#canon compliant and i hate myself for it

[kiapet2]

For all the Sidlink fans upset about Sidon getting a fiance in TotK, I have an easy explanation/solution:

It’s a political marriage.

Sidon is royalty. He’s being crowned King. Royalty usually don’t get the privilege to marry for love, but rather need to do so in order to build political alliances and secure heirs. Mipha was able to consider proposing to Link officially because having the Champion of Hyrule as her consort would both strengthen their connections to what was the biggest political power in the area and be a great boon to Zora’s Domain in general, plus if they turned out to be biologically incompatible there was always Sidon for continuing the royal line.

Now, Sidon is the last in his line and trying to give his people a sense of stability while taking the throne amidst another huge upheaval. The kingdom of Hyrule is a shadow of what it once was, and Link himself was gone with no way of knowing if/when he’d return, as well as needing to spend his time/attention on all of Hyrule rather than the Zora specifically.

Meanwhile, Lady Yona is Zora royalty herself making her a good political match, she has qualities and skills that are well-suited to helping the people of Zora’s Domain, and she’s an old friend of Sidon’s which means they’ll probably get along pretty well. Marrying her as a political choice makes perfect sense. And Yona is a small enough character that we honestly aren’t given many indications that there’s more to their relationship than that- old friends who are marrying now to strengthen Sidon’s new reign.

That doesn’t mean Sidon is straight, or that he isn’t still in love with Link. And it doesn’t mean he can’t eventually pursue a relationship with Link, once things have settled down a bit. That sort of thing was pretty common with royalty historically (or at least for men- stupid patriarchy). In this case, Sidon and Yona could have arranged to have an open marriage, with both of them free to pursue matters of the heart outside of their political duties. Or at least, that’s how I’d write it if I was writing canon-compliant Sidlink. 

So yeah, Sidlink as a ship is definitely not sunk, even if you do stay completely with canon. It just might look a little different. And I, for one, would love to see shippers play around with this new dynamic.

[avid-adoxography]

maybe..,. maybe it's time I finally add Ten Piedad to my f/os list.

But watch out.

[parker-rose]

oh no, more kevjean 😓

[feldsparite]

anyway zenkichi's whole deal will never stop being funny to me. sorry akane we had to sell your dad to one direction the Phantom Theives to pay bills arrest your mom's killer

[moreespressoformydepresso]

When you write a canon divergence AU but then you think of a ship and write that instead and you make yourself cry because even in universe the romance is doomed

[sapphosclown]

i believe i just finished the first chapter to the multi-chapter fic i’ve been fighting for my life trying to figure out for a week now

[abla-soso]

When I dislike how a character is written but I can still see their potential; I really like to read meta posts/canon-compliant fanfics written by the smart stans of this character.

Sure, most of them treat their headcanons as canon, assume that the untapped character potential is already there or that it is part of the author's intention, and some of them can be annoyingly biased or irrational.. but it's super fun to see the character's potential actualized through their interpretations (even when I think they're not entirely accurate to the canon character). It's super fun to see how it's possible for the disliked character to be written in a good, interesting way that's at least semi canon-compliant. And I love imagining how much I would have liked and enjoyed said character if they were really written that way in canon.

[synonymroll648]

*deepest sigh you have ever heard in your life* send me a ඞ for a snippet of the second among us fanfiction i’m writing for an english final this year 

[cavernfullofexistentialdread]

So have more descriptions of the Queens

Jane Seymour's time to stick around and suddenly see-more

"She's very kind, I can see myself loving her, she makes dad jokes on a daily basis tho, a very passionate yet patient spirit!"

HAHAHA YES GENIUS NAILED THE COFIN THIS IS THEM ENTIRELY SUMMARIZED IN SUCH SIMPLE WORDS

[a-hazbin-reader]

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic ❌️Platonic

TW: Implied Abuse, Murder, Implied Gore, Period Typical Treatment of Women, Implied Sewerslide

Description: Alastor X Singer!Crime Family!reader who has known him in life and death and what their complicated relationship might be like, as canon compliant as I can bring myself to be

You grew up in crime family with an emotionally unavailable mother and violent dismissive father

Sure you were well fed, well dressed,well protected(despite the socially acceptable beatings from your parents) and educated but you were in a prison all of your own

You were your family's precious songbird with a voice like no other and a cage of steel around you, you often had small shows in clubs, bars, wherever your father could make it happen

Your father loved showing you off to his associates, friends, anybody who would listen really, in those moments you were his little girl who could do no wrong

Behind closed doors however

Because of your father's bragging all of his gross old friends took an unnecessary interest in you as well

Also did you know you're engaged to some brute who's nearly twice your age?? Some radio show producer who's had 3 wives before you and more women on his arm than you can count

But it's fine, you're fine

Is what you tell yourself until one day your fiance takes you to a radio station so you can sing there and you hear a familiar voice in one of the radio booths

Nofuckingwayisthatwhoyouthinkitisohfuckitshimitshim

You couldn't resist listening to one of your favorite radio hosts live but you also didn't want to interrupt so you stood and watched from afar as Alastor worked his magic

He was more handsome and magnetic in person, it was so unfair, you were completely entranced by him

Don't worry he noticed you too, amused by your gooey awestruck gaze

You could've stayed and listened to the whole show if your fiance hadn't suddenly yanked you away by your arm, reminding you that you were also here to work

You have a small wave and mouthed "big fan" as you were pulled away, ecstatic as Alastor gave a slick smile back

