blessthegulag

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You, Pt. 3

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem! Reader

Summary: There’s one thing you can’t get out of your mind, and it’s him.

Warnings: post MW2 Las Almas

Word Count: 8.8k

Notes: Well, here we are a year later. I had planned to write this chapter a month after the first two came out, but I finally abandoned the idea bc life lol. This girl right here was kissed by the 6.2ft Cuban guy (and omfg do I still foam at the mouth thinking about it lmao), and started a lil something with the guy to end up discovering that he had A WHOLE GIRLFRIEND. For 10 years too. So girlies, don’t get close to a Cuban man EVER. Lesson learned. 

Now that I think about it, I also cheated lmao. But anyway. He helped me dump my ex, so I guess it’s a morally ambiguous win? I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. But smut tastes better when written by someone like me. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You thought time would solve all of your problems. 

Going back home was your way to forget; drown yourself in work, throw yourself at the arms of other men in hopes to erase the traces of his touch, forget his sweet verbatim that had taken the place of any rational thought. 

It worked, for a while. 

A simple formula. Work, home, socializing, meeting new people, taking them to bed. Doing anything and everything to avoid being alone with your own thoughts, hearing the hard truth that your mind had prepared for you. 

You filled every second of the day. 

But it was taking a toll on you. 

Soon enough, the stress from your job had you having panic attacks, your performance worsening slowly but surely. Your superiors started taking notice of it, and it got to a point where they told you to take a break. 

Stop everything. Stop the stress, the self harm, learn to cope like an adult. That’s what you were hearing. But there was something romantic in reaching the breaking point, in overworking your soul to the point where you became a shell of who you were before. 

All because you didn’t want to listen to the truth. A truth that you heard every time silence embraced you. 

You needed him. 

Whatever it was that you felt for him, you needed to feel it again. Even if it was lust, obsession, you needed more. 

Life didn’t make sense without him. 

But there was something about the situation that stopped you from acting in ways that you could regret: you felt nothing. It was obsession, infatuation, not love. 

The thought of pursuing something with Alejandro felt out of place, alien. It could be your own apprehension, your detachment from everything emotional, but there was nothing. 

Or that’s what you wanted to believe. 

Either way, your obsession was enough for you to think about him at all times. When you expected it less, there you were, thinking about him. What would he be doing right now, if he missed you as much as you did, if he had found someone new, and you were only a distant memory of what could’ve been. 

It consumed you. You were not yourself anymore, but a junkie, a lost puppy. 

You couldn’t be alone anymore. Distancing from everyone as a punishment from your own actions was only going to end badly, for you and everyone around you. 

That’s why you decided to take action. 

It was late at night, and there was zero chance of you falling asleep. The heat of summer was creating a humid, asphyxiating ecosystem in your apartment, making your clothes cling to your body, the sweat curling the edges of your hair into uneven, ratty strands of wet hair. 

The standing fan was on full blast, the distant hum of the TV stimulating your exhausted brain. As you typed into your laptop, you could feel the heat radiating off of it, making you sweat more. 

Cheap flights to Las Almas.

It was obvious that there was not much thought behind your impulsive action. 

You clicked on the American Airlines’ page, and picked the closest date. 

A thousand fucking dollars. 

Good lord. 

You sighed, the air getting caught in your throat.

Maybe you didn’t miss him as much. For the small chance of him wanting you back, maybe it was not worth it to spend so much. 

Maybe. 

But intelligence and your name didn’t pair well. 

You needed to do it, whatever the consequences were.

A click, and the flight was already booked. 

Then came the hotel. Small, cozy, at least in the pictures. For what it was worth, you could care less of what it looked like. 

It was done. 

Now you had to do it, for the amount you had spent. Worst case scenario, you’d have a nice vacation in Mexico, and maybe you’d be able to find someone similar to him, who would call you chula and güera just like he did. 

You threw your laptop to the other side of the bed, lava seeping from your chest, nerves overtaking you whole. 

You were manic, absolutely out of your mind. 

—————

It had been ages since you had stepped foot in an airport (not in a military scenario, of course). It was very similar to the ones in military bases, though it was evident, by the thousand different colors, textures and shapes of clothing, of hairstyles, that this was just an ordinary place. Ignoring your own clothes— comfortable, something that matched your taste, nothing that stood out too much, you felt out of place. 

You were sitting, your luggage in front of you, your documents in your hand, overly sensitive to any stimulus. 

You could feel the air traveling through your whole body, the vibrations of the other people readjusting in their own seats. The place smelled of disinfectant and perfume, the air filled with chatter and panicked arguments. 

Some people were running to their gates, others were silently enjoying their coffee and scrolling on their phones. Kids were running around, giving their mothers a headache, while others peacefully slept in their laps. 

Las Almas was still not a place for tourists, you recalled. As much as the situation was calmer, you knew that people would rather spend their time in DF, Cancún or Jalisco, rather than a town south of Texas known for its huge criminality rate.

The boarding gate to Las Almas was a live representation of it. Barely any Americans, and the few of them who were, weren’t traveling to Las Almas for a mimosa and beautiful resorts.

You were probably the only one doing this for a man. And out of all the possibilities for being there, yours was surely the most embarrassing one. 

But there was no going back, you had to do it. 

You sighed heavily. 

You had five minutes before you had to board. 

Enough to dig your grave deeper. 

You took your phone, and scrolled through your contacts. 

This was so, so wrong. 

Breathe.

Nothing wrong with this. 

Do it. 

A tone. 

Two. 

Then, you heard him. 

“Coronel Vargas al habla. ¿Con quien tengo el gusto?”

Coronel Vargas speaking. Who am I speaking with?

Your words caught in your throat. 

“Uh… Hello, Alejandro.”

Silence. 

You started regretting everything. 

“This is my work number, güera,” he said through the phone with confidence, taking time to pronounce each syllable with the utmost perfection. He didn’t sound angry, or bothered, but rather, he was making a statement: he needed to remain professional. 

“I know,” you said plainly, rushing through the words.

“What is it? I didn’t get notified by your superiors,” he said, his tone so silky smooth, so sweet, like a tropical night, like something forbidden. 

“This is not work related,” you said. You breathed in, looked at the people around you, not focusing on anyone in particular. 

Alejandro’s silence was heavy, charged with confusion and anticipation. You could almost picture him in his office, stern, dark hair slicked back, thick brows furrowed, a small hint of curiosity in his lips. 

“Not work-related?” he repeated, the smooth cadence in his voice transporting you back to your days in Mexico. It was not on purpose, yet his tone sounded so intimate, so confident, it was hard to believe that someone could be as intense, as comforting as he was. “Entonces, a qué debo el placer?”

So, to what do I owe the pleasure? 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the air not quite reaching your lungs. The passengers were already boarding the plane. 

“I’m on my way to Las Almas,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you should know.”

You heard the rustling sound as he shifted in his seat. “Why?”

You pressed your jaw shut, the tension in your body starting to hurt. You couldn’t find the right words, you couldn’t make sense of your feelings. You just needed to see him, to feel what you felt back then; those sensations that once scared you so much, now the reason for all of those sleepless nights.

“I could try to make out a reason,” you started, sincere, terrified. “But there’s none. I just— I needed to see you.”

You knew his heart was beating as fast as yours, the silence electric, unstable. 

That would never change between you, even across countries.

“When will you arrive?” he spoke softly, his tone lower, smoother.

Your eyes flickered to the boarding gate, the last of passengers trickling through. “In a few hours. I’ll be there by tonight.”

Alejandro remained silent for a moment longer, you wondered if he was trying to find a way to respond. That only further turned you into a nerve ball, shaking and awaiting his voice, desperate. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, güerita,” he said. “We’ll talk when you get there.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I have to board now. See you, Alejandro.”

“Travel safe, güerita. Nos vemos.”

You said a last goodbye to him, ending the call. Reality hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you breathless, confused. You put your phone away, heading to the boarding gate barely able to hold it together.

You had to be quite a view, at that moment. You were sure that everyone knew what was going on with you, some looking at you with apprehension, some with endearment, making out their own personal telenovela: the güerita leaving everything behind for the ranch owner, sacrificing her comfortable life in the city for a man who promised her the world and beyond.

This was no such case, of course. It was messy, bittersweet, more drama than romance, the kind of situation that would drive anyone crazy. It was the last bite of something nice, the realization that your favorite shirt was torn, that your parents were starting to get old and there was no way of stopping it. 

It was not telenovela material, it was indecision, avoidance, pain;  a storm. Of course, the storm was you, the thunder that looked for the first thing to land on; to destroy. 

You were an example of nothing, the wrong object of envy. It was incredibly wrong, ever since it started, you already knew the outcome of it. 

So, then, why knowing the future with such clarity can’t stop you? 

Why were you so willing to go through with it, knowing what will happen?

You knew why. It was the adrenaline, the anticipation and surge of intense emotions you felt when you were close to him. Of course, that didn’t mean that it was right. That it felt right, didn’t mean it really was. 

It was right in front of you, and you were putting a veil in front of your eyes. 

But you were addicted.

You’d do anything to experience it again, even if it meant leaving everything behind. 

So that’s what you were doing. 

At least for some time. 

A blur in the timeline of your life. 

You’d cope. 

—————

The plane touched down with a gentle thud, taking your focus away from the hypnotizing night skyline of Las Almas. As the plane taxied towards the terminal, you started to hear the murmurs of relief, others of joy. Some even clapped a couple times, and the children, long asleep, started to get woken up by their parents. 

You picked up your luggage with caution, not to throw anyone else’s belongings to the floor. 

The first thing that you noticed was the change of temperature and humidity. Even if it was nighttime, the lingering heat of the day still was present, the mix of it with the humidity giving you a sensation of claustrophobia. 

Apart from the discomfort you were feeling at the moment, the half empty airport gave you a sense of tranquility. It was the last flight of the day, and it was evident in the worker’s faces, who guided you with precision through the airport, rushing to get home themselves.

The modest aura of the place changed something in your brain chemistry. To any other American, this place would’ve been rough, old, too in the middle of nowhere to be worth a visit. But to you, it felt comforting. 

You walked through the old terminal until you reached the outside of the airport. At first, you only saw taxis and old vehicles, the feeling of uncertainty taking away from the beating of your heart. You almost felt lost, sad. 

But then, you saw him.

Alejandro. 

He was dressed in his usual military attire, his presence ever so commanding, so intense. He stood tall, his hair slicked back, his uniform immaculate.

There were three jeeps behind him, his subordinates guarding the vehicles with utmost sobriety.

It took your breath away. 

You made your way up to him, your expression a mix of apprehension, fear and eagerness. Not that you could see yourself, but that was what you were feeling. 

Alejandro showed a small smirk, stepping closer to you with caution, as if to not scare you away. You looked him up and down, taking in every feature of his. 

