her chest. “alcohol isn’t my forte.” she shrugs. “besides, i’m working anyway.”

“work hard, play harder.” he smiles, a glimmer of something in his eyes that made her shift in her seat. the more time she spent with harry on this job, she became more aware of the unspoken boundaries between them that almost seemed like they could burst if you squint hard enough. harry was her superior, a flamboyant force of nature, while she was still figuring out her place in the world. working alongside him felt like it could be intoxicating, but y/n felt the weight of her reservations.

silence befalls them once again, and before she could speak, a knock echos from outside harry’s door. he perks up, crossing the short distance and pulling it open, revealing an exasperated niall. he pushes past his tall frame, not acknowledging yn as harry shuts the door behind him, confusion settling upon his features. niall’s back is turned toward y/n, the man mumbling something unintelligible as harry flickers his eyes between the two before him. his face hardens, gaze stuck on yn before he parts his lips. “i’ll see you in the mornin.” he dismisses, nodding toward y/n.

she’s taken aback, but shifts to stand up. she bites the inside of her lip, picking up her pen and notepad before warily looking back up at harry. his expression didn’t falter, eyes trailing her frame as she slips out the hotel room with a small frown. she lets the door click shut behind her, the conversation between the two men muffled and fading into the background. with a sigh, she headed toward the elevator to go up to her own floor, the unsettling thought that abrupt meeting between harry and niall was somehow connected to the four bricks of stolen drugs gnawing at her. each step felt heavier than the last as the weight of the situation settled in, leaving her with an uneasy sense of curiosity and concern.

[stxrborne]

Semesters almost finished soooo

[mermaidxatxheart]

A Day at the Fair

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word count: 6665

Summary: the DEA are about to make a drug bust at the county fair and Javi gets distracted

A/N: thanks to @musings-of-a-rose for listening to me about all my nonsense lol

The crowd around them is loud, but Javier Peña can tune out crowds with the best of them. With a family the size of his, that loves to stick their noses where they don’t belong, he’d have to be.

His partner, however, always gets itchy in crowds. Steve Murphy isn’t a people kind of person. Or… maybe he is as long as they’re not cops. Who the fuck knows? Javi throws another dart onto the rotating dart boards. Bullseye number two.

Murphy scoffs, stuffing a nacho chip in his mouth. “How can you do that?” He asks, turning away from the booth to scan the crowd.

Their target hasn’t arrived yet and Javi is bored with a capital B. He didn’t want to do this drugs bust here at the fair, but Upper Management overruled him. Shocker. He throws another dart, almost not even paying attention and it lands on a bullseye once more.

“Patience, skill, it’s all in the wrist.” Peña shrugs.

“Whatever. I thought you didn’t like the fair.” Murphy mumbles.

“Entirely not true.” Javier says, watching a pretty girl walk by. “I just didn’t want to take down a drug dealer in front of little kids. I’ve got standards, man.” He grins, throwing the fourth dart without even looking.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve rolls his eyes with a sardonic chuckle. Bullseye number four.

“Do you want a go? We’ve got time for you to practice.” Javi teases, offering him the last dart. The booth is just a small square tent with open views on all sides so crowds can gather all around. Cheap stuffed animals are hanging from the ceiling, and Peña has his eye on a stuffed panda for his niece. In the center is a large disc that rotates around in a circle with five dart boards lying flat. If you can get all five darts in the center of any of the boards, you get a prize.

“Oh, fuck off.” Murphy mutters. “It can’t be that hard.” He takes the last dart and studies the rotating board intently.

Peña checks his watch, mostly just to mess with him. “Come on, pendejo, it’s not brain surgery.”

Murphy ignores him, as is usual, and takes his time before finally throwing it. It bounces off the metal rim and falls to the ground.

“Shut up.” He warns instantly, and Javi artfully disguises his shit-eating grin.

He pulls another five bucks from his wallet and hands it to the guy running the booth. Luckily for the two DEA agents, or maybe more for the guy running the booth, this spot has the best vantage point to keep an eye on the area of suspicion. They’ve been stuck in this area for thirty minutes at least.