Now it was his turn to be intrigued, finishing up his show and exiting his booth to go and find where his delicious looking little fan went

Only to find himself happily surprised by your singing, deciding to sit and stay on his break, listening in appreciation for your voice

After that you two simply clicked, drawn to each other even if you both didn't understand it

You sneaking off every chance you could to talk and spend time with him and Alastor perking up anytime his door opened

It escalates from there, Alastor secretly sending you flowers/letters/anything you even glance at, you reciprocating by leaving little gifts/letters on his desk. The two of you having discreet rendezvous at night

It wasn't romantic at all and you two weren't in love, just really good friends

Who sometimes had moments of intimacy like snuggling, touching foreheads after a long embrace, a dozen almost kisses, a few kiss kisses

And when you inevitably found out that he's a cannibalistic serial killer he was worried he would have to hurt you, worried that you would be disgusted in him. That you wouldn't want to see him again

Imagine Alastor's surprise when you just sigh and start helping him clean his mess, almost nonchalant with the gore until you explain that your family has a violent history

Okay so maybe it's love maybe it's not, you two don't put a label on it or even discuss it really, you just enjoy the moment

Alastor hates your fiance, he hates that he doesn't treasure you, that he openly cheats on you, that he's rough with you, that he thinks he owns you

Safe to say that your fiance and Alastor hate each other but that's just fine because you hate your fiance too

Things were blissful between you two and you were even discussing running away together, your family and fiance starting to catch on to the relationship

You and Alastor began to finalize plans, picking a day to meet up and start your new lives

Except Alastor dissappears suddenly and doesn't return any of your letters, doesn't show up for his radio show and you can't find him

And one day you're caught by your father and fiance,checking Alastor's radio booth again, the two of them taunting you by telling you Alastor took a bribe and ditched you

You're forced to marry your fiance less than a month later, only making it a little longer before you take your own life, drowning in heartbreak and rage at the betrayal

You're not surprised when you find yourself in hell but damn it still feels like a punch to a gut

You know Alastor is there too, you know who this rising radio demon is but you don't want anything to do with him, you're still so angry

And he's angry at you too, thinking you moved on from him so easily, hurt that you never even looked for him(He's 100% creating scenarios in his head and hurting himself)

So it takes quite awhile before you two even cross paths, let alone hash things out, like a years and years sort of thing

Expect a lot of run ins that end in snarky comments and unnecessary romantic/sexual tension

It's not until one particularly explosive argument that you two realize that you've been getting the truth mixed up

But once it's settled then it's like nothing ever changed, except that you two have way more time together and you don't have to sneak around anymore

It's an open secret that you two are together even though neither of you have confirmed it or even put a label on it

You just always happen to be on his arm, canoodling at every chance and backing each other up in fights(verbal or physical). Every successful fight is rewarded with eskimo kisses

But you two are definitely practically husband and wife, a power couple even

But then one day he dissappears again

WHY

Maybe you two had a fight before he dissappears and he storms off for a walk. Maybe not

And then seven years go by and you fear that somehow you've lost him again, but for good this time

So you spend that time quietly mourning him and struggling to move on

You don't even find out he's back again until you hear him back in his radio tower, fighting with Vox

🙄😏 that man...

You're not even mad that he hasn't come to see you yet, simply relieved that he's alive and back

Okay you're a little mad, a little hurt

You're calm when you find out he's staying at some new hotel instead of coming back home, coming back to you

Okay you're not exactly calm, your friends would say you're simply hysterical behind closed doors

So you're livid when you find out he's staying with Lucifer's daughter and her friends because it's so obviously just a power grab for him

Fine

You definitely don't go over and cause a scene but you definitely do corner him at some point and let him have it

He's so fucking happy to see you that he's not even paying attention to what you're yelling about or why you're crying. He just pulls you in for a long hug, shutting you up with a rough kiss.

No you're not cupping each other's cheeks, foreheads pressed together as he apologizes over and over again for leaving you again

He won't do it again, not if he can help it

You find out that he's managed to dig himself a hole with a bad deal but that's about all you can figure out and he can't exactly tell you

But you manage to find it in yourself to forgive him(it's hard to stay mad at him), accepting that his time and attention have to be somewhere else for now

Then there's another extermination and one of your friends tell you to check the tv(something you probably don't normally do)

The moment you see Alastor facing off against Adam you're off, fighting and racing to get to him, to help him but he's gone by the time you get there. Lucifer and his daughter fighting him

But you know he's not dead this time, he wouldn't leave you again, not a third time

He promised

So you find him panicking in his busted radio tower and hold him until he calms down, promising that you two will find a way out of his deal

Maybe just hold his head to your chest and stroke his hair a little longer?

You were both reluctant to break apart, Alastor genuinely seeming remorseful as he nuzzles your forehead, telling you that he will visit you soon, that he's sorry for everything

Still he smiles 🙃

When he leaves to go back to the hotel you find yourself more tempted than ever to follow him, your heart aching to be near him again already

Maybe you should check in or at least offer to work there, they don't have an entertainer yet, do they?

Alastor when you show up:

"Darling, what are you doing here?"

I HAD TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM OKAY!?

Bonus! Charlie when she finds out about Alastor's boo:

[wlntrsldler]

Three Hundred and Seventy-One Days | Luke Castellan

a/n: not canon-compliant! i hate this actually but i needed to write something to get me back in the zone! sunshine reader because i wanted a broody luke lol.

i. Three days.