“Welcome back to Las Almas, güera,” he said, using that same tone when you first met him: rough, upbeat, yet distant. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it was not this, at least not fully. 

But you knew deep down that receiving you with a bouquet and a kiss wasn’t exactly how you left things. If anything, a ‘welcome back’ was the nicest thing he could’ve said.

Somehow, your heart was fluttering with an unknown feeling. The best way you could describe it was apprehension, need, happiness, exhaustion;  a dry heat that complimented the dim moonlight, a sad summer night. 

He was everything. 

“How was your flight?” he asked, carefully  taking your luggage and passing it onto the other soldiers, who placed it in the trunk of the first jeep. 

“It was fine,” you replied, glancing around at the other men. Some you knew, others were new; new Vaqueros. “Long, but fine.”

He nodded, his hands behind his back, just like the first time you met, though this time, neither John nor Simon were with you. It brought out a layer of intimacy, one that creeped you out, like it always happened.

“We should get you settled, then,” he said. “I could have arranged things differently if I knew you were coming, but you’re here now.”

Then, Alejandro guided you to his Jeep, opening the door for you with a swift move. You stepped into the back seat, the familiar smell flooding you instantly. 

Jasmine, sandalwood. 

The same as that night with him. 

Your breath got caught in your throat. 

Alejandro got in the driver’s seat, nodding to the Vaquero on his side. “Where are we going, güera?”

You whispered the location, hypnotized by how the light highlighted his strong features, making him look like a divine being. 

Then, he nodded, and the Jeep started moving.

You heard them speak in Spanish, though it was obvious you could understand nothing. 

Wey, ¿qué pongo? Esta emisora está bien aburrida.

Llamando ‘wey’ a tu coronel. Te pasas, carnal. 

Bueno, pero, ¿qué pongo, señor coronel?

You heard Alejandro laugh. 

Ponle unos corridos, así aprende de buena música.

A huevo, coronel.

The Vaquero changed the song, the melancholic tune of the song hitting you instantly. Somehow, it was incredibly sad, yet romantic. It made you feel some sort of way. 

You weren’t exactly sure how.

The only thing you knew was that you loved it. 

Creo que le gusta, mirale los ojitos.

Alejandro looked at you through the rearview mirror. You crossed glances with him, your insides turning into mush for a second. In the same way that his eyes softened when he saw you, your heart jumped in place, the anticipation playing games in your head. 

Ya lo creo, carnal. 

¿Esa es la morrita que estuvo con la 141?

Si, ella misma. 

Wey, la neta que cualquier cosa menos soldado, lo digo. ¿Esa carita? No wey, no la dejaría salir de casa. Como un trofeo la tendría, te digo.

Alejandro laughed, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

No va a querer nada contigo, carnal.

¿Cómo lo sabes, eh?

Lo sé, carnal.  Solo lo sé.

You heard the Vaquero scoff, and look out of the window, ignoring Alejandro. The tension between them both was palpable, but not intense. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you: the tone, the quick glances.

It was obvious. 

The drive went by quickly, with more chatter between Alejandro and the other man, and Mexican music. 

Soon enough you recognized the big sign of the hotel  from Google Maps, and peace finally set inside you. Alejandro parked in front of the small building, and ordered the Vaquero to stay in the car. 

Then, he helped you out of the car, and you two walked up to the reception. 

There, an old man was waiting at the front desk. He had rounded glasses, a bushy white mustache, and had his hair neatly slicked back. He wore a simple white shirt and dress pants, like he never rested, and there was no need for comfortable clothes around here. 

The man looked at you two with a polite smile, the obvious wearing of life giving him the expression of a man who knew it all. Somehow, it was endearing, safe; on the other, it was as if he simply knew about you, like he knew what was going on inside your head. 

Alejandro spoke for you, arranging the check-in and avoiding your own embarrassment. It went smoothly, and soon enough, you were walking through a path covered in tropical plants, in search of cabin number sixteen. 

The apartments had their own little touches, not one was the same. Each of them had their own distinct color, imperfect from the wear of time, each repair visible on the walls. Flowers and plants decorated the small porsche, the dim lights giving a sense of intimacy to the cabins.

“You went all out with your choice,” Alejandro remarked, impressed by the beauty of the apartments. 

“It was not expensive,” you said. “Besides, a real hotel felt impersonal.”

“This is not expensive for someone like you, güerita. But not to the average Mexican,” he said, sighing, slouching his shoulders forward. 

He looked tired. 

“You’re not the average Mexican, either,” you whispered, reaching cabin number sixteen. 

“I know,” he said, a bare acknowledgement that you knew held much more meaning. 

Alejandro knew his place, his privileges for being who he was, but that did not mean that he didn’t know the power that he held. 

Such a responsibility required all of his energy, and Alejandro was aware of it. 

The rusted key was heavy on your hand. You couldn’t bring yourself to open the door, a divine force pulling you away from it.

It was a humid night, the temperature close to uncomfortable. You could smell Alejandro’s cologne, the sweet aroma of the vegetation around you, too. It was overwhelming. Like the entirety of Mexico was Alejandro’s, and by that logic, you were also his. 

That’s how intense it felt. 

You couldn’t handle it anymore. 

“Thank you, Alejandro,” you said, turning to your side to face him, the air between you thick, asphyxiating. “For picking me up. Many wouldn’t have done it.”

“You know I couldn’t say no to you, güera,” he said, this tone deep, barely above a whisper. 

You picked up courage, and raised your eyes to look at him. Somehow, he was more handsome than before. Those sweet, dark eyes, that presence of his. 

He was all you needed. 

And you could guess, by the way that he was looking at you, that he felt something similar. 

Silence. 

The wind. 

You got closer to him. 

Placed your hand on his nape, pulled him towards you. 

A kiss.

Your heartbeat quickened, the thuds in your chest audible from a distance. You were acting on instinct, terrified. 

And for a second, it felt like time stopped. 

He was scalding hot against your body, his lips so familiar, so comforting… your mind went blank. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him like you were water, and he was a dying man. 

You grabbed onto his shoulders, deepening the kiss, corresponding that intensity of his, and doubling it. You were feral, out of your mind. 

It felt wrong. 

But you enjoyed it so much. 

You needed him. 

Space was nothing but a lost thought, your body welded into his, fighting to get every inch of contact. The world faded around you, Alejandro’s hands gripping your waist tighter, his lips moving against yours with urgency, with hunger. 

Jasmine. 

Sandalwood. 

Distant rain. 

There was no air, no space. 

You were desperate, reduced to a feverish need for him. 

Nothing mattered.

Only him. 

Then, he broke away from you. His breath was hitched, grappling with himself to not give in. 

You saw the tension in him— his restraint. How his hands, though strong and possessive, hesitated. 

“Stop. Stop,” he gasped, his forehead pressed against yours, leaving hanging.

You blinked, confused, his expression leaving you frozen on the spot. 

“What are you doing?”

“This is not right,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough. There was no anger, only a sadness that settled deep in his words. “You can’t keep doing this.”

You looked at him, feeling like you had been punched in the gut. 

Still, you didn’t want to accept defeat, to show that you were weak. 

“Doing what?”

“Y/N, no. Don’t start.”

Your first instinct was to fight back, to prove yourself. But deep down, you knew he was right. 

And you hated it. you hated that he could see right through you, that he was holding a mirror up to your broken pieces.

“But I need this,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. 

He pulled his forehead away from yours, sliding a hand up to your cheek. “I know,” he said softly, his thumb caressing your skin. “But you need to figure out what it is that you want. To be honest with yourself.”

You shook your head, wanting to argue, but you had nothing to say. 

He was right. 

You were a mess. 

Finally, he stepped back, his hands falling away from you. You stood there, keys in hand, looking at him like a lost puppy. 

“Rest, güerita,” he said. “There’s enough time.”

And with that, Alejandro disappeared, leaving you alone, confused.

It was the first bucket of cold water. 

—————

The sun woke you up. 

You stirred in bed, still groggy, the thoughts of the previous night not yet present in your head. The air smelled of fresh laundry and the light that managed to hit you warmed up your smooth skin, inviting you to stay in bed for the rest of the day. 

You breathed in, stretching, covering up the whole bed. Then, you blinked, looking up at the ceiling; it had some cracks, but it comforted you, reminding you of your childhood room. 

Nothing was able to bother you at that moment. 

Finally resting, away from your job, with no responsibilities. It was okay. Not great, not horrible. Just fine. Like your life was meant to be. You were unsure if you had ever felt that at peace, but you knew what it was supposed to feel. And you were feeling it now, even with Alejandro’s rejection still scorched in your retinas. 

But that didn’t mean that it didn’t make you feel some sort of way. 

Right after entering the apartment, you felt shame. You had been deeply stupid to think that Alejandro would trip on the same stone three times. Especially after he expressed so clearly what he needed, and you still dismissed it. 

To you, it had been nothing but an encounter, something that didn’t carry much meaning. Not the first time that happened, surely not the last. 

The first time was temptation. The second, manipulation. 

If the third was ever to happen, it would be desperation.

Nothing new. 

Whatever. 

You didn’t let your brain take over your emotions, make you think. If that were to happen, you would gain some self awareness, and honestly, you were not up for the challenge yet. 

So you began moving. You dressed up, made yourself presentable, and abandoned the apartment as fast as you could. Now, your brain was focused on walking the streets of Las Almas in search of a spot to eat. 

Some time back, you walking around unsupervised would be a death wish. It still kind of was, but with Valeria behind bars the streets would be safer, at least for some time. 

Las Almas was as you remembered. Kind of filthy, still very poor; but there was an inherent beauty to the place. The buildings, the local stands, the people out and about. There was no fear anymore, there was actual life outside. So much so, that there were children, and that was the biggest indicator that the job that Los Vaqueros did was more than successful. 

To say that Las Almas was a happy place was optimistic, delusional, even, but truth was, that this new reality had given a new meaning to life in Las Almas. 

And you were glad to be part of it, even if it had been a small contribution. 

The plaza unfolded slowly as you wandered in, the scent of last night’s rain still clinging to the concrete. Morning sun pushed through thick clouds, casting everything in a gauzy, golden haze. You hadn’t eaten. That was the only thing you were sure of: the gnawing emptiness in your stomach, the sharp edge of caffeine withdrawal creeping up your spine.

Then came the smell.

Tortillas, meat, chiles, oil sizzling. The kind of scent that hit your bloodstream before your brain. You followed it, barely thinking, weaving through the quiet crowd until you found a stall tucked behind a cluster of trees and cracked benches.

Small, makeshift. Plastic stools, one long folding table, a tarp held up by rope and rusted poles. It was perfect.

You stepped up, gesturing toward the woman working the stove. She smiled, kind, lined face, eyes that knew life. But she didn’t understand you. A few words were exchanged, none of which landed. Then she called someone over.