“How are you not sweating, man? This heat is the worst.” Murphy says, shaking out his shirt.

“You lived in Colombia for how long? And after living in Texas-Florida heat is nothing.” He shrugs, throwing the first dart.

“Whatever, you freak. I’m gonna hit the head.” Steve tosses his nachos and wanders away.

Javi is mostly wasting time with the darts. But someone steps next to him and he’s glad Steve walked away. He throws the last dart and gets his bullseye as the pretty girl next to him watches, impressed. He gestures to the panda as his prize and you lean against the railing next to him.

“Interesting choice. I would have assumed the shark.” You say, the teasing smile evident in your voice.

Javi looks from the panda to you and back, examining it. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod matter of factly.

“And why is that?” He asks, leaning next to you, keeping one eye on the area, but you have most of his attention.

“Sharks are mostly harmless until provoked. You seem like you could be dangerous, but most of the time it’s just not worth your effort.” You say.

He chuckles with a self-effacing nod. “Maybe.” He watches you tuck your hair behind your ear before you smile back up at him.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Javier.” He answers. “You?”

You tell him your name and he can’t help but think that it’s one of the prettiest names he’s ever heard.

“Can I ask, Javier, you don’t really strike me as the fair-goer-type. Are you having fun?” You ask.

“Why does everyone think I don’t like fairs?” He asks exasperatedly.

“Well, you did bring a gun.” You whisper, gesturing to the bump on his hip that’s his gun, covered only by his favorite Hawaiian shirt.

He starts at that. “How did you-“

You grin. “My ex-fiancé was a cop. Or, still is, I suppose.”

“Is him being a cop the reason he’s an ex?” He asks.

“No. It was the cheating, the lying, the secret family.” You tick off on your fingers like adding ‘secret family’ to the end of that sentence isn’t the most wild thing to reveal to a stranger. “I was fully ready to be married to a cop. But apparently so was his wife.” You shrug. “My dad, my uncles, my grandpa-all cops. So, lucky for you, I know not all cops are cheating dirtbags, and if I happen to meet a handsome cop at the fair and he were to buy me food or win me a prize, I wouldn’t say no.” You say and all he can do is stare as it dawns on him that you’ve actually been flirting with him this whole time. He used to be better at this.

“Peña.” His earbug crackles and it makes him jump.

“Peña, here.” He responds, never taking his eyes off your pretty face.

“Get your fucking ass ready, man. Target’s here.” Murphy says exasperatedly.

“Shit.” Javi curses.

“Duty calls?” You guess and he’s never been more annoyed at his job than now.

“Unfortunately.” He glances down at the panda in his hand. “Will you hold onto this?” He asks and you nod, taking it in your arms. “I’ll be right back.” He promises quickly before taking off.

That was stupid. He shouldn’t have promised you that.

***

You watch the most handsome man you’ve ever met jog across the green and vault himself over a low brick wall.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest, trapping the stuffed panda there for safe keeping. “Javier Peña.” You muse, walking towards the funnel cake stand nearby. You hope he does come back.

The panda intrigues you, as does the impeccable ability to throw darts at a moving target and never miss.

“I think I’ll call you Amanda, Amanda the Panda.” You tell it. “You look like you want some funnel cake while we wait.” And that’s exactly what you do. There’s a picnic bench nearby and you wait there until Javier isn’t busy anymore.

Whomever he’s arresting, they have a lot of stuff going on because it’s taking forever. You eat a funnel cake, a gyro, and some amazing brisket queso fries.

You snag a napkin not stained with grease and write your address on it. You see him hop back over the wall, heading for you and you smile to yourself.

“Sorry that took so long.” He huffs, running a hand roughly through his dark locks.

“No worries.” You smile at him. “Everything work out alright?” You ask.

“Better than we hoped.” His eyes drop to the stuffed panda tuwcked safely in your arms. “I can take that back.” He starts, reaching for it, but you twist slightly out of his grasp.

“Actually,” you hesitate and he frowns. “Amanda and I have bonded. And we’ve decided that-“

“I’m sorry, who’s Amanda?” He squints.