Right before the sun sets behind the hill at Camp Half Blood, there's a chill in the air that hits Luke's skin in a way that makes him feel like he's back on the roof of his house in Connecticut. He found out about it when he returned from his failed quest when he was searching for a moment of solace, away from the pitiful eyes of the campers, away from the voice that haunted his dreams. Perched on a branch, hidden by the shade of the leaves, leaning against the bark of the tree with sticky amber clinging to the material of his orange shirt, Luke sits there until the sun disappears for the day.

It reminds him of the days he would crawl out of his bedroom window to escape the sounds of his mother's incoherent mumbling. He would sit there in nothing but a thin t-shirt and his cargo shorts, goosebumps rising on his skin, as he talked to himself. It was a bad habit he picked up in his younger years. He kept himself company at home because his mom didn't talk to him much, not really, and when she did, when her words made sense for once, all Luke could do was count down the minutes until he lost his mother again.

Before he was old enough to understand his heritage, who his father was, he used to pray to an entity he didn't believe in to give his mother moments of clarity, slivers of coherence so he at least knew something, anything, about the woman he called mom. But after the first time Luke's wishes were granted, he stopped praying. Somehow it was more painful watching his mother drift in and out of consciousness than it was living with a stranger he knew he loved, but knew nothing about.

For a year, that spot on the tree was a secret. Nobody knew that Luke would climb up there every day just to feel the breeze against his skin. Nobody questioned why the Hermes head counselor would disappear at the same time, until you came along.

"Whatcha doin' up there?"

Luke nearly lost his balance on the branch at the sound of your voice from under him. He looked down to see you smiling up at him, hands laced together behind your back. You were eighteen, the same as him, and when he first heard of your arrival, Luke was jealous. You got to have 18 years of childhood, while he was only granted half of that. It didn't seem fair.

"You should be at dinner," Luke replied, leaning back against the tree. The sun made the sky a soft orange color. The darkness of the night was creeping in through the corners of the sky, the chill he searches for each night engulfed him.

"To be fair, so should you, head counselor," You replied, analyzing the indents in the bark of the tree trunk that formed from Luke's constant climbing. You slotted your feet in the crevices, making your way to the tree branch beside Luke's. The two branches were close to each other, growing steadily until they almost touched at the tips. "Woah, this view is unreal."

"Be careful," He mumbled, clenching his jaw. "I'm not gonna take you to the infirmary if you fall and break a bone."

"Relax," You chuckled, situating yourself. "I can handle myself."

Luke nodded once and turned his attention back to the skyline. In this light, the scar across his cheek was prominent. It's healed well enough, but it still left a bump across his flesh that made Luke queasy every time he looked at it for too long. The two of you sat in silence as the sun disappeared. Luke tilted his head to look at you, only to find that you were already staring at him. He rubbed the side of his face against his shoulder as if trying to wipe away the scar on his shirt, "What are you doing here?"

You shrugged, "Not really into the whole offerings thing, to be honest."

"So you decided to wander into the woods alone?" Luke asked, "That's dangerous. There's a lot of things out here that you wouldn't believe. You can get hurt."

"But it's okay when you do it?"

"I know how to fight," Luke found himself taking on a defensive position. "You just got here."

"That doesn't mean I don't know how to fight," You replied. Your voice was calm, despite the slight bite to Luke's tone. "Just because I didn't spend my childhood playing with swords and bows and arrows doesn't mean I don't know how to fend for myself, y'know."

"The things out here are different from schoolyard bullies. I don't think you understand that."

"Are we going to ignore that I fought a hellhound on my way here or...?"

"You fought a hellhound?"

Luke wouldn't have guessed that by the way you walked into the Hermes cabin, all smiles and golden flecks of color in the irises of your eyes. You spoke in a preppy tone and he nearly had to grab his siblings by their ear to drag them away from you. If he was a betting man, he would bet that you were a child of Aphrodite.

"Mhm," You hummed, "See, I'm not so helpless."

"I didn't say you were."

"Yeah, but you implied it," You shrugged, not deterred by his tone. "Anyways, are you gonna tell me what you're doing here?"

"Well, I was trying to get some privacy," He replied. He should've been annoyed at the intrusion, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset with you as much as he should've been. "But that didn't go as planned."

"Sorry, sorry," You chuckled, putting your hands up in defense. "Didn't know keeping you company was a no-no. Maybe I do have some things to learn about camp after all."

He scoffed, "Hanging out with me should be the least of your worries."

"I dunno, I always seem to gravitate towards the broody types."

"I'm not broody."

"Right," You laughed. You turned to look at him, jaw dropping when you realized he was serious. "When was the last time you smiled? And not those fake, polite smiles you give to strangers trying to make small talk in the grocery store line, you know?"

No, he didn't know. He didn't go out much, much less to the grocery store to have conversations about the rising prices of produce or the lack of real milk options due to the infiltration of the non-dairy industry.

"I smile all the time," Luke replied, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he tried to remember the last time he smiled at someone. "I smile at campers."

"That's because it's your job, silly!" You giggled, shaking your head. "When was the last time you smiled just because?"

Luke pursed his lips, countering, "When was the last time you didn't smile?"

"When I was fighting the hellhound."

Luke felt his lips quirk up at that. It was a quick-witted response, he'll give you that. He stopped it from becoming anything more and cleared his throat.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," You sighed, carefully stretching your legs down to the first indent on the tree. You skillfully climbed down and landed on your feet with a thud, "See you around, Luke."