He emerged from behind the counter, tall and lean, early twenties maybe. Split brow. Tattoos down his arms, not the aesthetic kind. Gang ink. Cartel work. You recognized the iconography before your body did, but when it caught up, your spine went rigid. The way you used to react in the field. Fingers twitching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

He didn’t flinch. Just stared.

Eventually, you ordered the only thing you recognized. He asked questions. Too fast. You answered in broken Spanish, embarrassed, cheeks warm. He didn’t laugh, but the look he gave you made you feel like he wanted to.

You sat under the tarp, elbows resting on the plastic table, trying to breathe past your racing pulse. This was safe. This wasn’t a threat. You weren’t a soldier anymore. This was just food.

The plate arrived without a word. Chilaquiles rojos, eggs, cheese, crema. The first bite made you pause. Salt, heat, crunch, softness. A mix of sensations that slowed everything down. You hadn’t even realized how fast your mind had been spinning until that moment.

You didn’t look at anyone. You just ate.

The boy hovered a little longer than necessary before walking off. Not hostile. Just watching. There was something in his glance that saw you too clearly. Not the dress or the accent. You. You didn’t know what to make of that.

The stall buzzed around you. Locals came and went. Old men with newspapers. Kids on bikes. A woman selling paletas from a cooler on wheels. Life, unfiltered.

You sat there longer than necessary, watching steam rise from your plate, your breath finally slowing to match the rhythm of the street. For the first time in days, your brain wasn’t full of static.

Maybe this was why you came.

Not for him. Not entirely. But to let the noise stop. To feel the world again without thinking about what it meant.

When you finished, you left a tip on the table, nodded to the señora, and stepped back into the sun. It had risen higher, burning off the last of the night’s rain. Your skin was already starting to stick. You didn’t care.

You made it a few steps across the plaza before your phone buzzed.

A single message.

You weren’t expecting it, not so direct, not so early. 

[Alejandro: Are you free tonight?]

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

[Y/N: Yes]

God, why were you being so dry? For what?

You were terrified, you had to be. 

Why was he messaging you so early after that show you put on last night? After he rejected you like that?

The dots appeared. 

Then disappeared. 

Then appeared again. 

You clenched your jaw. 

[Alejandro: Wear something nice. I’ll pick you up at 8.]

You stared at the message like it was a unicorn. 

It was direct, easy, but you weren’t capable of believing it. After all you did to him, after coming to Las Almas in the most impulsive way you could think of, and he was treating you right? What the hell was that?

You wouldn’t have stood so much foolery being in his shoes. If you were him, you wouldn’t have answered the phone in the first place; you would’ve tried forgetting you both. 

Whatever the fuck had been that. 

But he wasn’t. He was there. And somehow, you felt like running away. But you couldn’t. 

You had brought a stunning dress before coming, and you had to wear it. You promised your past self. 

—————

You knew 8 was too early for dinner in Mexico. You knew that the man had tried accommodating you and your American tendencies as best as he could. Alejandro was that type of man. You’d tested it before. 

Those little gestures that could be so easily overlooked, and yet, you somehow didn’t. You noticed everything Alejandro did. That was the problem, you just pretended not to.

At 7:55, like a lost little girl, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, your palms clammy against the cheap linen. The room smelled faintly of jasmine. At first it had startled you, but soon you realized that he was not there, that you were alone. 

Like any woman trying to impress a man, you had overthought your outfit to the point of not wanting to go anymore. You’d changed three times. First, that bodycon black dress. Then jeans and an ultramarine top, then something softer, silky, more daytime. 

But you went back to the dress, of course. The first time you tried it on, you gasped at yourself at the bluntness of what such a dress meant: fuck me. You were horrified at that, like you were your own mother after Sunday mass. The second time, you really saw yourself. Were you trying to seduce him, or  impress him? What did you want out of him?

By that point, you weren’t sure anymore. You had come here with a purpose, and thought that it would be as easy as being you. But no. He had seen right through you, deciphered it with the speed of a man who had fallen bewitched by the same woman twice. 

You two were a show, you had to admit. Him, so lost in the idea of such a girl, surely ignoring all the red flags in the world to be with someone like you: cruel, emotionless, lost in herself, and unknowingly hurting everyone that tried getting to the rose. 

So finally, the bodycon dress stayed on. Whatever you were feeling in that moment, you had to enhance to the max. Black heels, light jewellery, perfect hair, a dark perfume with coffee notes, bitter yet enchanting, sweet if you got close enough. The makeup, of course, was another enhancement of that feeling of lost, yet powerful seduction. 

You weren’t trying to be, not in the strict meaning of the word. 

At first, you didn’t understand yourself. It took you a while of staring at yourself in the mirror, sitting in the bed. Who was that woman in there? What was she doing? Did she really want to be there?

And then, it clicked. 

I wasn’t trying to seduce. You were  angry; You felt betrayed. You couldn’t get the idea of Alejandro rejecting you, so your mind had come with the idea of battling him with the full arsenal. 

If the man was not going to come to his senses, you would make him. 

But you couldn’t be so bold (though you were), so in your behavior had to come the mantra of not needing anything from him. 

If he didn’t want you, you didn’t either. But you would make him need you. 

That was the game tonight.

At 8:03, you heard the low rumble of an engine, not the Jeep this time. Something different. 

You stepped out onto the little patio, your heart a tight knot of heat and nerves.

And there it was. A convertible 70’s Chevelle, midnight black. The chrome shone faintly under the amber streetlights, and for a second, you thought you were in a dream. That image right there was something that didn’t belong to that dusty little corner of Las Almas. 

And then, there was him. 

He wasn’t in uniform. Of course he wasn’t. He wore a charcoal button down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, as neat as that stupid car. His leather watch stood out on his wrist, and as you got closer, you got the hint of jasmine and sandalwood amidst the smell of old-car combusted gasoline. 

When he saw you, he got out of the car. He straightened slowly, eyes scanning you from head to toe. Not in hunger, but in something you caught as delight. 

“Buenas noches, güera.”

You walked toward him, slow, cautious. Those heels weren’t made for walking.

“You said nice,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. 

How foreign that felt. 

He placed his own hand on your waist, his grip confident, strong, like you were about to melt in front of him. Then, Alejandro took another look at you, this time more playful, more genuine. 

“You did more than nice.”

He opened the door for you. Once, that would’ve gotten you out of the mood. But now it felt right. 

So you got in. The leather was warm, just as the air around you. 

You crossed your legs as gracefully as the tight dress allowed, settling into the Chevelle’s leather seat with the ease of someone pretending to belong there. 

Alejandro got in beside you, started the engine. The low growl of it echoed in your chest. He didn’t look at you as he drove off, didn’t say much, either. 

The streets were dimly lit, the palm shadows dancing over the car as the sun began to hide. You were driving uphill now, out of the older parts of Las Almas, past the patchy buildings and into an area you hadn’t seen before. The air changed: less dust, more breeze.

You glanced at Alejandro. He had one hand on the wheel, the other relaxed near the shifter, his profile strong, beautiful, unreadable. The way he drove was steady, practiced, like everything he did, really. You found yourself gripping your thighs, trying to ground yourself. You’d come here armored, but there was something about that damn man that made you feel naked even in that damned dress. 

“You look nervous,” he said without looking at you.

“I’m not,” you lied.

A pause.

“I wasn’t going to bring you to a cantina,” he added. “I know what you think of me.”

You turned to him, trying to decipher his tone. “What do I think of you?”

He smirked, the corner of his lip twitching upward. “That I’m simple.”

You didn’t answer. Maybe you thought that once upon a time. When you saw him for the first time at the Vaqueros’ hangar. You thought he was egocentric, grandiose. But soon you got to know him. And you discovered the inherent vulnerability in him, the lack of fear. What you thought was narcissism, ended up becoming deep, pure love for a country that was rotten to the core. He was a man of strong emotions, strong decisions. A true leader. 

So no, you did not think he was simple. 

That you showed him you believed that was different. 

After twenty minutes or so, the car slowed. You recognized none of it, this wasn’t the downtown you remembered. It was higher ground, residential maybe, more elegant. Then you saw it: a modern penthouse bar perched at the edge of the hills, glass and metal and amber light. It overlooked the whole city, stars stretching into forever.

He parked. Turned to you, watching your reaction.

“Come on,” he said, voice low, smooth. 

The rooftop restaurant wasn’t loud, no music, no crowds. Just dim lighting, sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the whole of Las Almas. There were candles on the tables, low conversation in the corners, and a wide-open sky above the glass terrace.

Refined. Quiet. Undeniably him.

The host greeted Alejandro by name. That alone made your stomach flip.

He pulled out a chair for you at a table near the edge, the city lights glittering far below.

You didn’t speak until the waiter brought drinks. Wine, neat whiskey, whatever. You didn’t even remember what you ordered. 

 “To... clarity,” he said, voice even, drink raised in the air. “May we both get some.”

You raised yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

The first sip almost got you in tears. Whatever it was that you ordered burnt. It was good, no doubt, but it seemed like your subconscious was trying to drown your fears in the strongest cocktail you could think of. 

The silence between you grew as time went by. You were unsure of what you were doing there, of how you had ended up in such a situation. But the fact was that you were in front of Alejandro Vargas, the man who made you want to run and kiss him in equal parts. 

“Why this place?” you managed to ask, suddenly too exposed. You crossed your legs. 

He sipped on his mezcal, taking his time. You felt like a caged animal, and he looked like it was a Monday morning. It was unfair. Made you want to strangle him. Or worse. 

“It reminded me of you.”

That caught you off-guard. Alejandro looked at you with the calmness of a dormant titan, like he owned every inch of you. 

“And what do you think of it?”

Alejandro peeked at the restaurant, like he hadn’t seen it a thousand times. “It’s calm, nice. Elegant.”

“And what do you like the most about it?”

Alejandro didn’t miss a beat to answer. 

“The drinks, for sure.”

“You drink only mezcal?” you said, eyeing the golden liquid.

“Normally,” he said, sipping on it. 

You looked at your own hands. Nails painted dark, rings on your fingers, nursing a martini glass filled with a reddish mahogany liquid that tasted suspiciously like bourbon, but you were unsure. 

“Manhattans,” he said, the corners of his lips curving ever so slightly upwards. Somehow, he was entertained. “You drink them often?”

You eyed the cocktail again, gaining consciousness at that moment, like everything before was background noise. 

“Not really,” you said, turning the glass with the tips of your fingers. “Depends on the moment.”

Alejandro nodded to that, as calm as ever. “So you don’t have a drink of choice, güerita?”

“I used to drink Jäger Bombs when I was younger, then I started drinking Long Island Iced Teas,” you started, remembering every phase of your life that accompanied your alcohol choice. “I got into piña coladas for a while. But I’ve always liked tequila.”