“Amanda the Panda. And we’ve decided to split custody. So, you can take her back tomorrow night, when you pick us up for dinner.” You tell the poor, shocked cop, handing him the napkin with your address on it.

He takes the napkin dumbly and clears his throat, a smile starting to tug at his pretty lips. “How does seven sound?”

“Like a date.” You reply, taking a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

He waves with a half salute and you disappear from his line of sight into the crowd.

Javi

“You’re really going?” Murphy asks in surprise.

“She’s holding my panda hostage.” Javi shrugs. The whole idea is absurd. But you were really fucking cute, extorting a date out of him.

Steve laughs. “I thought DEA agents don’t negotiate. What did she name the thing again?”

“Amanda the Panda. And who’s negotiating?” Peña grins, tucking his aviators on and heading out of the office’s front doors.

“Good luck with your hostage situation!” Murphy calls after him. Javier departs with a middle finger tossed behind him.

Nervously, ridiculously afraid to do the wrong thing, he buys you flowers. Not roses, that’s… a lot to get back a panda. But daisies? Absolutely.

He pulls up in front of your house and he can tell you’ve put a lot of work into it. The gardens are beautiful and in full bloom, filled with bushes and trees of a deep emerald green, flowers that are bright reds, soft coral pinks, and deep purples. Your house is a quaint one story cottage painted a pastel pink with a white trim.

He gets out of his little truck and walks up to the front door, a soft brown wood, the white paint worn down with age and sand blasting probably. A wreath made of bleached coral and seashells hangs on the door.

If this isn’t the most Florida home he’s ever seen.

He knocks solidly and it’s only a second or two before the door swings open and he’s momentarily speechless. Your hair is styled into soft curls, tempting him to reach out and touch them, run his fingers through them and make them a mess. Your lips are the softest, most delicate shade of pink. You’re wearing a sundress that is so tempting, he almost has to walk away. Thin white straps, bright red cherries with bright green stems. A gathered sweetheart neckline that shows off your heavenly curves perfectly almost has him wishing the weather was just a little bit cooler. But you’d probably find a way to torment him then, too. He can’t even force himself to look down your perfect body to see what kind of shoes you chose to destroy him with. He glances anyway. Simple white platform pumps.

Christ, he’s in trouble.

“I have to admit, I’m not sure I really expected you to show.” You tell him, drawing his attention back to your face.

“You look amazing.” He manages, handing over the flowers.

“Oh, thank you. These are beautiful.” You take them, stepping back and letting him into your home.

He’s not quite sure what he was expecting; maybe a lot of pink to match the outside, looking for all the world like an overstuffed cafe. But it’s actually quite comfortable. Soft colors: sky blue, blush pink-nothing in your face bright. The furniture is cozy without being an explosion of stuffing. It looks like a comfy beach cottage.

“I like your house.” He manages again as you set the flowers in a pretty vase on the coffee table.

“Thank you. I wanted something that reminds me of a day at the beach.” You smile at him and he loses his train of thought again. You select a soft white cardigan off the hooks by the door. “Ready to go? I’m excited to see what you have planned.” You say and he scratches at the back of his head.

“Ready.” He opens the don’t door for you and closes it behind him, waiting patiently while you lock it. “So, you enjoy being at the beach?” He asks, leading you to his little pickup truck.

“Yeah. I can’t imagine living in Florida and hating it.” You look at him curiously. “Do you hate the beach, Javi?” You ask as he opens the door for you, almost as if a yes would devastate you.

He closes it and walks around, climbing in. “No. It’s hard to chase someone in the sand, but I like the view.” He says, turning over the engine. Your perfume fills the space, swirls around him and he finds himself taking extra long breaths just to smell it longer. It’s floral, soft. Beautiful.

“Do your suspects run on the beach a lot?” You ask and he chuckles.

“No, thank god.”

“That’s good. The beach should be for fun things.” You say definitively.

“Like what?” He prompts. He could listen to you tell him things all day long. Doesn’t matter if it’s shit he already knows. Tell him again.

“Tanning, seashell collecting, skinny dipping, watching the waves and storms roll in, kissing in the rain.” You shrug. “The usual.”