Luke's mouth felt dry at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He was never a fan of his name before. He thought it sounded generic and unoriginal, but when you said it, it didn't sound half as bad as he thought it was. His stomach churned in a way that was foreign to him.

"Hopefully, not here!" He called out, watching as your figure retreated back to the main grounds. "Privacy, remember that!"

"I like the broody types, remember that!" You called back, waving to him before you disappeared into the maze of trees.

ii. Twelve days.

"You lied."

You looked up from your book with an eyebrow raised as you stared at the counselor at the foot of your bed. Luke was standing there, the signature stern look etched on his face. You placed your bookmark in your book, sitting up on your bed as you smiled at him, "Excuse me?"

He had his arms crossed over his chest, the beads of his camp necklace resting on the tops of his knuckles, "You lied. You didn't fight a hellhound."

"Okay, so I didn't fight a hellhound," You said, dragging on the word 'fight' for emphasis. "But I encountered a hellhound."

"Which you befriended."

"Which I befriended," You confirmed, "I named him Stanley. Wanna meet him?"

"No," Luke replied quickly. "That shouldn't even be allowed in here."

"He's sweet," You tutted, slipping your feet into your shoes as you stood up. "Give him a chance, I swear you'll love him."

"You're keeping a hellhound as a pet?"

"He's just a baby," You cooed, jutting out your bottom lip.

Luke felt his face twitch in half-annoyance and half-fondness. He didn't know if he found your naivete dangerous or charming, or both, but he was scared for you. You were too trusting for your own good, "He is not a baby. He's a monster."

"Don't talk about Stanley like that."

Luke rolled his eyes, falling into the same rhythm as your steps, "You don't realize how dangerous this is, Y/N."

"Here you go with the danger thing again," You teased, nudging him. Luke's breath got caught in his chest. Your simple touch seemed to burn his skin. Sparks erupted across his entire body. "Told you, I'll be fine."

"Not every monster you encounter can be defeated by the power of friendship. You can't rely on some kumbaya shit."

"Kumbaya?" You snorted, looking at him with an unreadable expression on your face. You scrunched your face up, a tiny smile tugging on your lips. "You're so...."

"I'm so what?" He questioned, planting his feet on the ground.

"Odd."

He tried not to take offense to that because while your words were like a dagger to his heart, the way you said it showed that you didn't mean it in a bad way. You seemed to be trying to figure him out, pressing his buttons, trying to see what made him tick. And you were succeeding. Luke never ventured to talk to new campers unless he was forced to by Chiron, but he couldn't fight the pull you had on him.

"Broody and odd," He said, resuming his steps, "I'm swooning."

The full belly laugh that escaped you made Luke's steps falter. Campers surrounding you looked at you, confused as to what Luke could've said that made you react that way. Surely, the Hermes Head Counselor wasn't that funny. He wasn't known to crack jokes, not since he returned. You couldn't help it, though. He said it in such a deadpan way that made your sides hurt from laughing so much.

"Just my type," You teased.

Luke didn't like how his cheeks were warming up at your comment. He's not one to flirt or be flirted with. He found girls attractive, sure, but most of them were too intimidated to talk to him so he never really had experience in that department. But he supposed since you grew up in the world, you were used to doing things like this. He wondered if you knew the effect you had on him.

"Dinner is supposed to be good tonight," He said, changing the subject. He was looking everywhere but you, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks that seemed to not want to subside.

"Oh, no you don't," You shook your head. "You are not gonna tempt me into going to dinner just so you can hide away in your tree. I'll be there, Castellan."

He grimaced. He was hoping that you'd fall for the trap, but he was learning quickly that you weren't as gullible as he hoped you'd be. Luke sighed, accepting defeat. "Fine, but can you just be careful? You've been lucky that there weren't any creatures lurking around."

"Why don't we just go together?" You asked, "So you can stop worrying about my safety and all."

"I'm not worried about your safety," He lied through his teeth. The idea wasn't bad though. It would keep him from wondering if you were attacked on your way to meet him. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about it. He didn't like this weird protectiveness he had over you. He didn't even know you. "But fine. Meet me at the Hermes cabin after they ring for dinner."

"You got it," You saluted him playfully as you walked away, skipping to meet up with members of the Apollo cabin. How did you manage to make so many friends so quickly? And why did you insist on sticking with him when it's clear that you had other friends you could be bothering instead of him?

Luke tried not to think about it too much as he continued on with his day, but no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept pulling him back to you. During his lessons with other campers, he took mental notes of what moves he should teach you, just in case anything happened so you'd be prepared. During arts and crafts, he found himself reaching for the gold glitter because it reminded him of your eyes. This caused raised eyebrows from other campers since it was well-known that the counselor didn't like glitter post-Glitter Gate where he was shaking out glitter from his curls for days.

By the time dinner rolled around, he was thankful he stopped thinking about you, but soon realized that it was worse now that you were in front of him, all smiles and banter as you always were. It was getting harder to contain the redness of his cheeks as you complimented him in your own way.

"Lead the way, Castellan," You grinned.

Luke couldn't help but return your smile.

iii. Sixty-six days.

"Stanley, down," You instructed, leaning over to scratch the hellhound behind its ears. "Good boy."