Alejandro smiled, raising his brows. “Tequila?”

You nodded. “Tequila, yes. I love it, but I hate it. If I try it, I can’t stop. Then I get the worst hangover ever.”

He chuckled softly, that low, warm sound that always felt too intimate. “A weakness.”

You couldn’t muster the strength to look him in the eyes, so you focused your gaze on the manhattan. “One of many.”

The conversation was cut short. The waiter returned with a subtle nod, menus in hand. There were no prices, only dishes written in elegant cursive on thick, off-white cardstock. It was a statement in itself.  

A statement that you weren’t used to. 

You glanced through the menu, reading ingredients you didn’t quite recognize. They weren’t foreign, just unfamiliar in the way comfort can be when dressed in silk. Meats you couldn’t pronounce, sauces made of things like hibiscus ash and guajillo glaze. Everything seemed curated. Thoughtful. Quietly opulent.

“There’s a new owner,” he said, casually, like he was mentioning the weather. “A friend.”

You looked up.

He didn’t elaborate. Just took another sip of mezcal, eyes half-lidded under the glow of the terrace candles.

“He brought in a new chef,” he added after a pause. “The menu is new, apparently.”

You didn’t say anything, but you tilted your head just a fraction.

Alejandro smiled, not at you, but at his own thoughts. He raised his eyes to meet yours again. You felt the warmth, the sudden tension in your body. Jasmine, sandalwood. Coffee, orange blossom, vanilla. 

His presence had me forgetting to breathe. I was small compared to him, a lost puppy next to a mount of confidence and determination. 

When the waiter came back, Alejandro ordered something warm and earthy-sounding in Spanish, your mind catching only “pato,” “almendra,” and “ceniza.” Duck, almonds, ash. You pointed at something with fish and coconut. You didn’t know why. Maybe because it reminded you of a place you’d never been.

The waiter took the menus with a polite smile, and vanished into the shadows.

You swirled what was left of your drink, watching the light cling to the edges of the glass like amber silk. Then, quiet:

“Your friend,” you said, tone smooth, casual, but pointed. “The owner. Where do you know him from?”

Alejandro didn’t answer immediately.

He tilted his glass back, took a slow sip of mezcal, and set it down with care. 

“Grew up here,” he finally said. “Same schools, same street fights. We used to race up in the hills with whatever junk we could get our hands on.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if you were surprised.

“Then he left,” Alejandro continued. “Made money in construction. Good contracts. Good timing.”

You blinked slowly. “Good contracts?”

Alejandro gave you a measured glance. The barest curve of a smirk followed. “You think I only know soldiers, güera?”

You said nothing. He took it as a yes. 

“I move in more rooms than you think.” His voice wasn’t proud. Just factual.

“Didn’t take you for that kind of man.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But in Las almas it’s hard not to surround yourself with the wrong kind of company.”

“So you are not as clean as you made it out to be,” you said, matter-of-factly. You looked at him, he responded with those intense eyes of his, but with an expression of ease in his face. 

“In Las Almas no one is clean, güera,” he said. “But some are more than others.”

“And your friend?”

“As far as I’m concerned, his money comes from construction. Nothing else.”

You glanced down, heart thudding with a strange rhythm. The air shifted, colder, drier. 

The food took too long. 

The restaurant didn’t move fast, no rush, no push to turn tables. You didn’t know if it was a deliberate move, or if there was an issue with the kitchen. Somehow, you suspected it was the latter. A nice place, good menu, luxury drinks. But something was missing. Something imperceptible, that the rich took as a sign of status. If it took time, it had to be of quality, right?

When the plates finally arrived, you realized you’d forgotten you were even waiting.

It was that kind of place. That kind of night.

Detached. 

But there was something about it. Something that made you want to stay, to not let go. 

The plates were mostly untouched at first. Not out of disinterest, but reverence, the kind of quiet that comes when people are finally forced to sit with themselves.

You cut through the fish delicately, the scent of coconut rising with the steam. You ate slowly. The food was delicate, balanced, almost too soft for the storm living in your chest. 

Alejandro, across the table, didn’t rush. 

 The duck was dark, rich, fragrant with something burnt but earthy. He seemed to enjoy it, even if he barely looked down at his plate.

The food was good. You were too distracted to properly taste it, but every few bites grounded you, reminded you where you were. In Las Almas. At a rooftop restaurant. Sitting across from the man who had been everything and nothing all at the same time. 

You pushed at what remained of the fish with the edge of your fork, dragging a bit of coconut cream into a smear, not quite ready to stop eating, but too aware of how slowly you were chewing.

Alejandro, on the other side, had finished long ago. His hand rested loosely on his glass. Not watching you exactly, but watching something. Maybe the way your lipstick was starting to fade.

“You like it?” you asked, looking him in the eyes. 

Alejandro leaned back slightly, his forearm draped over the arm of the chair, thumb grazing the base of his mezcal glass.

“It was good,” he said. There was amusement in his voice, almost a half-smirk painted in his lips. “The chef knows what they’re doing.”

There was something sly in his tone. Barely there. Like he knew exactly what you’d meant, and decided to let it hang in the air.

You shifted in your seat, tapping the edge of your plate with your fork. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No?” His brow rose slightly. His voice stayed soft, but there was a bite in the corner of his mouth. A near-smile. “Sounded like it.”

You stared at him, lips parted just enough to suggest a comeback. But nothing came.

Because the truth was, you were asking about the food. But also not. You were asking if he liked this. Liked being here. Liked you, even just like this: dolled up, wound tight, dressed like temptation but trying so hard not to let it show.

Instead, you sat back. Lifted your glass. Let him look.

Alejandro sipped his mezcal, slow, patient. “I know what you’re doing, chula.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you teased. “I don’t think you were paying attention.”

“I haven’t stopped paying attention, güera.”

Your stomach did something traitorous. You swallowed hard. It took you a while to recompose yourself, but you ended up doing it. 

“So, you like the dress?”

Alejandro’s gaze moved slowly, from your face down. The dress was black, cut sharp, tight in all the right places. Delicate around the straps. Expensive. Obvious.

His answer was slow. Thoughtful. “It’s beautiful.”

You raised a brow. “Just the dress?”

He let that linger. His expression didn’t change much, but his eyes? They dropped, just for a slow, deep, affected breath, to your neck, your collarbone. Then back up. 

“No,” he said. “Not just the dress.”

Your heart was beating far too loud. You had the high ground. You were winning, maybe. But it felt like you were being slowly undressed in public without him even touching you.

You leaned in a little, the flicker of a smile creeping onto your lips. Not coy, never that. 

“And what else do you like, Alejandro?” you asked, voice like silk pulled tight across the edge of a blade.

His mezcal glass paused halfway to his lips.

“Tonight?” he asked, soft. Then sipped. Set the glass down. 

You thought you were in control. You wanted to be. But something in the way he looked at you made your throat tighten.

“I like that you came here,” he said finally, his fingers tracing the rim of his mezcal glass. “Knowing what you wanted. Wearing that dress. Trying not to beg.”

You blinked.

The words weren’t sharp. They were quiet, intimate. He wasn’t being cruel, he was telling the truth. And it landed like fire against the inside of your ribs.

You tilted your chin. A little defiant. “And what if I was begging?”

“Then I’d say…” His voice dropped, thick and almost cruel in its patience. “You’re used to getting what you want.”

You could barely breathe now. He hadn’t touched you. Not once. But you felt him in every corner of your body. Your legs crossed again under the table. Tighter this time. 

“You think that’s a bad thing?”

“I think you confuse being wanted with being needed.”

Your stomach flipped. That one hit somewhere you didn’t expect. And he knew it. You could tell from the way he didn’t smile this time. Didn’t gloat. He just let the weight of it settle.

You set your glass down too hard. “That’s rich coming from a man who hasn’t said no to a single thing I’ve done tonight.”

His brow arched, only barely. “Haven’t said yes, either.”

That made you flinch. You hated that it did. Because it was true.

“I wore this dress for you.”

“I know.”

“I came to Las Almas for you.”

He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “I know.”

“And you’re not going to do anything about it?”

A long beat of silence.

Then, at last, his voice: “Who said I’m not doing something?”

You stared at him, heart pounding in your throat. For once, you didn’t have a line to throw back. Not a clever one, anyway. 

You didn’t understand. The way he acted, how he looked at you; it was the act of a man who could only be dreaming of kneeling in front of you, and yet, he wasn’t. You weren’t used to that. It made you panic, broke down your whole persona in an instant. 

The waiter appeared then, too perfectly timed, again. Like some divine interruption.

“¿Postre?”

Dessert?

You didn’t look at him. Your eyes were still locked on Alejandro.

“I don’t do dessert,” you said smoothly, barely holding the smirk at the corner of your mouth. “Not that kind, anyway.”

Alejandro didn’t laugh.

He didn’t smirk.

He just held your gaze long, steady, deliberate, until it made your skin burn.

The pause said everything.

The waiter cleared his throat, clearly uncertain.

Alejandro answered him without breaking eye contact. “Nada, gracias.”

We’re fine. Thank you. 

The waiter left. You were still staring at each other.

“You think that would solve something between us?”

“I don’t.”

Then, you smiled. Fake, of course. 

The check came before Alejandro could speak another word. 

You reached for it. So did he. Your fingers brushed. You felt it. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Let’s split it,” you said. 

“No,” he replied firmly. 

“Alejandro—”

“No.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the finality of it. “No?”

His eyes were steady, patient. “You’re not splitting the bill with me, güera.”

Your fingers curled slightly under the leather fold of the check. “I’m not letting you pay for the entire thing.”

“You already did.”

You stared at him. He looked at your dress. You felt exposed, bare. 

“You invited me.”

He tilted his head, just slightly. “That’s exactly why I’m paying.”

You gritted your teeth. “This isn’t—”

“A transaction?” he interrupted, low. “Then don’t act like it is.”

That shut you up.

Because that’s exactly what it had become in your head, hadn’t it? The dress, the perfume, the heels. The whole night you’d been building a case for why you deserved to be taken home, as if seduction were a currency and you were running out of time to spend it. If you just said the right things, made the right moves, he’d forget everything and fall at your feet again.

But you were paying in dollars, and he was in pesos. Different languages, intentions.

It was hard to believe. To accept. 

That Alejandro Vargas was not at your feet anymore. 

Author's note: Sooo... I guess we're at the point where I should make this at least a short story? I reread the whole thing and loved it, and felt like I couldn't leave it like that (thanks to the people who commented on part 2, you were the ones who made me vomit 5k words in like 3 hours lol)

So dear Alejando Vargas simps, I guess I'm back. Just to bring justice to this cruel, cold, Carlos-less world lmao.

[blessthegulag]

Every single day I think about this man.

I want to bite his arms 💔💔

[day 10]

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You, pt. 2

“A problem with authority? Of course I have a problem with authority, I’ll fuck it.”