He nearly swerves as you mention skinny dipping. You just might kill him. “I like your thinking.” He manages and you laugh.

“You’re adorable when you blush.” You say, half turning to face him in your seat.

“I don’t blush.” He protests.

You reach out softly and brush his cheek. “Right here. Just the cutest.” You tease and his stomach is a mess with butterflies. He captures your hand and kisses the back of it before setting it on the middle seat. But you don’t let go, instead, scooting closer, linking your arm around his and resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“I was thinking Cuban food?”

“Oh my god, yes.” You agree enthusiastically, and he’s happy you’re so into it.

He parks outside the little restaurant and gets out, with you following him out of his door. You reclaim his hand, following him inside.

***

Javier is adorable, blushing at any little innuendo you make. You don’t think he’s innocent, just not used to being on the receiving end.

The restaurant is exactly what you would expect from a Cuban eatery. Full of life, culture, loud music, and amazing smelling food. There are couples dancing out on the cobblestone patio out back that you can spot as you’re led to a booth.

You slide all the way in, leaving space for Javi next to you if he wants, and you hope he does. He slides in next to you, arm draping comfortably on the back of the booth. The waiter sets menus in front of you and walks away to give you time to look.

You shift against Javi slightly, getting comfortable against the side of his chest, hoping that he doesn’t mind you getting so personal so fast.

“Have you been here before?” You ask.

“A couple times. The food is really good.” He says, opening one of the menus. “I like the Milanesa de pollo with white rice and black beans. Or the masitas de puerco.” He says, pointing them out on the menu.

“I get one, you get the other?” You offer and he chuckles.

“Works for me.” He agrees, flipping to the cocktails.

You’re watching him as he reads them off to you. He’s beautiful. You saw it yesterday while he was casually dominating the carnival game. But today? He looks less stressed, even if you do make him flustered.

He seems to realize you’re not really listening to him and he cuts off short, looking at you, confused. “Are you alright?” He asks and you can’t help but smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m perfect.”

The waiter comes back over and you let Javi order for you, his Spanish being far superior to yours.

“So, whole family of cops, engaged to one, looking to date another.” He starts and you’re already grinning. “Are you a cop?” He asks and you laugh.

“No. I’ve broken tradition. I was going to be a teacher, but hated it. So, now I’m a writer. I get to make my own schedule, my own office. My commute is from my bedroom to my living room.” You say and he laughs. It’s deep and a little rough.

“That sounds perfect, to be honest. Have I read anything of yours? I didn’t recognize the name.”

“Probably not. I write under a false name. I do a bit of everything-mystery, horror, romance. Whatever strikes me.” You shrug. “You also don’t seem like the type to have a ton of time to read.”

“Guilty, but maybe I’ll start.” He winks.

You clear your throat, fighting a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss this man. He’s holding you, smelling oh-so-good, and taking an interest? Christ, you just might marry him.

“So, you know about my awkward ex. Anyone lurking in your past?” You ask.

“Oh, you know, just an almost wife.” He says so casually as he sips his drink that it’s almost payback for you doing it to him.

“Almost wife?” You press, eyebrows lifting high.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat gruffly, crunching an ice cube. “Her name was Lorraine. And she was amazing, and I left her the night before the wedding.” He says. He’s not proud of it-you can tell. But he told you, which says something to you, giving you a sense of warmth? Pride? Honor?

“Why?” You ask softly.

“It’s complicated, but the long and tall of it is that she lied about being pregnant to get me to marry her. Told me the night before the wedding that it was all fake. I couldn’t get past it.” He scratches at his chin.

“I don’t blame you.” You say, taking his hand over your shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though.” You start, looking up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Their losses are our gains.” You say brightly and he presses a chuckling kiss to your temple, setting off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, sweetheart.”

Your food is served and not once while you’re eating does the conversation falter. You find out he’s a DEA agent. He’s recently moved back from Colombia where he was stationed. His family all lives in Texas but he only feels a little guilty for not getting back to see them often enough. But his ex is still there and that makes it awkward.