Luke's sword was raised in a fighting stance as he watched you giggle as the hellhound nuzzled into your touch. You somehow managed to make him agree to meet the monster. Pathetically, it didn't take much for Luke to agree. It took you batting your eyelashes at him with a small pout and he reluctantly agreed to meet Stanley.

"Luke," You called him over, still petting the hellhound. "Come on, he won't do anything to you."

"I'm good right here," He grunted, holding onto his sword. "If he tries anything, one of us should be ready and you obviously have your guard down."

"He won't," You assured, "He's sweet."

"Nothing from the underworld is sweet, Y/N."

"You don't think I'm sweet?"

Luke rolled his eyes. You'd been claimed by your father, Hades, a few days ago. It made sense the more he thought about it. The hellhound wasn't sent to attack you, but to protect you. It was sent by your father to guide you to Camp Half Blood. "You're not technically from there."

"Same shit," You shrugged, patting the spot next to you on the grass for him to join you. "Come on, Luke. Come meet Stanley."

It was against everything he believed in. He shouldn't walk over to you to pet a monster like it was a stray dog on the side of the road, waiting to be rescued. But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own because before he knew it, he was walking over to you, sword tossed somewhere beside him to keep his hands free to touch the surprisingly soft fur of the hellhound.

The hellhound purred under Luke's touch, gentle and loving. If Luke ignored the scary color of its eyes, he would confidently say that it was just a dog. Luke's shoulders relaxed, "Okay, he's not half bad."

"Told you," You said, leaning against him. Luke's hands froze for a second, making the hellhound whine. He resumed his scratches, not wanting to take his chances and angering the dog. "See? Not all of us from the underworld are scary monsters."

"You're not from there," He repeated, "Stop saying that you are."

"Hades is my dad, Luke," You whispered. "So I am. I am a part of him."

"You're nothing like the gods."

There was something in his voice that made your heart pound in your chest. It was no secret that Luke's relationship with his father, and all of the gods for that matter, was strained. Luke saying that you were nothing like them with such sincerity made your head spin. It felt definite. It felt like a fact that he could never think of you as that.

"Could be nice though," You joked, trying to cover up the swell in your chest with humor. "Immortality and all."

"Nah, this one life is enough for me, I think."

"What? You're not shooting for rebirth?"

If anyone else would've asked him the same question a year ago, even a few weeks ago, he would've said no. If any of his other lives were like this one, he would decline the request if he could. All that he'd gone through in this lifetime was enough.

But now you were asking him that question with a twinkle of hope in your eyes that made him wonder if he'd judged this life too soon. Maybe there was more to life than fighting and running. Maybe the moments of life when he sits on a tree branch watching the sunset, or when he's yelling at his siblings to stop running in the cabin, or hell, even when he was petting a goddamn hellhound, were enough to make him wish for another shot at this life thing.

Maybe he just needed to learn a thing or two from you. If he could continue to know you in each lifetime, maybe he'll turn out fine.

"Maybe," Luke poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth. He blinked, "I don't know."

"Keep an open mind to it, is all I ask," You said. "I wanna find you in every universe just so I can annoy the shit out of you in each one."

He chuckled softly, not missing the smile that widened on your face as you watched him crack. "I changed my mind. No rebirth for me. I can only handle you in so many lifetimes."

"You'll grow to love me."

I know, Luke wanted to say, and that's the part that scares me the most. Throughout his years at Camp Half Blood, Luke prided himself in knowing that when push comes to shove, he can do what's necessary to succeed. It's what made him the perfect Head Counselor, the best swordsman that Camp Half Blood has seen in years. It's what made him a hero.

But now he didn't feel like that was the case anymore. He was growing soft, weak. He'd spent so much time trying to protect you and keep you from danger that he forgot about protecting himself. You found his Achilles heel and well, Luke was just waiting until he surrendered to you.

He opened his mouth to speak, "If Stanley doesn't kill me first."

If Luke could bottle up the sound of your laughter, he would.

iv. Three hundred and sixty-five days.

"Who is that?"

Luke followed Percy's eyes to the other side of the field. His lips turned up at the corners as he saw you waving at him with a smile on your face. Luke waved back with the same enthusiasm, confusing the boy beside him.

"That's Y/N," Luke responded, picking up his steps to meet you halfway. "That's my girlfriend."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"I know, shocker!" You teased, placing a kiss on Luke's cheek. Luke wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer, completely oblivious to the grimace that graced Percy's face. "Mr. Stick-in-the-mud head counselor has a girlfriend."

"Hey!"

Percy scrunched his face up, "You kinda are a stick-in-the-mud. No offense."

"Offense taken," Luke scoffed, poking your side. "Y/N, this is Percy. He's new here."

You stretched out a hand in greeting, "Nice to meet ya, Percy. Welcome to Camp Half Blood."

"Are you always this preppy?"

"She is," Luke said, shrugging. "Nice change of pace from the rest of us, don't you think?"

"Sure," He nodded, eyeing the both of you. Luke's arm didn't move from your waist and you didn't seem to mind. He was too young to understand why you and Luke didn't want to have any personal space. "Are you joining us on the tour that Luke is giving me of Camp Half Blood?"

"Wish I could, but the Stolls are planning to TP the Ares cabin as a prank and I should probably stop them before someone gets maimed at Capture the Flag tomorrow," You cringed.

Luke sighed, dropping his head to your shoulder. You tangled your fingers through his curls, trying to offer some comfort, "I told them not to do that."

"When have your siblings ever listened to you?"

"They used to before you came along!" Luke groaned, "But now they only listen to the pretty counselor."