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the incident, Alejandro confronts you, and you decide what to do with the situation.

Warnings: Smut, p in v, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), light degradation, rough sex, no protection, light angst, bad emotional management, reader kind of has commitment issues?, emotionally unavailable reader, cannon non-compliant (vague, incorrect use of the MW2 plot because I benefit from it ;) ), Spanglish,  swearing, arguments, not proofread!, fucking the power out of the dynamics 

Word count: 6.1k

Notes: This part 2 took the lyrics  ‘Fuck the police’ quite literally. Anyway, it was really hard for me to write this chapter, since I didn’t want to make Alejandro too clingy, yet I still wanted him to be true to his emotions, like any mature person would  (except reader, bc we love an emotionally unavailable woman around here who makes men suffer)

Aaaaand, might, and just might be a part 3, though I’m not very sure.

BY THE WAY, here’s some translations for the Spanish words that appear later on:

-Calentón:  It’s just a way of saying something that happened in the heat of the moment, something not really thought out. 

-Chula: A prideful girl who likes to flaunt herself, who thinks she is interesting and sometimes is self-centered.

-Pasión latina: Latino passion

**Manifesting that this happens to me with the 6.2ft cuban guy I met at my gym, who also happens to have the same vibes as Alejandro 🤞🏻🤞🏻🥴**

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Several weeks had passed since the incident, and guilt flooded your mind. 

The morning after, the sirens had awoken you, taking you by surprise. You dressed up as quickly as you could, waking Alejandro up in the process. By the point the search party found you, you were sweating and agitated, your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, still trying to process what the hell happened the night before.

You didn’t know how you two didn’t end up getting caught, knowing that the aftermath of that night was still very present in the car, like a tiger had been locked inside of it. For weeks, you feared that the smell left behind would arise cheeky comments, suspicion within Alejandro’s men. 

But nobody seemed to notice.

You were embarrassed, still. 

For some time, Alejandro didn’t glance your way, and neither did you. No missions assigned, no meetings, no training.

It was as if God had given you a moment of reflection, of peace. 

After that day, you had intentions to stop any sort of relationship with Alejandro. You didn’t even want to keep hating him, you just wanted to forget, to go on with your life as if nothing happened.

However, life had other plans for you.

The dreaded call came, Captain Price’s voice informing you of a new mission. From the tone of his voice, you knew it was important, an emergency. The mission required your specific skills, and you were sure that Alejandro would be there, too.

You had to accept.

Anxiety flooded you. It had you biting the bars of your enclosure, feeling a pit of nerves in your stomach. You were barely able to function, the time until the day of the mission slipping through your fingers, unstoppable.

Then, the day came. 

Upon arriving at the meeting point, you saw Alejandro already present, reviewing maps and discussing strategies with the rest of the team. The moment he saw you, his expression hardened, quickly returning to his task, his eyes fixed on the documents before him. 

The tension between you was palpable, unbearable. You were sure no one noticed, but the way his jaw muscles shifted, told you that he felt the same way. 

Throughout the mission, Alejandro and you remained civil, working together like life long partners. The few words that came out of your mouths were about the mission, about the next course of action. 

If anybody else were to be next to you two at that moment, would surely catch on to the tension. From screaming in each other’s ears, to agreeing in order to avoid interaction. 

What you thought was nothing but a tough, distasteful situation for you two, turned into an even more ugly moment the second Alejandro opened his mouth. 

“Escuchame, güera, (Listen to me, güera)” he began, his voice low, professional. He was using his Coronel voice, distancing himself from you. “We both know something happened between us. You can ignore me all you want, but that won’t change what we did.”

You side eyed him, the grip on your Glock tightening. “Is this really the moment, Alejandro?”

Alejandro’s expression darkened, his features set in a tight frown. “What other moment am I supposed to do it, with you avoiding me like the plague?”

“Maybe you should catch a hint,” you whispered, looking the other way. 

Alejandro clenched his jaw, frustration evident. “You think I haven’t? I get it. You regret it. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain focus on the task at hand. “We have a mission to complete, Alejandro.”

“Go ahead and avoid it,” he scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper. Alejandro’s gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “But I can’t pretend, not like you.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Alejandro, please. Not now.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “No. Listen to me—”

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears, deafening you. You turned around, facing him. “No. You listen to me. There’s a mission on the line, so focus.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly agape. “For how long?” He demanded, his voice a low rumble. “How long are you going to keep running from this?”

“As long as it takes,” you replied, turning away from him. 

And with that, Alejandro remained silent. You could feel him behind you, distant, angry. In any other situation, you would’ve already started screaming at each other. 

But today, nothing happened. 

You had turned down Alejandro in the way that hurt most, disregarding what he wanted to say. He took that personally, playing your own game, ignoring you in the same way that you had done with him. 

The rest of the mission passed in a haze, Alejandro’s words echoing in your mind. You felt his presence like a weight on your shoulders, the regret of your harsh words gnawing at you tormenting you.

It drove you insane. 

Back at the base, days turned into weeks. The tension lingered, thick, suffocating. Your tasks went on with robotic efficiency, losing track of your surroundings. You tried detaching yourself from reality every time you two crossed paths, but the hurt in his eyes weighed on your conscience. 

Alejandro didn’t make it easy. He was everywhere— leading training sessions, briefing the team, conducting inspections. His voice was a constant in your daily routine, each command a bitter, sickening reminder of what you had done.

Of course, you remained distant, strictly professional, but every interaction, every glance left you feeling more hollow. You needed to put an end to this, but you were too prideful for that, too scared to face the reality of the situation, of Alejandro’s true feelings. 

You were not ready to confront him, listen to him and expect to stay strong. 

There were only two ways in which it could end, and you wanted neither. You were tired of the yelling, of the anger; you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, for your own sanity.

Late night workouts became your best friend. It helped you ease your mind, forget your worries. Some music on your headphones, the low light of the base’s gym keeping you from looking too much at yourself.  You pounded the punching bag, lifted weights, ran on the treadmill— anything to exhaust your body and drown out the storm in your mind.

One night, you decided to make your way to the training room, making sure that the base was already asleep. You grabbed some disks, placing them on the bench press, ready to start lifting. 

As you laid on the bench, staring up at the ceiling, you let the music in your headphones drown out the silence. You lifted the bar, feeling the strain in your muscles, the burn on your chest grounding you.

The door to the gym creaked open, but you didn't notice. It wasn't until you saw a shadow move across the ceiling that you realized you were no longer alone. You glanced up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Alejandro standing there, watching you. 

He had that look in his eyes again, a mixture of melancholy, and deep vulnerability. 

You set the bar back on the rack and sat up, pulling out your headphones. “What?”

Alejandro didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood there, his gaze intense and unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick, nerve-wracking.

Finally, he broke the silence. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, lifting your brows. “We’ve been over this, Alejandro. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, chula,” he said, stepping closer, still comfortably far from you. 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the bench. "It was a thing of the moment, Alejandro. Nothing more."

“A thing of the moment?” he repeated back, his voice laced with an edge of annoyance. “Es así de verdad como lo ves?”

Is that really how you see it?

His gaze searched your face, defiant, vulnerable, still wary.

“What do you want me to feel, Alejandro?” you said, your tone honest, tired. “What do you expect of me?”

The genuine note in your question caught Alejandro off guard, momentarily silencing any response he had ready. He took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. "I don’t know what I want you to feel," he admitted, his voice low and serious. "But I know that there was something real between us at that moment. And I don’t believe you can just dismiss that as a 'thing of the moment' or pretend it didn’t happen."

“Mira, Alejandro,” (Look, Alejandro) you said, exasperated, scared, the tornado of emotions in you making you feel dizzy. “Fue un calentón, y ya. It happened, but that doesn't mean that things have to change.” (It was in the heat of the moment,)

Alejandro let out a tense huff at your casual attitude, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Un calentón, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that what you want to call it?”

You nodded plainly, tired of the constant conflict between you two. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Alejandro’s jaw tightened, the muscles working under his skin. “So that’s it, then? We just go back to pretending nothing happened?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes. For both of our sakes, it’s better this way.”

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger, a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite conceal. “Lying to yourself won’t solve anything.”

You looked at him, vulnerable, done. “I know.”

You saw Alejandro’s eyes falter for a moment, his jaw tightening. His eyes searched yours one last time, looking for something, anything that might give him hope. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he pulled himself together.

Without another word, he turned slowly, resignation in each of his steps.

The soft click of the door echoed in the empty room, the magnitude of your confession hitting you.  Your heart pounded in your chest, the situation having you on edge. The conversation replayed in your mind, each word a dagger to your pride, to your own feelings. 

You wanted to reach out, to run after him, to take back the words that had pushed him away. But fear kept you rooted in place, unable to move, unable to change what had been said.

You had messed up. 

—————

Days after, you found yourself exactly where you wanted to avoid. It had taken you hours of self-convicting, of self-restraint, and at first it worked. The days after the conversation in the gym, anger blinded you. You didn’t want to speak to him, you just wanted to forget, to move those thoughts away. You thought that, because your stay in Mexico was temporary, that you would be able to power through the situation. 

But you were wrong. 

It had taken a toll on your performance, and as a consequence, on the team. There had already been warnings on Price’s part, and you knew that another would mean game over. Due to that, too, your mental state deteriorated greatly. Eating was hard, training was hard, you didn’t want to speak to people. Everyone knew something was going on with you, but weren’t able to understand what happened. 

Alejandro, on the other hand, carried himself with more grace. His duties were much more important than heartbreak —or whatever this situation happening led to—, which meant that it was an escape. He had remained professional, focused, as effective as he had always been.

Seeing him like that boiled your blood. 

You needed to speak to him, to apologize, but it appeared that was doing just fine without you. And it was to expect, taking in account what you said about what happened. 

You had turned him down, essentially. 

And in that situation, it was him the one supposed to be suffering. But it wasn’t like that. 

He was fine, and you were not. 

It was all your fault for lying to yourself, for disrespecting his feelings like that.

But, what were you supposed to do? 

Involving yourself with a colonel while being a staff sergeant, in an extra-official mission for the 141, after ending up stranded in God knows where. Hell, that was like being the mayor of a small town, and involving yourself with the minister of defense; with the president, even. 

And worst of all, that said colonel had no fear nor doubt about what he was feeling. 

That’s what you call ‘pasión latina’.

But you, as (in the words of Alejandro) a güerita from Colorado, weren’t used to such insinuations. 

Facing a man like Alejandro wasn’t easy, and you wanted to believe that any woman would be intimidated by him. He was imposing, self-assured, proactive, dominant, there was no way in the world that you would face him.

Or so you thought. 

The door of his office was closed, but from the noise inside, you knew he was there. You didn’t want to do it, you weren’t ready; hell, you could wait and escape to the US in no time. 