You push your empty plate away, satisfied. “Shit, that was delicious.” You sigh, patting your stomach. His eyes follow the motion and it’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but you’re pretty sure his pupils got bigger.

“How are you at dancing?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“I can hold my own. Would you like to dance?” He asks.

“I would love to.”

He drops cash on the table and leads you out under the string lights and pulls you close. The song switches to something slower. You don’t recognize it, but apparently Javi does. His cheek is resting against yours, holding your hand against the center of his broad chest as he dances the both of you across the semi-crowded floor. He’s humming along and you can’t help but close your eyes, leaning against him, completely at ease. You could very easily spend your days like this, dancing with him in your kitchen after dinner, glass of wine in your hand, this beautiful man in your arms.

The song ends and he pulls back from you, looking almost as reluctant as you are. “We have to go, cariño. I have more planned for us.” He says and you perk up.

“You do?”

“Of course. I need to make a good impression if I ever want my panda back.” He teases.

You grin. “Fair enough, Mr. Peña. Lead the way.” You tell him and he takes your hand, leading you out into the humid air. It’s starting to get dark and you wonder what he could possibly have planned.

He opens his door and you climb back in, sliding across the bench seat to make space for him. He climbs in next to you and gives you a smile before he starts his little truck.

You shift against him, getting comfortable once more. His big arm is around you and it doesn’t really matter to you where he’s taking you.

“Are you always this forward?” He asks, getting back on the road.

“I see no point in lying or hiding what I want.” You shrug. “I like you, I think you’re beautiful. Why would I hide that I want you?”

He gives a strangled sort of chuckle. “Jesus.” He tugs you close, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I like the way you think, princesa.”

“Good.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m older?” He asks.

“Not at all. Men my age just want another mommy. Men like you aren’t looking for that, you’re more experienced, and you’re not looking to play games with my head. Either you want me, or you don’t.”

“Oh, trust me, Angelita, I want you. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you.” He says, pulling into a drive and you recognize the drive-in theater. He buys two tickets and you smile to yourself.

Movies under the stars with Javier? What could be more perfect?

He backs his truck into a space and you look at him, confused. “How are we going to watch it backwards?”

“Come on.” He opens his door and helps you down. You wobble in the grass on your heels and he grins down at you. “God, you’re cute.” He climbs up into the truck bed and pulls out blankets and pillows.

You stare at him, surprised and amazed. Whatever you had expected from tonight, this wasn’t it. You watch him move around to make the truck bed comfortable and cozy for you. You might have to kiss him. You smile to yourself as he hops back out.

“Ready?” He asks, holding out his big hand to you.

“More than ever.” You accept and he leads you to the back.

“Want popcorn?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically and he chuckles. “Ok, doll face. I’ll be right back.” He jogs away to the concession stand a couple rows away and you slide up onto the tailgate while you wait for him. He comes back fairly quickly despite how busy the drive-in is. He sets popcorn and two sodas next to you and goes to move the speakers, setting them on the ledges of the truck bed. He comes back around and looks at you, almost waiting.

“It’s perfect, Javier.” You reach forward, hooking a finger around the top buttoned button of his shirt and pull him closer between your thighs. You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for making tonight so wonderful.” You say softly and his eyes dip closed.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He steps back for you to get comfortable and you cross your legs, removing your heels. You set them out of the way just inside the edge of the truck bed. He lets out a soft little noise and you glance at him curiously.

“Hermosa, you’re killing me.” He sighs, sliding up next to you and taking off his dusty boots. It’s almost weird to you how watching him take off his shoes feels like something intimate. You get the feeling that he doesn’t allow himself to be comfortable around many people.

He sets his boots next to your heels and shifts himself to the back against the pillows with the popcorn and your drinks.

“Coming?” He arches an eyebrow and pats the spot next to him. Yeah, you’re gonna kiss this man until your lips fall off.

You roll and turn to crawl to him on your hands and knees until you can twist and sit next to him.