"Must run in the family," You teased.

"Shut up," Luke grumbled, lifting his head up. Percy could see the blush on Luke's cheeks and he cringed. He hoped he'd never end up like this when he became a teenager. It was obvious you had Luke wrapped around your finger. "Go stop them before Lee gives us a lecture on the dangers of resorting to violence. Again."

"I'm going, I'm going," You laughed. You placed a quick kiss to Luke's lips before waving goodbye to the two boys. Before you were out of earshot, you turned around, "Tree later?"

"See you there!" Luke replied, grinning at you until you made it across the field. He turned to Percy, scratching the back of his neck, "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"Archery."

"Ah, right! Archery," Luke nodded, continuing his steps, "It's down this way."

Percy followed Luke through the field, staring at the signs that pointed in different directions. Camp Half Blood was huge. This tour was definitely going to take longer than he anticipated. Not wanting to continue with a lull in the conversation, Percy spoke up, "How long have you and Y/N been together?"

Percy figured that Luke would have a lot to say about you which would fill the silence. He was right. Luke smiled at the boy, "A few months. She got here last year and it's been us two ever since. Took me a minute to ask her out, though."

"Well if you liked her, why did you wait? That doesn't make much sense."

"It was complicated," He replied, "I didn't really accept that I liked her until way later. Kinda kept my feelings to myself for a while."

"Is this what being a teenager is like?" Percy asked, cringing at Luke's words. He always imagined that falling in love with someone was easy. If two people liked each other, they should be together, right?

"Yeah," Luke laughed, patting Percy on the back. "Enjoy your early years, Perce. It gets worse from here."

"Geez, you really know how to inspire confidence in someone."

The laugh that escaped Luke reminded him too much of you. There were parts of you that weaseled their way into him. He didn't understand why you laughed so hard at his deadpan comments before, but now that he was on the receiving end of it with Percy, he saw why.

Percy reminded Luke a lot of himself, back when he was younger. It was a weird thing to meet a foil of yourself, someone who you could've been if things had been different. Luke wondered if he'd be like Percy if his life hadn't been so cruel. Not that Percy's life was all sunshine and rainbows, either. Luke heard through the grapevine that Percy lost his mom during the battle with the minotaur, but at least he had a mom that he knew. He had a mom that cared for him.

Luke was dreading the day Percy got claimed. Something told him that it would cause a ripple effect. Start things that Luke wasn't ready for, not yet. Maybe he'll never be ready for it. Had he known that he'd meet you, maybe he wouldn't have said yes to it. Maybe if you had stumbled into Camp Half Blood a day earlier, he wouldn't be facing this.

Luke faked a smile, shaking away those thoughts, "Come on, archery's just around the corner."

v. Three hundred and seventy-one days.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Luke closed his eyes at the familiar voice that joined him on the tree branch. The separate branch that you used to it on morphed into his own. Two branches intertwined, a simple work of nature, but it felt like a symbol. An omen.

The fireworks illuminated the night sky. Luke had never been up here this late before. The air was cold.

"What are you doing here?"

You let out a dry chuckle, "Dejavu for a second there."

"Y/N."

You gulped, slowly inching towards him. There was a crease between his eyebrows as he stared ahead. You sighed, "I came looking for you."

"Why?"

"Luke, don't do this."

He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his balled-up fists. He winced as he put too much pressure on his cheek, his scar stinging at the contact. It's been more sensitive lately the more he spoke to Kronos. He shook his head, "I have to."

"No, you don't," You pleaded, placing a hand on his arm. "It's not too late."

"It is. Don't you understand?" He sobbed, "It's too late."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to break your heart," He whispered. He felt silly saying it out loud, but it made sense to him at the time. He couldn't bare to see your face when he told you about everything. That's why he was going to leave without saying goodbye.

"How's that going for you?"

How you managed to make him laugh even during this, even during the end, was beyond Luke's understanding. He wished you didn't have an effect on him like this. It would make things so much easier.

"I'm sorry."

"For breaking my heart or for betraying all of us?"

Luke licked his lips, "Both."

You removed your hand from his arm. Luke shivered without your touch. "I'll see you again, yeah?"

"I don't know."

"I know," Tears pricked your eyes. Maybe it was the shock of it all, but you were calm. Too calm. It didn't feel real that just a few steps away, camp was in disarray because of the boy beside you. "Rebirth, remember? In every lifetime."

"Sure," He said. Maybe the hope of it all will be enough to get him through this. "I love you."

"I love you, too," You said, leaning over to place a last kiss on his lips. You pulled away as you felt your tears mixing with his, "Go, they'll come looking here soon."

Luke nodded and made his way down the tree. You watched him fade away in the distance.

[fruit-colored-ninja]

I think it’s so funny how many ninjago show fics (both au and canon compliant) have kai going through an ‘I hate this kid so fukcing much he ruins everything he SUCKS’ phase about lloyd at first and then movie fics are almost always like. Hello I’m Kai this is lloyd I met him five minutes ago and if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in the room and then myself and if you say a SINGLE bad thing about him because of his father I’ll kill you too

[grandlinedreams]

Ok I loved the whole reader is Kid’s/Killer’s sister. And I can just imagine her and Kid not getting along, and when the heart pirates and kid pirates run into each other, reader and Kid are like two cats fighting. Then Killer picks reader up under her arms like a kitten, and hands her to Law, all like, “this is yours”.