But you had to. You knocked on the door a couple times, then waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears. Part of you hoped that he wouldn’t answer, that he’d ignore you so you’d have an excuse to get away, to avoid confrontation. But deep down, you knew you had no choice.

“Come in,” Alejandro said from the inside. 

You made your way into the room silent like a cat, your steps calculated. 

He wasn’t expecting you, you could tell by the way his eyes opened, by how he looked like a deer in front of headlights. Of course, his demeanor soon changed back to a mask of professionalism, looking at you just like he did when you arrived in Mexico: like a stranger.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice firm. 

You took a deep breath, closing the door behind you. “We need to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “About what?”

Your intentions at first were to be more empathetic, more willing to listen, less reactive. But just like every time, Alejandro had a way of pushing your buttons like no other. 

“You know exactly about what,” you said, your back still pressed against the door. 

Alejandro's eyes hardened, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. "If this is about the gym, there's nothing more to say. You made your feelings clear."

You inhaled, trembling.

“I was scared,” you admitted, as honest as you could. “ I thought I had it all under control, I thought I would be able to ignore it until I left Mexico, but I can’t… It’s— It’s affecting everything, my performance, the team, my sanity.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Alejandro stood up, moving to the window, looking out the base.

“You think you can come in here and say that?” he finally said, avoiding you. “You think admitting it now changes anything?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep going like this.”

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you saw weakness, a moment of pondering. But of course, he shut himself back up. “And what do you expect me to do? You made a point to say that it was in the heat of the moment.”

You felt as if you had been punched in the throat. “I don't know, Alejandro. I— I was not being honest with myself. You said it, I knew it, I just… I panicked, okay?”

He took a deep breath, walking over to you, still keeping his distance. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “No puedes agarrar y alejarme para luego volver cuando te parece. Esto no es un juego, Y/N. No puedes jugar conmigo así.”

You can’t go ahead and distance yourself from me and then come back when you want. This is not a game, Y/N. You can’t play with me like this.

“What do I need to do to show that I’m not playing games? Do you want me to kiss you? To leave everything behind and stay in Mexico for you? What did you want from me in the first place?”  you blurted out, desperate. “You've hated me ever since I arrived.”

“I never said I hated you,” he said.

“You acted like it,” you said, the heat in your voice making it difficult to remain calm.

“Because you have a problem with authority,” he barked in front of you, barely leaving space for you to stand.

“Of course I have a problem with authority,” you admitted, the intensity in your eyes burning holes in Alejandro. “But you fed it. This goes both ways.”

“Feeding it?” he scoffed. “It’s called discipline.”

“What discipline?,” you laughed in surprise, getting in his face, arrogant. “Is kissing your subordinate a known form of discipline?”

Silence set between you. Alejandro pressed his jaw, fidgeting with his fingers. You stood there, frozen, looking at him, waiting. 

“No quiero escuchar una queja tuya nunca más,” he said, authoritative, his voice barely a whisper. 

I don’t want to hear a complaint from you anymore.

He grabbed your neck, pinning you against the door in a harsh movement. He squeezed it, cutting blood flow for a couple seconds. You felt light headed, your mouth opened due to the euphoric sensation. Alejandro looked at you, angered, intense.  

You felt weak at the knees, lost, needy of him.

Then, his lips crashed against yours. You felt his coarse beard on your skin, his sweet, earthy cologne overtaking your senses. His touch burnt, leaving a scorching, tingling sensation there where it landed. 

His kiss was raw, primal, hungry. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him, desperate to feel you. You moaned in his mouth, trapped, weak. You wanted to scream. You needed him. 

He locked the door. Goosebumps ran through your body, the implications of his actions sending waves directly to your core. 

Alejandro took you with him, manhandling you to the desk. He sat you on top, kissing your mouth, your neck, the exposed part of your chest, everywhere he could. 

You moaned his name, breathy, barely a whimper. It was overwhelming, your head spinning in circles as every kiss, every bite ignited fire within you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your back against the cold wood of his desk grounding you. 

Then, his hands slid under your T-shirt. They caressed your sides for a second, before he brought his hands up your chest, your T-shirt following behind. Soon, you felt the cold air on your bare breasts, the fabric bunched up on top of them, leaving the perfect view for Alejandro. 

His hands caressed your skin, his fingers dancing lightly on your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, taking in the view. His touch was soft, greedy, insatiable, squeezing your breasts lightly, grazing over your nipples so he could hear your breathy moans. 

Your belt went next. Then your boots. 

The fabric of your pants and panties hit the floor with a soft thud, resonating in the overall silent room. Alejandro had you under his control, perfectly fixed in his desk, surrounded by his belongings. Your cheeks were red, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

It took everything it had in him not to cum right then and there. 

With one hand, he lifted one of your legs up to your shoulder, exposing your glistening pussy to him. 

He swallowed, mesmerized, taking a couple seconds to appreciate what he was seeing.

Then, barely able to breathe, Alejandro took a couple fingers,  sliding them through your wet lips. He passed them agonizingly slow, savoring the way your body reacted to him, how you looked desperate, needy, ready. 

“Eh, chula,” he whispered, his fingers making small circles on your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mírame.”

Eh, chula. Look at me.

You looked at him, lost in pleasure, already fucked out. The sight of him had you clenching around nothing, trying to buck your hips up for more pressure. He looked breathtaking, absolutely mesmerizing: messy hair, trimmed beard, reddened lips from biting them so much. 

You needed him.

You could see the desire burning within him, the need that matched your own. Your hands continued to tease, to tempt, bringing you to the edge, then pulling back. It had you moaning, crying, pleading with him to let you cum, but he would not give in. It was torture, the worst yet sweetest kind, the one that had you melting in front of him, urging you to do whatever it took to reach your release. 

When he stopped giving attention to your clit, your mouth opened to complain. You were sweating, horny as fuck, completely broken down because of him. Not even a gasp could come out of your mouth when you felt his fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in, getting pulled in by your greedy pussy. 

You mewled at the sensation, clenching around his thick, rough fingers, savoring every second of it. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the smell of sex already flooding the room, the sticky, lewd noises of your pussy so loud, that you were sure any passerby could hear. 

Alejandro’s hand left the underside of your knees, bringing you back to reality for a second. You saw a glimpse of his face lower towards you, him kneeling to the ground. 

For a second, you were confused, empty; but the moment his tongue made contact with your clit, every feeling  except pleasure escaped your mind. The sensation was electric, sending waves of warmth through your body. 

Alejandro had a way of taking over your mind, of clearing any doubt, any fear. With him on your pussy, licking every drop of your juices, abusing your clit with his tongue, it was impossible for you to hate him. The way he was making you feel had you in a cloud, at his disposal, seriously considering if staying in Mexico just for this was a good enough excuse.

Of course it was.

If it meant getting this treatment, you'd stay in a heartbeat; if disciplinary action was to be taken like this, you'd be in his office more than in your own barracks.

You'd fight your way into his bedroom.

Alejandro’s fingers curled inside you, while his tongue worked on your clit, making you squirm, gasp and moan his name, grabbing his coarse dark hair, pressing his face against you. The room filled with your sweet, pretty moans and the wet, more than obscene thrusting of his fingers inside your pussy. 

He grabbed your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark, spreading you even more open. 

You squeezed the muscles in your pelvis, feeling your orgasm bunch up, sending the nerves in your body into overload. You started panting, whispering his name, using his face as your own personal toy, your whole being so tense, that it took you a while to realize. 

Your orgasm crashed over you. The tension dissipated in a second, making you melt against his desk, moaning in pure ecstasy. 

Alejandro didn’t stop, his movements becoming more deliberate, his fingers slowing but deepening, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure from your body. You felt the aftershocks, your muscles contracting around his fingers as he eased you down from your high.

When he finally withdrew, you felt empty, unsatisfied. 

You needed more. 

He stood, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. He then took his fingers in his mouth, cleaning your arousal off of them. 

Your mouth opened at the sight, your breathy whimpers catching his attention. 

“Venga, güerita,” he said, grabbing you by the back of your neck. “De rodillas.”

C’mon, güerita. On your knees.

His tone came out as teasing, authoritative. You complied, sliding off the desk, your knees on the cold wood, your hands on his thighs, ready, impatient. 

You looked up at him, eyes wide and eager, the anticipation building in your chest. Alejandro’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark, filled with a primal desire that made your heart race. Alejandro undid his belt, the sound of nylon slipping through the loops of his combat pants echoing in the room. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the thought of him.

Alejandro's hand brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing your lips before pushing into your mouth. You sucked on it eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the salty tang of his skin. He watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Abre,” (open) he ordered, and you obeyed, parting your lips, ready for him. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth, bunching up your hair, using his hand as a tie, to then guide you directly to the head of his cock, pressing it against your tongue. You moaned at the roughness, wrapping your swollen lips around him, taking him slowly. 

He groaned, the grip on your hair tightening. You could feel the heat of his arousal, the way he throbbed in your mouth; it only fuelled your desire. You took him deeper, ready to please him, to make him lose control. 

Alejandro groaned, pushing himself further into your mouth, pressing into your throat. Tears bunched up in your eyes, taking every inch of him, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, addicting; you were loving every second of it.

Alejandro's groans fueled your desire, each one reverberating through you, making you feel useful, submissive. You moved your head, sucking him deeper, feeling his cock throb against your tongue. His hand on your head guided your movements, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk for support.

He hissed through his teeth, the sound raw and primal, spurring you on. You could feel him twitching, his body tense with need, and you knew he was close.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop.”

His words were a command and a plea, and you had no intention of stopping. You bobbed your head, taking him deep, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your face, your breath coming in short gasps around his cock, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, his pleasure, the way he was losing control because of you.

Alejandro’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you closer, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You gagged slightly, but the discomfort only added to the intensity of the moment. You moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan louder, his hips bucking against your face. 

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was trembling, his control slipping away.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his hot release filling your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the way he shuddered with each spasm of pleasure.

Alejandro pulled out of your mouth, his breathing ragged, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes still wet with tears, and saw the pride in his gaze.

He reached down, pulling you to your feet, his hands roaming your body, feeling every curve, every inch of your skin. 

Then, he kissed you.

His kiss was ravenous, claiming you with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him, your bodies melding together. The taste of him lingered in your mouth, mingling with the sweet intensity of the kiss. You felt his erection, still hard and pressing against your stomach.

You had to be dreaming.

Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. He bit gently at your skin, sucking lightly, guiding you back to the desk. 

He took you in his arms, placing your ass on the desk, a hand on your chest making you lower your back against the wood. He took off his shirt, the sight of his bare torso having you salivating. 

You were spread wide open waiting for him, taking in the sight of him. He swallowed thick, his mouth parted, a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

Then, he aligned his cock with your entrance. And slowly but surely made his way into you, painfully calm, loving the way in which you tried taking him faster than he wanted. 