“Shit.” You hear him curse quietly and you smile innocently to yourself. Glad to know you’re having just as much of an effect on him as he is on you. You shift against him comfortably as his big arm slips around your shoulders, holding you against him. He settles the popcorn between your thigh and his where you can easily reach it. You take a piece, popping it into your mouth. His thumb is brushing soft, slow strokes against the front or your arm next to him, his own like a bar across your chest.

“Do you miss Colombia?” You ask.

“Not particularly. I was down there for my job. I’m certainly not minding being back in the states right now.” He grins down at you.

You smile back, bringing his hand to your mouth, gently kissing his palm. The smell of him is surrounding you, encasing you in everything that is Javier Peña and you never want to leave.

His hand gently cups your throat, sliding up under your chin to tilt your head back for him. He presses those soft lips to your forehead and you close your eyes, crossing your legs tightly. This man is a menace that you will gladly invite into your bed. He shifts, another kiss to your temple, your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw.

Fuck, you’re fucking wet.

The movie starts and he lets you go, turning his attention to the screen.

Rude.

***

He has you desperately trying to hide your peals of laughter as you fight for a piece of popcorn. Every time you reach for a piece, he’s tickling your sides, or taking your hand and eating the piece out of your fingers. His soft lips trap your fingertips in his mouth, his tongue brushing against the pads, licking them free of any salt or butter. His other hand tickling your side to distract you.

It’s when he nips your fingertips that you freeze, fingers still in his mouth. That turned you on more than it was probably supposed to. He releases your fingers and you don’t immediately pull away; instead, letting your thumb brush cross his soft-as-sin lower lip.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you have to inhale extra and your lungs hurt. In that split second, your lips part, his gaze drops to your mouth and then you’re kissing. You don’t know who moved, maybe you both did.

His mouth on yours is like a flame, searing the air from your lungs. He licks at your bottom lip, parting you further, hands gripping at your back, and waist as you thread your fingers through his soft curls. You turn, swinging one leg over his big thighs. His hands grip your thighs, ruching up your dress as they slide up your body to your back and hair, holding you against his chest.

You rock your hips, trying anything to get closer to him, fingers deep in his soft locks. A little tug as you rock and you’re rewarded with the softest moan against your open mouth. His fingers press into your back, crumpling your dress in his possessive grip.

He breaks away from your mouth, kissing down your jaw, your throat, your shoulders as he slides the straps off.

“Hermosa, mierda.” He groans against your skin. “Por favor, can I touch you?” He whispers, and you nod, lost in the feel of him growing hard under you.

He kisses you fiercely, hand sliding under the hem of your summer dress. Soft fingertips skimming up your bare thighs as you nip at his lip, returning the kiss just as eagerly.

He pulls your panties to the side, burying his face against your bare shoulder. He groans as his pads swipe through your drenched folds, teasing your clit with little nudges.

“Cariño, all for me?” He teases. “You’ve been tempting me all night with this pretty dress.” He tells you in a whisper, rubbing tight slow circles around your sensitive little nub. He gives it a few minutes, drawing out your pleasure as it coils low and hot in your belly. You’re cupping his face, kissing him in between ragged breaths and soft moans, pleas for more. He slides his thick fingers down away from your clit towards your entrance, probing you and driving you crazy. He kisses along your neck, licking and sucking a very deliberate mark onto your skin. He nips at it, soothing it with his tongue and sucking before starting again as his fingers coat themselves in your slick before he pushes two inside your warm, velvety tunnel. He moans quietly against your chest. The stretch from his fingers alone is enough for you. You can’t imagine any other part of him yet. His thumb takes up tormenting your sensitive clit as his fingers stroke along your frontal walls easily.

“J-Javi,” your voice breaks as you try to be quiet. But all you can think about is him. The way he smells, and the way he’s clinging to you, the way his mustache scrapes against your skin, the way his tongue licks against you.

“Sh, sh, hermosa.” He coos, nibbling at your earlobe. “Gotta be a good girl for me. Gotta be quiet so all these people don’t know what a naughty girl you are, letting a cop touch this pretty pussy in public.” He says, his voice low and husky in your ear, only serving to make you wetter. You’re grinding against his hand, gasping against his cheek, clinging to him. His other arm is around you, holding you tight against him as he fingers you. “Good girl, baby. So tight, taking my fingers so good.” He praises and you’re melting against him. You lift up, body starting to tense as you try to escape the oncoming orgasm.