Could you make this happen please? 😭😭

I told myself I wouldn’t send anymore requests till they went down a bit more, but this scenario wouldn’t leave my head, and I wanted to see it come to life with your words. Asdfghjkl I’m sorry 😅

LMAO YES i loved writing it 🥺 but also don't apologize bb, I got you!!

[Heads up!: semi/non-canon compliant (idk either around Sabaody or in the 2 year ts), established relationship, sibling antics (Reader and Kid), cursing, silliness]

You love your brother, you swear that you do. You've stuck with him through thick and thin and at the end of the day, woe to anyone who tries to hurt him while you're around.

That being said, however, that doesn't necessarily mean that you like your brother or his general attitude towards anyone that isn't part of his crew.

Part of you gets it, truly ㅡ there's been plenty of skepticism and mockery when it comes to Kid and his goal in life. Finding the One Piece is a pretty lofty ambition, but you have no doubts your brother has the determination it takes. He's hostile because of it though, less keen on asking questions and more on the offensive ㅡ and his attitude towards Law's crew is no different.

Perhaps it's made worse, actually, for the fact that you're currently in a relationship with Law. Something your brother knows, and hates. Which is why you've found yourself, predictably, in another argument with him.

Anger boils in your veins as you raise your voice to match Kid's. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot! I'm a grown adult!"

"Then act like it, damn it!" Your brother snaps back. "I don't have time to babysit you anyways!"

"Nobody asked you to, youㅡ" You yelp as hands hook under yours, your feet leaving the ground as you're lifted up. You know who it is, the only one besides Kid who'd dare to lift you like this in the first place. "Killer, put me down. Now."

The masked pirate ignores your demand, unbothered by the way you squirm in his hold before he sets you down in front of the Law and a handful of his crew, who've been watching this shitshow go down silently.

"This one is all yours," Killer tells Law, hand on your head and ignoring the way you swat at his touch, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in annoyance. "For now."

"You can't just hand me off like I'm a package," you grumble, "are you that desperate to get rid of me? I didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Not getting rid of you," Killer cuts in, "just giving you some time away from Kid. I think you both need it."

Ever the voice of reason against his captain, Killer has a point ㅡ you could do with a couple weeks (or more) away from your brother and his crew, and who better to hand you off to?

You're sure Kid could think of better (or worse) people to leave you with, but all he does is scowl, silented by the firm steer of Killer back the way they'd come.

You watch your brother and his crew retreat, the scene not unfamiliar even as you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "How mad do you think they'd be if I stayed with you permanently?"

You don't raise your voice and it's not quite an intentional needle to Kid, but he still comes to a halt and glares at you over his shoulder. "I heard that," he snaps, "don't even think about it!"

You adopt a face of innocence that lasts just long enough for your brother to turn back around, then glance at Law, who tilts his head. "The offer does stand," he says, even though there's a teasing gleam to his eyes that you grin at.

"I don't think I'll be truly leaving my crew anytime soon," you say as Law's own crew heads back towards the Polar Tang, and you wait until they've gone to snag your fingers in the front of Law's shirt, tugging playfully. "But I could be convinced to stay a little longer."

[kittyandco]

not sure why people act like self inserts are one of the worst things to happen in a fandom space when it comes down to the following: "i like this thing, and i created a character based off myself to be part of it because i love it so much!" a simple concept, right?

and people have a visceral reaction to this for some reason? it doesn't ruin the sanctity of canon; by that logic, all shipping and headcanons that aren't canon compliant would squick you out. is it a thing where the average person isn't an "expert" in character or story writing, and therefore everything they write about their s/i is bad by default? by that logic, any fanwork is inherently worth less, and we all know (if you aren't an elitist) that isn't true.

even if it's just "for no reason," you don't have to talk about how much you hate it and lay it on so thickly... just say it's not your thing, if you must for whatever reason, and move on. i don't know why it's so difficult to be neutral on something nowadays. just move on.

it's truly lost on me why indulging in something people love via self inserts is this horrendous crime that warrants a "cringe" reaction

[therealmrsgojo]

Valentines special (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

Hi, everyone! Posting my personal favorite snippet on my fic I'd lie! you can click the link if you want to read the full version of it. summary: first time meeting itadori yuji, as gojo satoru's wife! warnings: canon-compliant, pregnant reader and drunk-in-love gojo.

15th of August, 2018

You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly to the music playing in the background. The aroma of the spices and herbs fills the air as you chop the vegetables for tonight's dinner.

A small smile adorns your lips as you hear the servants of your home offer to do the chopping instead. "No, thank you. I find myself enjoying these lately," you politely decline.

The servants bow to you in return, watching in admiration, their eyes fixed on the elegant and glowing woman in front of them, the head wife of the Gojo clan.

As you continue your tasks, your phone rings, breaking your concentration. You wipe your hands on the tablecloth and answer the phone.

"How's my pretty wife doing, hm?" Satoru's voice greets you from the other end of the line.

"I'm doing well," you reply, looking back at the pot and stirring its contents. "I'm cooking our favorite dish. It's almost done, honey."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Satoru's voice inquires with concern. "You just got off from work. If you're going to do the cooking instead of letting the helpers do it, why don't you quit your job for now and just wait for me every day with your pretty little face?"

"That's not going to happen, Gojo Satoru," your tone was stern and resolute. You continued by confessing, "I hate doing nothing. Simple things like cooking make me happy." He could hear the passion in your voice as you spoke about your newfound love for cooking.