Your whole body shuddered, a breathy moan escaping both your mouths. Feeling him balls deep inside you had you losing your mind, drunk off the sensation. You two barely moved for a couple seconds, looking into your eyes, realizing what you were doing.

Before moving, Alejandro grabbed your thighs, folding you in half, your knees against your shoulders, his body weight on you, pinning you into submission. His presence was overwhelming, intimidating, and utterly intoxicating.

Once he started moving, a knot formed in your throat. It was slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch. Your body responded instantly, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper. 

The way he filled you was too much, splitting you so good that it had you gasping for air. 

Alejandro's slow, deliberate thrusts made you see stars. Each movement was precise, hitting every sensitive spot within you, making your body respond with uncontrollable shivers. You were completely at his mercy, folded in half, making you feel small and vulnerable under him.

He watched you intently, his dark eyes burning with a primal hunger. The way he moved was almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every gasp, every moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk, your body tense to withstand his intense, deep thrusts.

He had you moaning his name, gasping, whimpering. The sounds that were coming out of your mouth were so sinful, so obscene, that even the devil would catch himself blushing. His dick plowed into you, Alejandro admiring the way you frowned in pleasure, how you couldn’t shut up, all because of him.

“Lower your voice, güerita,”  he said with a smirk, the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts plain up brute. “No quieras hacer que sepan a quien te estas cogiendo.”

You don’t want to let everyone know who you’re fucking.

The words barely registered when you felt his hand on the back of your head, grabbing a bunch of hair, pulling you to face the place where you two connected. Your free leg fell to rest on his shoulder, his grip on you harsh, dominant, forcing you to see how he drilled into you.

The sight was overwhelming. Watching his cock disappear inside you, over and over, slick with your arousal, had you on the brink of losing control. Alejandro's grip on your hair tightened, his other hand pressing your thigh against your chest, keeping you in place, dominating you completely.

The desk creaked under your combined weight, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the small room. Your breaths were ragged, each thrust sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body. Alejandro's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. 

Alejandro’s eyes were locked onto yours, possessive. Every thrust, every touch, every word he spoke was designed to drive you wild, to break down every barrier you had left.

Your mind was consumed by him, by the raw power and desire radiating from his every movement. You were his fuckdoll, surrendering to the primal urge that pulsed between you. 

The desk beneath you groaned in protest, barely holding on as you fucked like animals. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, lost in a haze of lust and need. Alejandro's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you deeper into a state of ecstasy. You felt like you were transcending your body, your whole being aching with pleasure.

He growled, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, his grip on you tightening as he neared his own release. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

The way he said your name, how the Spanish came out of his mouth like a prayer, had you in a haze, desperate, hungry. You wanted him inside you, rutting into you forever. 

Alejandro’s thrusts became erratic, silkier, smoother. He pulled your face harder into your chest, your only view your two bodies. You watched as his body tensed, heard how he moaned; his cock pulsing as pumped one last time into you, coating your insides with his cum, filling up to the brim. 

You cried out in ecstasy, his thick cock still twitching inside of you, your body destroyed, sweaty, sprinkled with goosebumps. 

For a moment, you were suspended in time, lost in the intensity of the moment. As the waves of pleasure began to become weaker, you collapsed against the desk, used, satisfied.

Then, you realized. A wave of guilt ran through you, the position you were in embarrassing you deeply. 

You had fucked Alejandro, again. 

He looked at you with caution, your expression not helping him be at ease. You dragged your T-shirt back on, the fabric damp and wrinkly, the coldness of the room bringing you back to reality. 

What had you done? 

You were out of your mind. 

The realization hit you hard, the after-sex clarity giving away the blend of guilt and confusion. Alejandro, still catching his breath, watched you carefully. The intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air, heavy, undeniable. 

You pulled away from him, quickly going to look for your clothes in a futile attempt to cover how vulnerable you felt.  Alejandro’s eyes followed your movements with concern, unable to figure out what was going on in your head. 

You stood there, your heart racing, trying to make sense of the situation. The silence between you was palpable, and Alejandro’s presence made it even more intense. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Guilt and shame were weighing heavily on your heart, and you felt yourself struggling to stay composed. With each passing second, it felt like the walls were closing in, the reality of what you had done becoming all too real.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his pants already buttoned, his shirt on his hand. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thick, turning to face him like a lost puppy. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

He took a step towards you, closing the distance between you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind. “Hey, talk to me, please.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… This wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t come in here for this.” 

Alejandro’s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion evident on his face. 

“I’ve realized that I don’t want this, whatever it is.”

“Then, what?” he said, desperate. 

“I need to go,” you blurted out, turning on your feet.

But before you could walk away, Alejandro’s hand grabbed your shoulder softly, barely a graze as to not startle you. 

“Wait,” he started. “Don’t go.”

His voice came out as a whisper, low and defeated. 

You turned to face him, your breath hitched in your throat. 

“I didn’t do this as a punishment, or in the heat of the moment,” he said, his eyes digging into yours. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You froze in place, his hand on you the only thing keeping you from losing touch with reality. 

“Quédate aquí, güerita, únete a Los Vaqueros.”

Stay here, güerita, join Los Vaqueros.

“I’m part of the US Army, Alejandro,” you smiled humorlessly. “I can’t.”

“Things could be arranged.”

“My war is not here,” you said plainly. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

He nodded to himself, pressing his lips into a small line. 

Then, he looked at you, taking in every feature of yours. 

His eyes were dark, glistening with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Maybe it was sadness, maybe it was disappointment, you weren’t sure.  

“Is this how it ends?” he said. 

You looked at him, hurt.

“I can’t see a different outcome,” you whispered. 

He nodded, his jaw pressed shut. 

The room fell silent. 

You were scared. 

He was disappointed. 

But it was how things were meant to be. 

It was the end, even if you didn’t want it to be like that.

—————

A/N: God, I’m so sorry for those of you who don’t know Spanish, but this fanfic is SO much hotter without the translations. Also, seriously thinking about making a part 3, buuuut… not sure. On one hand I need more of Alejandro, but idk how to develop a relationship that started out as sexual, lmao

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your car suffers an accident, and you end up with no signal in the Mexican wilderness.

Warnings: Reader speaks Spanish (but is not necessarily a native speaker), Alejandro and reader hate each other, spanglish, unprotected sex, p in v, car sex, hinting at possible feelings (blink and you miss it), Alejandro and reader are very mean to each other, reader is purposefully annoying, not proofread!!

Words: 3.0k

Notes: I’ve been feral lately, so here is an Alejandro fic (I need to be locked and muzzled up). Lots of Spanglish (because I’m a Spanish queen) and possible grammatical errors bc English is not my first language. Maybe I’ll do a part 2 down the line bc this can’t end like this?

Also, the fic is heavily influenced by @XCaliper’s c.ai Alejandro Vargas chat.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The humming of the car filled the silence between Alejandro and you. The road was empty, dark due to the moonless night. The gentle hum of the AC refreshed your beat up face after a long mission, one that was assigned to both Coronel Vargas and you.

As always, every dreaded time that you had to work with him, it ended bad for you two.  You didn’t understand each other, your ways differed to be considered healthy. 

Still, somehow, you complimented each other perfectly when it came to work. Amidst the clash of personalities, you two found that there was no better pairing, as much as you hated it.

Today was one of those days where, apart from a successful mission, you ended up yelling at each other. That moment of peace in the car was nothing but a truce until you two reached the base. 

A slight disturbance, and hell would set loose. 

And that’s what happened. 

A pronghorn came out of nowhere, jumping into the road. 

One second, and the car spun out of control. The tires screeched, Alejandro tried maneuvering, but to no avail. 

You hit some cactuses, impromptu halting in a ditch. 

You tried breathing in, but the airbag had punched you straight in your chest. You swallowed, confused, your ears ringing from the impact. Smoke was coming out of the hood, the engine hummed one last time before finally turning off, letting in the distant sounds of the Mexican countryside. 

You stepped out of the car, coughing. The gasses on the airbag were strong, and they had already attacked your lungs before you could realize. 

Alejandro appeared from the other side of the car, more composed than you. He still was shaken, confused, but in a better position than you. 

“Pinche venado cabrón,” he spat, the rage in his voice contained by the last thread on sanity in him. “Mira lo que le hizo al carro, pinche suerte de la verga!”

Stupid fucking pronghorn! Look at what it did to the car, damn luck we have!

You looked at him, your demeanor as calm as possible, so as to not anger him further. You took in some air, your hands on your waist, thinking of what the hell would you do now.

“I’m going to call base,” you said, taking out your phone, giving him your back.

“There’s no signal here,” he said in a scolding tone. “I already tried.”

You sighed in frustration. “I’ll try either way.”

Alejandro groaned behind you, his voice merely a frustrated whisper. “Nunca hace caso… pinche terca.”

She never listens… stubborn bitch.

You took your phone, trying to contact the base. Of course, just like Alejandro said, there was no signal. You sighed, tilting your head back. 

“Maybe we could try to get to the nearest town, try to contact the base that way. Not reaching out will alarm them, it's in our best interest to try and do something…”

“It’s not worth it,” he said. “There’s wild dogs, and with Las Almas out there…”

“It’s worth a try. How else are they going to find us?”

The muscles in his jaw tensed at the question, his body fixed in place

“They are waiting for us,” he replied calmly, his voice strained, like he was restraining himself from yelling at you. “In the morning they'll go looking for us.”

“I’m not comfortable accepting defeat like this,” you said, trying to make your tone as confident as possible. “Why don’t…”

“No puedes quedarte callada un segundo, eh?” he spat, his tone harsh, frustrated. “Todo el condenado día hablando…”

You can’t shut up for a second, can you? All the damned day talking…

“I’m just trying to help here, Alejandro,” you replied, already ignited. “Always acting like everything I say is stupid.”

He groaned at the mention of his name passing through your lips, placing his hands on his hips. “Because you are all talk, but you never fucking listen.”

The way he yelled at you almost made you retreat in defeat. He looked angry, annoyed at your every move. It made you boil in anger. 

“Que nunca escucho?” you said in Spanish, scoffing at him. “I do everything you say, Alejandro. Always. You act like you have more power over me than my own superiors. In here, you are nothing but my partner, okay?”

That I never listen?

“In here,” he said, getting close up to your face. “You do as I say, ¿me escuchas? This is Mexico, hermana. No estamos en Colorado, aquí un pie en el fango, and you’re dead.”

You do as I say, you hear me? This is Mexico, sister. We’re not in Colorado, here, you step foot in the mud, and you’re dead.

You pressed your jaw shut, holding eye contact with Alejandro. He looked as bothered as you, stopping the urge of punching you in the face full force. “Don’t act like I’m clueless, Alejandro. You take every chance you get to disrespect me, and I won’t accept any of that shit.”