He catches the neckline of your dress with his teeth and pulls it down, exposing your breasts to him as you tremble, cumming on his fingers with a whine. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl. You can give me more.” He encourages, latching onto a nipple and giving it the same treatment he gave your neck. Pleasure shoots straight to your cunt where he stokes it against your g-spot.

“J-Javi,” you gasp and he bites gently on your nipple in response. You shudder, grinding harder on his hand beneath your dress.

“Love the way you moan my name, princesa.” He fingers you diligently, never slowing down, his eyes always on you. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you cumming on my fingers. Wanna keep you like this.” He moans. You push down, grinding half against his hand and half against his crotch. He’s hard and aching, you can feel him twitch under you every time you moan in his ear.

You kiss him desperately, tugging at his hair as he steadily works you higher and higher until you snap for the second time. It occurs to you, somewhere in your orgasm-muddled- brain, that he has his fingers inside you out in public where anyone walking by can see. Your tit is out on display, granted it’s crushed against his broad chest, but still.

He licks a hot stripe up the center of your chest, along your throat, to your mouth, kissing you messily. “You’re dripping down my hand, hermosa. Got you so wet.” His own deep voice cracks as you whimper against his neck. “Want you to cum again. Want you to soak my hand, baby. Drench me and give me everything you have.” He urges, fingers picking up pace inside you and on your clit. His arm is wrapped tightly around you, holding you where he wants you. He sucks on your neck again, biting your skin and fingering you furiously.

Your soul leaves your body as you convulse and orgasm on his fingers. He holds you against his lap, making you take the pleasure he’s giving you. Not letting you escape from it like you normally would. He doesn’t stop. You wonder if his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t stop, chasing orgasm number four from your body. Your inner walls are clenching around his fingers, riding them with an unknown desperation as he marks up your skin with his perfect mouth. Small whimpers are leaving your body as he drags you higher and higher and higher and higher until your body snaps and you go slack, arching back away from him as you tremble with your most powerful orgasm yet.

He lays you back on the blanket carefully, adjusting your legs to be more comfortable. He pulls his sopping wet hand out from under your dress, holding it up for you to see it glistening in the moonlight. “So fucking pretty.” He praises. “Fuck, I could watch you cum all day long.” He says, licking his fingers and giving a small moan. “You’re fucking delicious. Sweetest pussy on earth.” He says, sucking his fingers clean as you watch him through half lidded eyes. He leans over you, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Combined with his taste, you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him there.

He indulges for just a few minutes but then shifts himself between your thighs. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk around with your cum dripping down your thighs for the rest of the night?” He chuckles, lifting your dress.

“Should be your cum dripping out of me.” You say and he grins.

“That’s for next time.” He promises, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to exist. His hand is over your exposed tit as he buries his head in your pussy. If you thought his fingers had you seeing stars? That’s nothing to the way his tongue brushes against every inch of you. He pushes it deep inside you, slurping at you, swirling around your already quivering clit. It traces every inch of your flower, searching for the nectar you release until he makes you cum two more times and then he declares you’re decent.

You are, in fact, not decent. You should like to show him right here right now how indecent you would like to be with him, but you currently can’t move. He fingered the bones right out of your body. He adjusts your dress, covering you back up and making you proper again. He lies next to you, the both of you facing the wrong way for the movie, but you don’t even care. You curl up against him, head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“I’ve never cum like that before.” You tell him and he chuckles, his fingertips tracing lines down your bare arms.

“That’s a crying shame. You’re stunning, and when you cum-it’s like a whole different level. I would love to watch you cum over and over all day someday. Just to watch that face you make and hear those gorgeous noises.” He says and you feel yourself blushing. “Maybe next time, we can be somewhere for you to be loud. Wanna hear you scream my name.” He whispers and you groan.

“That probably won’t be a problem.” You admit and he laughs quietly. “Can I-“ you reach for his belt buckle, but he catches your wrist.