On the other end of the line, he sighed deeply, realizing he couldn't argue with you. He knew that you were a determined and independent person and that it was hard to change once you set your mind on something.

Imagining your pouty lips, pleading eyes, and even a soft, simple "please" from you would make his knees buckle in defeat. He, the strongest sorcerer, was no match for you.

"And also, I wanted to give you a heads up that Megumi will be joining us for dinner tonight," he said, pausing a moment before adding, "Oh, and a new student of mine, too, if that's alright with you."

"Of course it's okay," you replied with a smile, "I appreciate you telling me beforehand so I can prepare. Do you remember the last time you brought Maki, Panda, Yuuta, and Megumi all at once? I was caught off guard and unprepared."

"I remember. Especially how you didn't kiss me for a whole day afterward because you were so upset." Satoru laughed, adding, "We'll be there soon. Love you ~ "

As the call ended, you turned to one of the servants standing nearby, ready to assist you at a moment's notice.

"Hana, please prepare some guest rooms for tonight," you said, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. "We might need them later for our visitors. Thank you." You patted her shoulder, seeing her nod, before she turned around to follow your orders.

After your engagement, the wedding came soon after, taking place a few months later. You and Satoru had decided to have a simple ceremony with only the most important people in your lives present. You wanted to honor the traditions of the Gojo clan that had fascinated you since you first met Satoru.

Following your honeymoon, you were named the new head wife of the Gojo clan. Satoru's parents had decided to move out, passing on the responsibility of running the family estate to you and your husband. This was a significant moment for you both, as it was a tradition that had been passed down through generations.

The other servants had kindly taken care of wrapping up your cooking and set the table for dinner. You stood in the kitchen, washing your hands; you couldn't help but feel satisfied with your small accomplishment.

Lost in thought, you suddenly felt a pair of soft hands tenderly caressing your stomach, a body pressing up against your back, and nose slowly breathing in the scent of your neck. The unexpected touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you quickly recognize the familiar touch of your husband.

As you turned around, you saw your husband's warm smile that lit up his face. He quickly bent down to one knee and nuzzled his face into your stomach, murmuring, "I missed the both of you." You laughed at his affectionate gesture as you lovingly caressed his hair in response.

"I'm not sure they can hear you yet, love," you conveyed with a gentle smile. "I'm just barely two months pregnant, 'Toru."

Your husband looked up at you with a pout on his face, making you giggle like a teenager. He then stood up, took your face in his hands, and pressed soft kisses to your forehead, nose, and lips. The warmth of his embrace and his scent enveloped you completely.

He then turned to you and said, "Hi, my wife," looking at your face with a loving gaze, as if he was seeing you for the hundredth time but still couldn't get enough of you.

You both heard voices from the dining room, and your husband took your hand, pulling you and leading you toward the two students you had been expecting.

As you entered the room, a pink-haired boy with a curious look on his face muttered, "Wow, it's so big here, Fushiguro," his eyes scanned the delicate features around the room in amazement.

"(Y/N)-san," Megumi noticed you first and walked towards you with a small smile. You embraced him, feeling happy to see him doing well, patting his back and giving him a quick peck on the cheek before letting go. "How are you, Megumi?" you asked him.

"I'm doing well, thank you, for all that food you sent to the dorms, too," he replied, his cheeks turning slightly red at your affection.

As you stood there, your husband caressed your hair and introduced you to the other student. "Yuji, this is my wife (Y/N)," he said, turning towards the boy staring at you in awe, his mouth slightly apart.

"Itadori Yuji, nice to meet you," he said, bowing profoundly and complimenting you on your beauty that made you and your husband laugh.

"Nice to meet you too, Yuji. Let's go eat now, shall we?" you said softly, patting his shoulders as you led him to one of the dinner chairs.

The dinner was filled with laughter and stories as you all caught up with each other. You felt happy to see Megumi and Yuji bonding so well, as they were a perfect mix. You also learned about Nobara, another student you wanted to meet soon. As supper ended, every one commended your cooking, and you suggested that the two students stay for the night, offering rooms that were ready for them. They agreed happily.

As you both retired to your quarters, your husband's face was pressed up against your stomach, his hands caressing your hips as he mumbled sweet nothings to your unborn child.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling at the sight of the strongest sorcerer alive baby-talking to your pregnant stomach.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Your night was spent tenderly, with sweet words lingering in the air between you and your husband.

The moonlight bore witness as you made love with each other, lost in your own world of passion and intimacy.

Note: Aaaand that's it! Happy hearts day everyone! Thank you for reading this.

"Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."

xoxo,

Aurora.

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

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

Rating: T

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Sullivan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mother–!”

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

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

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

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

What.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom–”

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

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

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

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

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

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

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

“I’m going to kill you.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

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

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s for sure.”

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

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

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

But oh, he came to play.

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

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

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

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

“Mom! Could you not–”

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

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

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

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

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

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

The embarrassment burns.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

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

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

Dammit.

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

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

Of course.

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

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

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

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

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a favorite place ever since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

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

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

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

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

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

Rose. And cigarettes.

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

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

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

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

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

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

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. No need. He does.”

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

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

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

You know where I live.

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

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

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

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

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

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

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

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

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

Why do you feel….caught?

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

But if everything he said was true…

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

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

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

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

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

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

“Yes, dear.”

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

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

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

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

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

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

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

“You mind if I smoke?”

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

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

You open your eyes to ice water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said a nap, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

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