He was silent for a second, eyes burning in anger and a surprised smirk in his face. “You think it’s bullshit that I’m on your ass about everything? Princesa, you don’t listen, everything is always a damn argument, and act like your fuck ups are everyone else’s fault. I’m not on your ass, I’m here to fix your stupid mistakes!”

You nodded at the floor, disregarding everything he said. Then, out of nowhere, you went up to the car, and took your assault rifle. You checked for bullets, made sure that the flashlight worked. 

When you were ready, you started walking away from the car. 

You felt Alejandro’s stare on you, the second it took for him to understand what was going on giving you more time to walk away. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He said, starting to follow you.

“Somewhere where you’re not getting on my nerves.”

His footsteps were heavy and loud, his anger seeping into the ground like poison. 

“You think it’s easy for me to put up with you?” He snapped in response, more in defeat than in anger. 

“You think it’s easy to put up with you, too?” you barked, too composed for what you were feeling at that moment. “Deja de mandarme por un rato, por Dios.”

Leave me alone for a second, for God’s sake.

Those words of yours came out like a whisper, like a rhetorical plea to yourself. It was nothing but a complaint, one that you felt deep in your bones. 

Alejandro brought out the worst from you, turned you into a monster. 

“Stop!” He shouted. “This is ridiculous. Get back in the car!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, almost clashing against Alejandro. “I’m not getting in the fucking car, not with you.”

He reached out and grabbed your arm, his face seeping annoyance through every pore. “Get in the car. Now.”

You shook his hand away, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t fucking grab me like that.”

He sighed in defeat, looking at you in disappointment. “Stop being so difficult.”

You swallowed thick, looking him in the eyes. "I'm not being difficult. You are."

He stepped closer, getting in your space. “You’re infuriating.”

“I hate you,” you spat, empathizing every word, your eyes focused on him. 

Alejandro pressed his jaw shut, his eyes scanning you whole. He had never been disrespected like that, much less by a teammate; by a subordinate. 

It left him speechless. 

There was a pause, where neither of you faltered. Gaze on each other, a showcase of pride. The air between you was heavy, asphyxiating. 

You could feel the frustration radiating off him, your anger trampled by the sour sensation of heat. Your chest heaved slightly, your breath on his. 

Then, his eyes flickered to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes. 

Before you could react, his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips clashed on yours, demanding, dominant. His body pressed against yours, making a rush of heat curse through your insides. He was kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe, grabbing you in a way that made you feel weak at the knees. 

You were animals, tasting each other's mouths in desperation, feeling the softness of each other, that same sensation fueling the need to get closer. A low groan escaped his throat, vibrating through your body. 

Alejandro's kiss was bruising, relentless, as if he was pouring all his frustration and desire into it. The tension that had been simmering between you for so long erupted in this kiss, and there was no holding back. You nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest, and his grip on you tightened.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of anger and need that made your head spin. You felt his breath hitch as your hands went to rest on the sides of his neck, your thumbs reaching over to his jaw. 

For a moment, you felt as if you were caught in a storm. Alejandro’s kiss was raw, intense, full of hatred. 

It made you want to kiss him again. 

“Sube al carro,” he whispered against your lips. 

Step in the car.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locked onto his. The command in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the chaos of the moment, you couldn't help but feel a thrill at his dominance. You nodded, unable to form words, your mind still reeling from the kiss.

Alejandro's eyes bore into yours, the anger and desire still blazing. He let go of you just enough to allow you to move, and you stumbled slightly as you turned towards the car. Your heart was pounding, your lips still tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

The moment you were both inside the back of the car, he was on you again, his hands pulling you towards him. He pulled you on his lap, his hands starting to undo your tactical vest, leaving you only with your shirt. 

His mouth moved to your neck, giving soft, hot kisses that had you moaning his name, running your fingers through his hair. He smelled of cologne, his natural scent battling for dominance, sending your whole body into overload. It had you grinding on him, whimpering, desperate to have him in the most intimate way possible. 

The car soon heated up, the leather of the seats becoming a sticky trap. Gasping for air, you took Alejandro’s tactical vest off, your hands feeling up his torso, the nylon of his long sleeved jacket rough against your calloused hands, making you want to take it off of him then and there. 

Alejandro placed his hands on your waist, tugging on your shirt, dragging it up your torso. It felt like an eternity, giving you goosebumps all over your body. You breathed in, trying to find his gaze. Instead, he was looking at your semi-nude torso in awe, the muscles in his jaw tensing, hands caressing the sides of your body. His touch was like fire, leaving a trace of tingly skin there where he touched, leaving you begging for more. 

You placed your hands on his chest, grinding on him, practically riding him with clothes on. He moaned, guiding your hips through his lap, the friction maddening, sweet torture that was leaving you more frustrated than before. 

His eyes finally met yours, dark, intense. He looked hungry, lost in the moment. You leaned in, capturing his lips like a feral animal, the heat burning you from the inside. In the midst of it, you felt his hands on your back, trailing to your bra. Before you could even react, he already had it in his hand, throwing it somewhere in the car. 

With a growl, Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as his mouth found one of your breasts. Feeling him like that made you melt, the car supporting your body the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. 

His tongue flicked over your nipple, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. He nipped at your skin, just enough to send shivers down your spine, the sensation maddening, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you craving for more. 

Then, in a swift motion, he moved you to the side, leaving you longing for his attention, mewling at the lack of contact. Alejandro found his way to your cargo pants, undoing the belt, ripping it from your body. You helped him get rid of your boots, and soon your pants flew to the front of the car. You took off his jacket, the bare skin of his torso illuminated by the little light that the stars managed to give.

Before he could get on top of you, you pressed a hand on his chest, hopping on top of him. There, you found his mouth desperately, hungry for more of him. You unzipped his pants, sliding one of your hands inside of them. Alejandro gasped, his lips on yours, giving small pecks as you explored, wrapping your hand around his cock.  

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him. His hands gripped your hips, urging you to move closer, to give him more.

You obliged, positioning yourself over him. He grabbed your thong out of the way, letting you guide his cock to your entrance. You could see the desire in his eyes, the impatience. Slowly, you lowered yourself on him, getting filled inch by inch. You saw Alejandro moan, grab your hips, helping you into his cock. Once your soaking pussy had taken him whole, you looked at him, your mouth agape, lost, deaf, the pleasure overtaking your soul.  

His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your breasts, running down your back, gripping your ass as he thrusted into you. You trembled on top of him, his thickness making you feel whole, like your life’s purpose was to get fucked like that. 

You began to move, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that had you both gasping for air. Alejandro’s eyes never left yours, in awe of your moves, of the indecent sounds of your body slapping against his. His skin burned, the windows were foggy, the air hot, smelling of raw, animalistic sex. 

Every movement sent waves of pleasure through you, amplified by the hand that had slipped down to your clit, pleasuring yourself with urgency. Your breaths came in short, sharp bursts, all landing on Alejandro’s ear. His hands tightened on your ass, guiding you into his cock, each time rougher, harder. The friction, the heat, the sensation of him deep inside you, tearing you apart in the most addicting way possible was overwhelming, maddening. 

"Más fuerte," he groaned, his voice rough, primal. "No pares."

Harder. Don’t stop.

You increased your pace, your hips moving in desperate urgency, looking to break him, to leave him begging for you. From below, he started thrusting into you, meeting your movements with his own. The car seemed to close around you, making you focus on each thrust, each moan, the way in which the car shaked. 

You rode him with abandon, your body moving instinctively, lost in the rhythm, the heat, the pleasure. Your fingers were working on your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, making you moan, begging him not to stop. 

He was filling you perfectly, using you like his own personal slut, thrusting in like an animal, your free hand the only thing keeping you where you were. 

Soon, Alejandro's moans became background noise, a distant reminder of what was happening. Your body reacted before you did, squeezing his cock, spiking your heart rate through the roof. You mewled his name, lost. His thrusts became softer, longer, making you cry out. You pressed your face on the crook of his neck, moaning desperately, riding out your orgasm as best as you could. 

The waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling uncontrollably. Alejandro's hands tightened on your hips, his own climax imminent. He groaned deeply, your pussy still milking him, driving him insane.

You became undone on top of him, your only purpose to pleasure him, to get used to the best of your abilities. 

Alejandro took it very seriously, his hands bruising your hips, thrusting into you relentlessly, whimpering as his orgasm approached. He found your gaze, grabbing the back of your neck, groaning, drilling into you like an animal. 

His moans came out sharp, irregular. His cock twitched inside of you, the heat of his orgasm making you grab onto him, focus on his eyes as he cummed deep inside you. 

Time stopped for a while. He was gasping for air, his eyes lost in yours, making out what had just happened. One of your hands found his chest, still beating hard, where you stabilized yourself, looking at him in the same way, clueless, in between surprised and ashamed. 

Alejandro pulled you closer, bringing  you back to reality, distracting you from your own thoughts. His hands rested on your waist, locking you in place. Your face pointed to the door, where you could almost make out the shape of what was behind the fog on the window. 

Sweat dripped from both of you, your bodies tangled, still connected. His body radiated heat off to you, his chest moving up and down against yours, his heart beating at a normal pace. 

You two were sticky, exhausted.

Silence filled the car, the cold of the night seeping in, sending shivers down your spine. 

Then, clarity set in. You realized what you had just done. 

With whom. 

It made you want to run away. But for the first time since you two met, he looked calm, non-threatening. A tamed beast. 

That, though, still didn’t take away from the disgust you felt for yourself. It didn’t excuse how much you had fucked up.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you whispered. 

He squeezed your hip, kissing your shoulder, knowing it was the last time you would accept that sort of affection from him. 

“Lo sé.”

I know.

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oops!

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gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

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Ben Hardy is literally David sculpture create by Michelangelo

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Ben Hardy giving  big “baby” energy! (exclusive for Joe Mazz only)

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Choose your fighter, sis

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Imagine: His shirt is see through.

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fat is not beautiful

Stop promoting an uhealthy lifestyle please

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Ben’s eyes are so fucking green. Like…WTF?

Beautiful eyes. 12/10.

God bless him and the genetics of his family.

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since we haven’t had any new ben content… here are some of my personal favorite gifs of this beautiful man

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My heart rate all the time!

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A joke i thought walter white would have appreciated.

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My tumblr is dry plz help

Trying to find more people who watch reddit crew/commentary community, if you guys like any of the following reblog this or something 🤘🏼🤠🤘🏼 : Kwite : FPSDiesel : Wildspartanz : KingAni : Bluesdank : Quackity : Aksually : Its Hoover : Pyrocynical  : WillNE : ImAllexx : Anyone else in the community lol  I want to make new friends, and tumblr (so far) has seen like such a nice community. thnx

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John Wick v.s. John Constantine