“This was about you tonight, hermosa.” He says, pulling your hand back up to hold it on his chest.

“You look uncomfortable.” You tell him and he chuckles.

“Reward of a job well done. I like a little bit of pain.” He says softly.

You file that bit of information away for later. “Alright, just don’t go exploding. I’d like to see you again.” You warn him and he kisses the crown of your head.

“Not to worry, princesa. I won’t explode without you.” He promises and you snuggle more against his chest, satisfied and getting sleepy.

***

Javi

He looks down at you, asleep in his arms and drops his head back down. He’s in trouble. He likes this way too much for this to be his first date with you.

The credits are rolling but he doesn’t care that you both missed more than half of the movie. He lifts his head, kissing the top of your hair.

“Hermosa,” he whispers. “Wake up, pretty girl.” He says gently rocking your shoulder. You don’t move and he gently shifts you off his chest and onto your back. He kisses your forehead, between your cute little eyebrows, the tip of your nose. One temple, then the other. He can see your eyelids fluttering. He kisses down your cheek, the point of your chin, up your other cheek.

Christ, you smell good. He nudges your head to the side with his nose, kissing down your neck, admiring his handiwork with the hickie he left. He licks at the hollow in the center at the base of your throat. He allows one small nip at your skin, soothing it over with his tongue as your face scrunches and you whine softly. He trails slow kisses down your sternum, nipping at the top of your perfect breasts. He licks there, too and you shiver as the cool breeze blows over it.

You whine again, your hands coming up to settle in his hair. He kisses down between your breasts, down over your stomach, hands bunching up your skirt, wondering how far you’ll let him go with this.

“Don’t be a tease, Peña.” You mumble, eyes still closed and he chuckles.

“Movie’s over, cariño.” He comes back up, brushing your soft cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“And?” You sigh, pulling his head to yours and he laughs, kissing you with repeated quick little pecks. “You’re such a menace.” You complain.

“I’m aware.” He grins, rolling back over next to you and you sit up.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” You ask, rolling against his chest and looking down at him. Your hair falls into your face, tickling him. He brushes it back, taking every chance to touch you now that he knows he can.

“I’m not supposed to. But in my line of work, you never really know.” He says.

“Okay. I can live with that.” You kiss him softly and pull away too quickly. He tries to follow, half sitting up and you laugh.

“I should take you home before the bugs eat you alive.” He says, sitting up next to you and leaning back on his hands.

“Unless you want another go at it.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he laughs.

“I’m not saying no.” He turns and scoots to the tailgate, pulling his boots on. You slide next to him and he gets down, scooping you up easily.

You shriek and laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Smooth.”

He winks and sets you in the front seat. He returns the speakers, gathers up the pillows and blankets and throws away the popcorn. He climbs back in and returns your shoes.

He starts the truck and is pleased when you lean against him again. He could very easily get used to this. He drives you home, parking out front. He climbs out, holding his hand out for you. He doesn’t let it go, though, as he walks you to the front door.

You hesitate at the door, fiddling with your keys. “Can I tempt you to come inside?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Darlin’, if anyone could, it would be you. But, I think I’m going to say no tonight. I always rush into everything and this-I want to take this slow.” He says, his heart cracking at turning you down, but you don’t get mad, you just smile at him so sweetly.

“Alright.” You beckon him closer and kiss him deeply, arms wrapped around his shoulders, on your tiptoes, fevered. He returns it, hands bunching into fists against your back.

“Christ, woman.” He pulls back, heart racing and breathing hard. Luckily, you look just as flushed as he feels. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He asks.

“Pending any major drug related emergencies? Absolutely.” You nod and he grins.

“It’s a date. Breakfast? I have plans.”

“I can be up in time for breakfast.” You agree.

“Perfect. Goodnight.” He says softly and makes sure you get inside and the door locks before he walks back to his truck. He climbs inside, grinning like an idiot. And it isn’t until he starts the engine that he remembers the stupid panda.

“Fuck.”

[storiesbreathed]

hit that heart for a meme spam from one of the new or high activity muses :

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